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Class _?A ^">g 5 
Book S 73 <» ^ 

BEQUEST OF 
ALBERT ADSIT CLEMONS 
(Not available for exchange) 



\ 



Ky' 




MARMION. — Page83. 



THE POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. 



Compute in §m Mumt 



WITH ALL HIS INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES. 



VARIOUS READINGS, AND THE EDITOR'S NOTES. 



ELEGANTL V ILLUSTRA TED. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1878. 






L'i^.i 



2.1 



Bequest 

Albert Adsit demons 

Aug. 24, 1938 

(Not available for exchange) 



CONTENTS. 



*»• TUE PrECIss MARKED WITH AN asterisk (*) HAVE NOT BEEN INCLTTOED LB ANT FORMEE EDH Dl 

OF SIR WALTER SCOTT's POETICAL WORKS. 



PASE 

Thb Lay of the Last Minsteel 9 

Advertisement to edition 1833 ih 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 16 

Preface to the first edition 1805 ib. 

Introduction t6. 

Canto 1 17 

Canto IL 23 

Canto IIL 28 

Canto IV 83 

Canto V 40 

Canto VL 46 

Appendix to the Lay of the Last Minstrel . 54 

SllRHION 80 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 88 

Advertisement to the first edition ib. 

Litroduction to Canto L — To WiUiam 

Stewart Rose, Esq ib. 

Canto I.— The Castle 87 

Introduction to Canto II. — To the Rev. 

John Marriott, A. M 94 

Canto IL— The Convent 97 

Introduction to Canto III. — To William 

Erskine, Esq 104 

Canto III— The Hostel, or Inn 107 

Introduction to Canto IV. — To James 

Skene, Esq 113 

Canto IV.— The Camp 116 

Introduction to Canto V. — To George 

Ellis, Esq 124 

Canto v.— The Court 126 

Introduction to Canto VI. — ^To Richard 

Heber, Esq 137 

Canto VL— The Battle 140 

Appendix to Marmion 154 

Fhk Ladt of the Lake 180 

Introduction to edition 1880 ib. 

Dedication 183 

Argimient ib. 

Canto I.— The Chase 184 

Canto IL— The Island 193 

Canto IIL^The Gathering 202 

Fac-Simile of the MS., Stanza I.. ib. 

(Placed after the Contents.) 

Canto IV.— The I'rophecy 210 

Canto V.—The Combat 219 



PA«1 

The Ladt of the Lake. 

Canto VL— The Giiard-Room 229 

Appendix to the Lady of the' Lake 240 

The Vision of Don Rodebick 269 

Preface ib. 

Dedication 270 

Introduction ib. 

The Vision 278 

Conclusion 281 

Appendix to Vision of Don Roderick 286 

Rokeby 292 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Dedication 296 

Advertisement ib. 

Canto L ib. 

Canto IL 806 

Canto III 814 

Canto IV 323 

Canto V 832 

Canto VL 843 

. Appendix to Rokeby 856 

The Bridal of Teiermain 379 

Preface to the first edition ., ib. 

Introduction 382 

Canto L 383 

Canto II 888 

Canto III 396 

Conclusion 407 

Appendix to the Bridal of Triennain 410 

The Lord of the Isles 412 

Notice to edition 1833 ib. 

Introduction to edition 1830 ib. 

Advertisement to the first edition 414 

Canto L 4n 

Canto IL 422 

Canto III 430 

Canto IV. 487 

Canto V. 446 

Canto VI 456 

Conclusion 466 

Appendix to the Lord of the lelea. 469 

The Field of Waterloo 602 

Conclusion 609 

Appendix ■. 611 



CONTENTS. 



PASt 

tiJiROLD THB Dauntlsss. ; 612 

Introduction ib. 

Canto L 518 

Canto II 517 

Canto III 521 

Canto IV 524 

Canto V 528 

Canto VL 632 

Conclusion 536 

<7oNTRIBmOIW TO THE BoEDEK MiNSTEKLST. 

Introductory Remarks on Popular Poetry. 537 

Appendix 553 

Essay on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad 655 

Appendix 671 

Imitations of the Ancient Ballad. 

Thomas the Rhymer, Part 1 574 

Part II 577 

Part IIL 584 

Appendix 586 

Gleniinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach... 589 

Appendix. 593 

The Eve of St. John. 594 

Appendix 597 

Cadyow Castle 598 

Appendix 602 

The Gray Brother 604 

Appendix 606 

War-Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light 
Dragoons 607 

•Iallads Translated oe Imitated feom the 

German, «tc 609 

William and Helen. ib. 

The Wild Huntsman 613 

The Fh-e-King 616 

Frederick and Alice 618 

The Battle of Sempach 619 

The Noble Moringer 621 

* The Erl-Kuig 626 



tYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
In ike order of their composition or publi- 

e^iion 627 

* Juvenile Lines. From Virgil 1782 ib. 

* On a Thunder Storm ib. 

* On tlie Setting Sun ib. 

Tiie Violet ib. 

To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman 

Wall 628 

•Bothwell Castle ib. 

»Tlie Shepherd's Tale ib. 

» Cheviot 681 

* The Reiver's Wedding ib. 

The Bald's Incantation 682 

Hellvellyn 633 



PAOI 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

The Dying Bard 634 

The Norman Horse-Shoe ib. 

Tlie Maid of Toro 636 

The Palmer ..... tl 

The Maid of Neidpath 68(J 

Wandering Willie ib. 

* Health to Lord Melville, 1 806 . . 6S7 

Hunting Song .... ^S8 

The Resolve 689 

Epitaph, designed for a Monument in 

Lichfield Cathedral, at the Burial-place 

of the family of Miss Seward ib. 

Prologue to Miss BaiUie's Play of the 

Family Legend ib. 

The Poacher 640 

Song — " Oh, say not, my love, with that 

mortified air" 64'J 

The Bold Dragoon; or, the Plain of 

Badajos ib. 

On the Massacre of Glencoe ib. 

" For a' that an' a' that." — A new song to 

an old tune 644 

Song, for the Anniversary Meeting of the 

Pitt Club of Scotland ' ib 

Pharos Loquitiu^ 648 

Lines, addressed to Ranald Macdonald, 

Esq., of StafFa ib 

* Letter in Verse, on the Voyage with the 

Commissioners of Northern Lights. — 
To his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch, 
1814 n 

Verses from Waverlet. 

* Bridal Song 647 

* Waverley 648 

* Davie Gellatley's Song ... ib. 

* Scene in Luckie Macleary's Tavern 649 

* Hie away. Hie away ib. 

* St. Swithin's Chair ib. 

* Davie Gellatley's Song 651 

* Janet Gellatley's alleged Witchcraft... ib. 

* Flora Macivnr's Song ib. 

* Lines on Captain Wogan 651 

* Follow me, Follow me 655 

« 

* The Author of Waverley »6. 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of 

Kintail — From the Gaelic ib. 

Imitation of the preceding Song 658 

War-Song of Lachlan, High Chief of Mac- 
lean. — From the Gaelic 653 

Saint Cloud 654 

The Dance of Death ib. 

Romar oe of Dunois 65< 

The .roubadour to. 

Fn-m the Frtuch 661 



CONTENTS, 



PAOB 

L ?RICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Song, on the lifting of the Banner of the 
House of Buccleuch, at a great Foot- 
Ball Match on Carterhaugh *. 657 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief 668 

f»OM QxjY Manneeino. 
Bong? of Meg Merrilies — 

* Nativity of Harry Bertram 658 

* Twist ye, Twine ye 658 

* The Dying Gipsey Smuggler ib. 

* The Prophecy 659 

* Songs of Dirk Hatteraick and Glossin ib. 

'The Return to Ulster ib. 

Jock of Hazeldean 660 

Pibroch of Donald Dhu ib. 

Norah's Vow 661 

Macgregor's Gathering ib. 

Verses composed for the occasion, and 
sung by a select band, after the Dinner 
given by the Lord Provost of Edinburgh 
to the Grand Duk» Nicholas of Russia 
and his Suite, 19th December, 1816 ... 662 

fEOM THE AnTIQDAKT. 

* Time ib. 

* Epitaph on Jon o' ye Gimell 663 

*Elspeth'8 Ballad ib. 

* Mottoes in the Antiquary, 1-20 ib. 

From the Black Dwaef. 

*Mottoes, 1, 2 665 

''"'eom Old Mortality. 

* Major Bellenden's Song.... 666 

* Verses found in BothweU's Pocket 

Book ib. 

* Epitaph on Balfour of Burley tb. 

* Mottoes, 1, 2, 3... ib. 

The Search after Happiness; or. The 

Quest of Sultaun Solimaun 667 

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address on taking 

leave of the Edinburgh Stage 671 

Lin^s written for Miss Smith ib. 

The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill 672 

The Monk's of Bangor's March ib. 

• Letter to his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch 673 

FaoM Rob Roy. 

* To the Memory of Edward the Black 

Prince' 678 

* Trauslation from Ariosto 674 

♦Mottoes, 1-5 ib. 

Epilogue to The Appeal «76 



FAV 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECEa 

Mackrimmon's Lament 67S 

Donald Caird 's come again 676 

Fbom the Heaet of Mid-Lothian. 

♦Madge Wildfire'a Songs 67") 

♦Mottoes, 1-7 67f 

From the Bride of Lammermooe. 

* Lucy Ashton's Song tb. 

* Norman, the Forester's Song ib. 

♦The Prophecy 671 

♦Mottoes, 1-6 ib. 

From the Legend of Monteosk. 

* Ancient GaeUc Melody ib. 

* The Orphan Maid 68C 

* Mottoes, 1, 2, 3 ib 

From Ivanhoe. 

* The Crusader's Return 681 

♦The Barefooted Friar ib. 

♦Saxon War-Song 68S 

* Rebecca's Hymn ib. 

♦The Black Knight's Song 68£ 

* Song — The Black Knight and Waraba ib. 

* Funeral Hymn ib. 

♦Mottoes, 1-9 684 



Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine 686 

From the Monastery. 

Songs of the White Lady of Avenel — 

♦ On Tweed River ib. 

♦To the Sub-Prior ib. 

♦ToHalbert 68« 

♦ Halbert's Second Interview 687 

♦To Mary Avenel 685 

♦To Edward Glendinning ib. 

♦The White Lady's Farewell ib. 

♦ Border Ballad 689 

♦Mottoes, 1-20 ib. 

Fkom the Abbot. 

♦ The Pardoner's Advertisement 691 

♦Mottoes, 1-17 i&. 

From Kenilworth. 

♦ Goldthred's Song )»2 

♦ Speech of the Porter at Kenilworth 

Castle 698 

♦Mottoes, 1-13 ih 

From the Pirate. 

♦ The Song of the Tempest 694 

♦Claud Halcro's Song 69» 

♦ Harold Harfa;;er'8 Song ib 



CONTENTS. 



PAOS 

.YRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
From the Pieate. 

* Song of the Mermaids and Mermen ... 695 
•Noma's Song 696 

* Claud Halcro and Noma ib. 

*Snng of the Zethmd Fishermen 697 

» Cleveland's Songs 698 

* Claud Halcro's Verses ib. 

* Noma's Incantations ib. 

* Bryce Snailsfoot's Advertisement 700 

» Mottoes, 1-12 ib. 



On Ettrick Forest's Mountains dim 701 

Farewell to the Muse 702 

The Maid of Isla ib. 

Carle, now the King's come : being new 

words to an auld spring ib. 

Part Second 703 

Feom the Fortunes of Nigel. 

♦Mottoes, 1-24 706 



Fboh Peveril of the Peas. 
♦Mottoes, 1-19 



707 



From Qukntin Dprwaed. 

* Song — County Guy 709 

♦Mottoes, 1-10 ib. 

Fboh St Ronan's Well, 

♦Mottoes, 1-9 710 



The Bannatyne Club ib. 

♦ Letter in Verse to J. G. Lockhart, Esq., 

on the composiiion of Maida's Epitaph 712 
Lines, addressed to Monsieur Alexandre, 

the celebrated Ventriloquist 713 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on " St. 

Ronan's Well" ib. 

Epilogue — (Queen Mary) 714 

From Redgauntlet. 

♦ "As Lords their Laborers* hire delay" 715 

From The Betrothed. 

♦Song — Soldier, Wake ib. 

* Tlie Truth of Woman ib. 

♦ I asked of my Harp ib. 

♦ Mottoes, 1-6 716 

F«oH the Talismak. 

♦ Ahriman 716 

♦ Song of Blondel— The Bloody Vest ... 717 

The Bloody Vest— Fytte Second ... 718 

•Mottoea, 1-10 ib. 



PASI 

LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

♦ Lines — " When with Poetry dealing" 71* 

From Woodstock. 

♦An hour with thee 720 

♦Mottoes, 1-8 iik 

♦ Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp 72. 

♦ Mottoes from Chbonioles of the Canos- 
gaxe A 

From the Fair Maid of Perth. 

♦llie Lay of Poor Louise ib. 

♦Death Chant 721 

♦ Song of the Glee-Maiden ib. 

♦Mottoes, 1-5 728 

♦The Death of Keeldar ib. 

From Anne of GErsRSTEiN. 

♦ The Secret Tribunal 724 

♦Mottoes, 1-12 ib. 

The Foray 728 

Inscription for the Mo&cm£:l j( the Rev. 

George Scott 728 

♦Lines on Fortune ib. 

♦ Mottoes from Count Robert of Pabis, 

1-18 ib. 

♦ Mottoes from Castle Danoerouh, 1-6.... 728 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 

Halidon Hill; a Dramatic Sketch fbom 

Scottish History 729 

Preface ib. 

Act I.— Scene L 781 

Macduff's Cross 748 

Dedication. t6. 

Introduction ib. 

Scene L tb. 

The Doom of Deyobooii. 759 

Preface yh. 

Act I.— Scene L , 764 

Auchindeane ; or, The A tbshibb Tragedy 784 

Preface ib. 

Act L— Scene L 790 

The House of Aspbn. 812 

Advertisement ib. 

Act I.— Scene L 811 



TBI 



POETICAL WORKS 



0» 



SIE WALTER SCOTT, BART. 



®l)e Caa of \\)t Cast itlinstrcl: 

A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS 



Dnm lelego, scripsiase pndet ; quia piniima oemo, 
Me quoqae, qui feci, jadice, digna lini. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO EDITION 1833. 

The Inteoduction to the Lay of The Last Min- 
jTKEL, -written in AprU, 1830, was revised by the 
Author in the autumn of 1831, when he also made 
some corrections in the text of the Poem, and sev- 
eral additions to the notes. The work is now 
printed from his interleaved copy. 

It is much to be regretted that the original MS. 
i.f this Poem has not been preserved. We are 
thus denied the advantage of comparing through- 
out the Author's various readings, which, in the 
^;ase of Marmion, the Lady of the Lake, the Lord 
f>f the Isles, &c., are often higlily curious and in- 
Ktructive. — Ed. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

A POEM of nearly thirty years' standing' may be 
(apposed hardly to need an Introduction, since, 
without one, it has been able to keep itself afloat 
^iojougb the best part of a generation. Neverthe- 
.BSA, as, in the edition of the Waverley Novels now 
in on»ir<w of publication [1830], I have imposed on 
myself the task of saying something concerning the 
purpose and history of each, in their turn, I am 
Jesirous that the Poems for which I first received 
"ome marks of the public favor, should also be ac- 
ompanied with such scraps of their literary his- 

1 PabI shed it. -Ito (£1 5s.), Janoary, 1805. 
o 



tory as may be supposed to carry interest aJon^ 
with them. Even if I should be mistaken in think 
ing that the secret history of what was once so 
popular, may still attract public attention and cu 
riosity, it seems to me not without its use to record 
the manner and circimistances under which the 
present, and other Poems on the same plan, at 
tained for a season an extensive reputation. 

I must resume the story of my literary labors at 
the period at which I broke oif in the Essay on the 
Imitation of Popular Poetry [see post], when I had 
enjoyed the first gleam of public favor, by the suc- 
cess of the first edition of the Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. The second edition of that work; 
published in 1803, proved, in the language of the 
trade, rather a heavy concern. The demand in 
Scotland had been suppUed by the first edition, and 
the curiosity of the Enghsh was not much avaken- 
ed by poems in the rude garb of antiquity, accom- 
panied with notes referring to the obscure feuds of 
barbarous clans, of whose very names civUized Ijw- 
tory was ignorant. It was, on the whole, one of 
those books which are more praised than they are 
read.' 

At this time I stood personally in a different po 
sition from that which I occ ipied when I first dipt 
my desperate pen in ink for other purposes than 
those of my profession. In 1796, when I first pub 

s " The ' Lay' is the best of all possible commentt on ihi 
Border Minsttehy."— British Critic. August, lfi<t5 



10 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Iwhed the translations from Burger, I -was an insu- 
lated individual, \ritb only my own wants to pro- 
vide for, and having, in a great measure, my own 
inclinations alone to consult. In 1803, when the 
second edition of the Minstrelsy appeai'ed, I had 
arrived at a period of life when men, however 
thoughtless, encounter duties and circmt.stances 
whi<*h press consideration and plans of life upon 
thf most careless minds. I had been for some time 
carried — was the father of a rising family, and, 
though fully enabled to meet the consequent de- 
mauds upon me, it was my duty and desire to place 
myself in a situation wliich would enable rile to 
make honorable provision against the various con- 
tingencies of hfe. 

It may be readily supposed that the attempts 
■vliich I had made in literature had been unfavor- 
able to my success at the bar. The goddess The- 
mis is, at Edinburgh, and I suppose everywhere 
else, of a pecuharly jealous disposition. She will 
not readily consent to share her authority, and 
sternly demands from her votaries, not only that 
real duty be carefuUy attended to and discharged, 
but that a certain air of business shall be observed 
even in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, 
if not absolutely necessary, in a young barrister, 
to appear completely engrossed by his profession ; 
however destitute of employment he may in real- 
ity be, he ought to preserve, if possible, the ap- 
pearance of full occupation. He should, therefore, 
seem perpetually engaged amon^' his law-paper.s, 
Justing them, as it were ; and, as Ovid advises 
the fair. 

Si nnllns ent pnlvis, tamen excnte nullum."! 

Perhaps such extremity of attention is more espe- 
cially required, considering the great number of 
comisellors who are called to the bar, and how very 
email a proportion of them are finally disposed, or 
find encouragement, to follow the law as a profes- 
si )n. Hence the number of deserters is so great, 
that the least lingering look behind occasions a 
voung novice to be set down as one of the intend- 
Lig fugitives. Certain it is, that the Scottish The- 
Diis was at this time peculiaidy jealous of any flirt- 
ii I inn with the Muses, on the part of those who had 
ranged themselves under her banners. This was 
j)T obnbl Y owing to her consciousness of the superior 
attractions of her rivals. Of late, however, she has 
relaxed in some instances in tliis particular, an em- 
uiout example of wliich has been shown in the case 
of my fiiend, Mr. Jetfrey, who, after long conducts 
ing one of the most mfluential literary periodicals 
of the age, with unquestionable abihty, has been, 

1 If da»t be nooe, yet brush that none away. 

* Mr. Jeffrey, after concincting the Edinburgh Review for 
nrauty-seven years, witli Irew from thct office in !&'%, on bein^ 



by the general consent of his brethren, recently 
elected to be their Dean of Faculty, or President 
— being the highest acknowledgment of his pro 
fessional talents which they had it in their powei 
to offer." But tliis is an incident much beyond the 
ideas of a period of thirty years' distance, when a 
barrister who really possessed any turn for lighter 
literature, was at as much pains to concf^al it, as ii 
it had in reality been something to be asliamnd of 
and I could mention more than one iiLstsmce if 
which literature and society liave sutierei mudi 
loss, that jurisprudence might be enriched 

Such, however, was not my case ; for the readoi 
wUl not wonder that my open interference with 
matters of hght Uterature diminished my employ- 
ment in the weightier matters of the law. Not 
did the solicitors, upon whose choice the counsel 
takes rank in Ids profession, do me less than jus- 
tice, ,by regarding others among my contempora- 
ries as fitter to discharge the duty due to their 
clients, than a young man who was taken up with 
running after ballads, whether Teutonic or national 
My profession and I, therefore, came to stand near- 
ly upon the footuig which honest Slender consoled 
himself on having established with Mistress Anne 
Page : " Tliere was no great love between us at 
the beginning, and it pleased Heaven to decrease 
it on farther acquaintance." I became sensiole that 
the time was come when I must either ouclde my- 
self resolutely to the " toil by day, the lamp by 
night," renouncing all the Dehlahs of my imagina- 
tion, or bid adieu to the profession of the law, 
'and hold another course. 

I confess my own inclination revolted from the 
more severe choice, which might have been deemed 
by many the wiser alternative. As my transgres- 
sions had been numerous, my repentance must have 
been signalized by miusual sacrifices. I ought to 
have mentioned, that since my fourteenth or fif 
teenth year, my health, originally delicate, had 
become extremely robust. From infancy I had 
labored under the mfu'mity of a severe lameness, 
but, as I believe is usually the case with men of 
spirit who suffer under personal uicouveniences of 
this nature, I had, since the improvement of mj 
health, m defiance of tliis incapacitating circum 
stance, distinguished myself by the endiu-ance o; 
toil on foot or horseback, havbig often waLsed thii t) 
miles a day, and rode upwards of a hundred ■without 
resting. In tliis manner 1 made many pleasant jour 
neys through parts of the country then not very ac 
ces.sible, gaining more amucement and instruction 
than I have been able to acquire since I have travel 
led in a more commodious manner. I practised most 

elected Dean of the Facolty of Advocates. In 1830, nndei 
Earl Grey's Ministry, he was appointed Lord Advocate o' 
Scotland, and, in 1834, a Senator of tlie Col'ege of J.etice bt 
the title of Lord Jeffrey.- -Ed. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



11 



111 van *po"ts also, -with some success, and -with great 
delight. But these pleasxires must have been all 
resigned, or used with gi-eat moderation, had I de- 
termined to regain my station at the bar. It \ as 
even doubtful whether I coiild, with perfect chjir- 
acter as a jurisconsult, retiiin a situation in a vol- 
unteer corps of cavalry, which I tlien held. The 
threats of invauion were at this time instant and 
menacing ; the call by Britain on her cliildren was 
griversal, and was answered by some, who, ILke 
myself consulted rather their desire than their 
ability to bear arms. My services, however, were 
found useful in assisting to maintain the discipline 
of the corps, being the point on which their consti- 
tution rendered them most amenable to military 
criticism. In other respects, the squadron was a 
fine one, consisting chiefly of handsome men, well 
mriunted, and armed at their own expense. My 
attention to tlie corps took up a good deal of time ; 
and while it occupied many of the happiest hom-s 
of my hfe, it furnished an additional reason for my 
reluctance again to encounter the severe course of 
study indispensable to success in the juridical pro- 
fession. 

On the other hand, my father, whose feelings 
might have been hurt by my quitting the bar, had 
been for two or three years dead, so that I had no 
control to tliwart my own inclmation ; and my in- 
come being equal to all the comforts, and some of 
the elegancies, of hfe, I was not pressed to an irk- 
«ome labor by necessity, that most powerful of mo- 
tives • consequently, I was the more easily seduced 
to choose the employment which was most agree- 
nble to me. This was yet the easier, that in 1800 
I had obtained the preferment of Sheriff of Sel- 
kirkshire, about £300 a year m value, and which 
was the more agreeable to me, as m that county 
I had several fi-iends and relations. But I did 
aot abandon the profession to wliich I had been 
educated, without certain prudential resolutions, 
wliich, at the risk of some egotism, I will here 
mention ; not without the hope that they may be 
useful to young persons who may stand in circmn- 
Btances similar to those in wliich I then s1 ood. 

In the first place, upon considering the lives and 
f.^rtunes of persons who had given themselves up 
l^ hterature, or to the task of jilcasing the public, 
c seemed to me that the circumstances wliich 
chiefly effected tlieii" happiness and character, were 
those from wliich Horace. has bestowed upon au- 
thors the epithet of the Irritable Race. It re- 
quires no depth of philosopliic reflection to per- 
ceive, that the petty warfare of Pope with the 
Dunces of his period could not have been carried 
m without his suffering the most acute tortiu-e, 
mch as a man must endure from musquitocE, by 
whose stings he suffers agony, although he can 
crush them in his grasp by myriads. Nor is it ne- 



cessary to call to memory the many humiliating 
instances in wliich men of the greatest genius have, 
to avenge some pitiful quarrel, made theiuselve? 
ridicidous during their lives, to become the stil/ 
more degraded objects of pity to futm-e times. 

Upon the whole, as I had no pretension to the 
genius of the distinguished persons who had fallen 
mto such errors, I concluded there could be no oo 
casion for imitatmg them in their mistakes, or wha' 
I considered as such ; and in adopting literary pur- 
suits as the principal occupation of my future hfe, 
I resolved, if possible, to avoid those weaknessef 
of temper wliich seemed to have most easily beset 
my more celebrated predecessors. 

With this view, it was my first resolution to 
keep as far as was in my power abreast of society 
continuing to mamtain my place in general com 
pany, without yielding to the very natural temp 
tation of narrowing myself to what is called hter 
ary society. By doing so, I imagined I should es 
cape the besetting sin of hstening to langmge 
which, from one motive or other, is apt to ascribt 
a very undue degree of consequence to literary 
pursuits, as if they were, indeed, the business, 
rather than the amusement, of life. The opposite 
course can only be compared to the injudicious con- 
duct of one who pampers himself with cordial and 
"luscious draughts, mitil he is unable to endure 
wholesome bitters. Like Gil Bias, therefore, I re- 
solved to stick by the society of my vmnviis, in- 
stead of seeking that of a more hterary cast, and 
to maintain my general interest in what was going 
on around me, reserving the man of letters for the 
desk and the library. 

My second resolution was a corollary fi'om the 
first. I determined that, without shutting my 
ears to the voice of true criticism, I would pay no 
regard to that which assumes the form of satire 
I therefore resolved to arm myself with that triple 
brass of Horace, of wliich those of my profession 
are seldom held deficient, against all the roving 
warfare of satire, parody, and sarcasm ; to laugli 
if the jest was a good one, or, if otherwise, to let j 
it hum and buzz itself to sleep. 

It is to the observance of these rules (according 
to my best behef), that, after a hfe of tliirty years 
engaged in literary labors of \arious kinds, I at- 
tribute my never having been entangled m anj 
hterary quarrel or controversy ; and, which is b 
still more pleasing result, that I have been disfin 
guished by the personal friendship of my most ap 
proved contemporaries of all parties. 

I adopted, at the same tune, another resolution, 
on wliich it may doubtless be remarked, that il 
was well for me that I had it in my power to d( 
so, and that, therefore, it is a line of conduct wluiJi 
dependmg upon accident, can be less generally ap 
phcable in other cases. Yet i fail not to re'oro 



this part of my plan, ronvinced that, though it 
t!j;iV' not be in every one's power to adopt exactly 
I he same resolution, he may nevertheless, by liis 
''■wTi exertions, in some shape or other, attain the 
'bj'ict on •^■iiidi it was founded, namely, to secure 
'hn means of subsistence, without reh'ing exclu- 
'ivflly on literary talents. In this respect, I de- 
;«nn:ned tijvt literature should be my staff, but 
vn my crutcli, and that the profits of my literary 
nKir, however convenient otherwise, should not, 
f I coidd help it, become necessary to my ordi- 
iiaiy expenses. With this purpose I resolved, if 
the interest of my friend' could so far favor me, 
ti retire upon any of the respectable otEces of the 
!aw, in which persons of that profession are glad 
".o take refuge, when they feel themselves, or are 
jidj/ed by others, incompetent to aspire to its 
liigher honors. ITpon such a post an autiior mig'ht 
hope to retreat, without any perceptible alteration 
I if circun^stances, whenever the time should arrive 
that the public grew weary of his endeavors to 
; 'lease, or he liimself should tire of the pen. At 
tliis period of my life, I possessed so many friends 
capable of assisthig me in this object of ambition, 
that I could hardly overrate my own prospects 
I'f obtaining the preferment to wluch I limited ray 
^N'ishes ; and, in fact, I obtained in no long period 
the reversion of a situation which completely met 
tiiem. 

Thus far all was well, and the Attthor had been 
:.'iiilty, perhaps, of no great imprudence, when he 
ndiiiquished his forensic practice with the hope of 
making .some figure in the field of literature. But 
in established character with the pubUc, in my new 
i.-apacity, still remained to be acquired. I have 
noticed, that the translations fi-om Biirger had been 
unsuccessful, nor had the original poetry which ap- 
peared under tlie au.spices of Mr. Lewis, in the 
•Tales of Wonder," in any great degree raised 
my reputation. It is true, I had private friends 
di3))oscd to spcond me in my efforts to obtain pop- 
ularity. But I was sportsman enough to know, 
t.hat if the greyhound does not run well, the hal- 
• >os of his patrons will not obtaiii the prize for liim. 

Neither was I ignorant that the practice of bal- 
■--id writing was for the present out of fasliion, and 
hat any attempt to revive it, or to found a poeti- 
al character upon it, would certainly fail of suc- 
cess. Tlie ballad measure itself, wliich was once 
istened to as *o an enchanting melody, had be- 
fome hackneyed and sickening, from its being the 
\ u-ompajument of every grinding hand-organ ; and 

I Thas it ha.1 been often remarked, that, in tfie opening 
"•ni-lv-u of Pope's translation of the Iliad, there are two syl- 
dble? forming a 8U|)erfluous word in each line, as may be ob- 
«ve-t by attending to such words as are printed in Italics. 
" Aohilles' wratli to Greece the direful spring 
Ot woes DnnombtrM, heavenly goddess, sing ; 



besides, a long work in quatrains, whether those 

of the conmion ballad, or such as are termed ele 
giac, has an effect upon the mind like that of the 
bed of Procrustes upon the human body ; for, as it 
must be both awkward and difiicult to carry on a 
long sentence from one stanza to anf:>ther, it fol- 
lows, that the meaning of each period mus'f, be 
comprehended witliin four Imes, and equally se 
that it must be extended so as to fill that space 
The alternate dilation and contraction thus ren- 
dered necessary is singularly unfavorable to nar- 
rative composition ; and the " Gondibert" of Sir 
William D'Avenant, though containing many strik- 
ing passages, has never become popular, owing 
chiefly to its being told in this species of elegiac 
verse. 

In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, the 
idea occurred to the Author of using the measured 
short Une, which forms the structure of so much 
minstrel poetry, that it may be properly termed 
the Romantic stanza, by way of distinction ; and 
which appears so natural to our language, that tha 
very best of our poets have not been able to pro- 
tract it into the verse properly called Heroic, with- 
out the use of epithets which are, to say the least, 
unnecessary.' But, on the other hand, the extreme 
facility of the short couplet, wliich seems conge- 
nial to our language, and was, doubtless for that 
reason, so popular with our old minstrels, is, for 
the same reason, apt to prove a snare to the com- 
poser who uses it in more modern days, by en- 
cotu-aging him in a habit of slovenly composition. 
The necessity of occasional pauses often forceu the 
young poet to pay more attention to sense, as the 
boy's kite rises highest when the train is loaded by 
a due counterpoise. The Author was therefore 
intimidated by what Byron calls the " fatal facil- 
ity" of the octo.syllabic verse, which was otherwise 
better adapted to his purpose of imitating the more 
ancient poetry. 

I was not less at a loss for a subj&!t whicli might 
admit of being treated with the simphcity and 
wildness of the ancient ballad. But accident dic- 
tated both a theme and measiu-e, wliict decided 
the subject, as weU as the structure of the poem. 

The lovely young Countess of Dallfeith, after- 
wards Harriet Duchess of Buccleuch, h.id come to 
the land of her husband with the desire of making 
herself acquainted with its traditions and cu.stoms, 
as well as its manners and history. All who re- 
member tliis lady wOl agree, that the intellectual 
character of her extreme beauty, the amenity anj 

That wrath which sent to Pluto.'s gloomy reign, 
The souls of mighty chiefs in battle slain, 
Wliose bones, unburied on the desert shore, 
I>9vouring do* and hungry valtares tore." 



eourtesy of her maimers, the somidness of h ir vm- 
derstanding, and her mibomided beuevolerie, gave 
more the idea of an angelic visitant, thrn of a be- 
ing belonging to this nether world ; ind such a 
thought was but too consistent with *be short space 
she was permitted to tarry among js.' Of course, 
where all made it a pride and pleasm-e to gratify 
\yx wishes, she soon heard enough of Border lore ; 
among others, an aged fje'itleman of property,' 
near Langhohn, commupicnted to her ladyship the 
story of Gilpin Horner a tradition in which the 
narrator, and many rrore of that country, were 
firm beUevers. Tb'. young Countess, much de- 
lighted with the legend, and the gravity and full 
confidence with v hich it was told, enjoined on me 
as a task fo ompose a ballad on the subject. Of 
course, to hea- was to obey ; and thus the goblin 
story, ob'eitid to by several critics as an excres- 
ceocf upop the poem, was, in fact, the occasion of 
ita be'ng written. 

A chance similar to that wliich dictated the sub- 
ject, gave me also the hint of a new mode of treat- 
ing it. We had at that time the lease of a pleas- 
ant cottage, near Lasswade, on the romantic banks 
of the Esk, to which we escaped when the vaca- 
lions of the Court permitted me so much leisure. 
Here I had the pleasure to receive a visit from 
Mr. Stoddart (now Sir John Stoddart, Judge-Ad- 
vocate at Malta), who was at that time collecting 
the particulars which he afterwards embodied in 
his Remarks on Local Scenery in Scotland.' I was 
of some use to him in procuring the information 
which fce desired, and guiding him to the scenes 
which he wished to see. In return, he made me 
better acquainted than I had hitherto been with 
the poetic effusions which have since made the 
Lak'^s ol Westmoreland, and the authors by whom 
they have been sung, so famous wherever the En- 
glish tongue is spoken. 

I was already acquainted with the "Joan of 
Arc," the "Thalaba," and the "Metrical Ballads" 
of Mr. Southey, which had found their way to 
Scotland, and were generally admired. But Mr. 
Stoddart, who had the advantage of personal 
friendship with the authors, and who possessed a 
strong memory with an excellent taste, was able 

1 Th» Dnchess died in Angnst, 1814. Sir Walter Scott'i 
liaes OL hor death will be found in a subsequent page of this 
lollectioti. — Ed. 

5 This was M..' Beattie of Mickledale, a man then consider- 
ably Ujiwards of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic temper, 
which he did not at all times suppress, as the following anec- 
iote will show : — A worthy clergyman, now deceased, with 
better good-will than tact, was endeavoring to push the senior 
forward in his recollection of Border ballads and legends, by 
txpressing reiterated surprise at his wonderful memory. " No, 
nr," said old Mickledale ; " my memory is good for little, for 
li "annot retain what ought to be preserved. I can remember 
ul tiiese ttoies about *he auld riding days, which are of ii3 



to repeat to me many long specimens of their poet 
ry, wliich had not yet appeared in print. Amt iigsl 
others, was the striking fragment called Christabel, 
by JVIr. Coleridge, which, from the singularly irreg 
ular structiure of the stanzas, and the hberty wliicb 
it allowed the author, to adapt the som:id to the 
sense, seemed to be exactly suited to such an ex 
travaganza as I meditated on the subject of Gilpii 
Horner. As appUed to a>mic and humorous pc 
etry, this mescolanza of measures had beer, alrtd'i^ 
used by Anthony HaU, Anstey, Dr. Wolcott, and 
others ; but it was in Christabel that I first fuune 
it used in serious poetry, and it is to Mr. Colendgf 
that I am boimd to make the acknowledgment due 
from the pupil 'o his master. I observe that Loid 
BjTon, in noticing my obligations to Mr. Coleridge, 
which I have been always most ready to acknowl 
edge, expressed, or was understood to express, 
hope, that I ilid not write an unfriendly review o. 
Mr. Coleridge's productions.* On this subject 
have only to say, that I do not even know the re 
view which is alluded to ; and were I ever to takt 
the imbecoming freedom of censuring a man of Mr 
Coleridge's extraordinary talents, it would be on 
accoimt of the caprice and indolence with which ht 
has thrown from him, as if in mere wautoimess, 
those unfinished scraps of poetry, which, like tlu 
Torso of antiquity, defy the skill of his poetical 
brethren to complete them."" The charmuig frag 
ments which the author abandons to their fate, 
are surely too valuable to be treated like the 
proofs of careless engravers, the sweepings oJ 
whose studios often make the fortune of some 
painstaking collector. 

I did not immediately proceed upoa my pra 
jected labor, though I was now furnished with a 
subject, and with a structiu-e of verse wliich might 
have the effect of novelty to the public ear, and 
afford the author an opportunity of varying \ui 
measure with the variations of a romantic theme. 
On the contrary, it was, to the best of my recol- 
lection, more than a year after Mr. Stoddart's visit, 
that, by way of experiment, I composed the fii'st 
two or three siaruas of "The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel." I was shortly afterwards visited ty 
two intimate friends, one of whom stiU survivea 

earthly importance ; but were you, reverend sir, to repeat t*^ 
best sermon in this drawing-room, I could not tell you half at 
hour afterwards what you had been speaking about." 

s Two volumes, royal octavo. 1801. 

* Medwin's Conversations of Lord Byron, p. 309. 

' Sir Walter, elsewhere, in allusion to "Coleridge's beauti- 
ful and tantalizing fragment of Christabel," says, " Has no^ 
our own imaginative poet cause to fear that future ages will 
desire to summon him from his place of rest, as Milton lancet 

' To call up him who left half told 
The story of Cambusoan bold V " 

JVotes to the jlbbtt — E» 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



They were men whose talents might have raised 
them to the liighest station in hteratiu'e, had they 
not prefeiTed r-^ertiug tliem in their own profes- 
eion of the law, in wliich they attained equal pre- 
ferment. I was in the habit of consulting them on 
my attempts at composition, having equal confi- 
dence in their sound tast.* and friendly sincerity.' 
'n thii specUaen I had, in the phraj^e of the High- 
uni servant, packed all that was my own at least, 
for ] fiad also mcluded a line ol invocation, a 
atJ.le soft en 5- 1, from Coleridge — 

" Mary, mother, shield us well." 

As neither of my friends said much to me on the 
subject of the stanzas I showed them before their 
departure, I had no doubt that their disgust had 
been greater than their good-nature chose to ex- 
press. Looking upon them, therefore, as a failure, 
I thr«w the manuscript into the fire, and thought 
as Uttle more as I could of the matter. Some 
time afterwards, I met one of my two counsellors, 
who inquired, with considerable appearance of i*.- 
terest, about the progress of the romance I had 
commenced, and was greatly surprised at learning 
its fate. He confessed that neither he nor our 
mutual friend had been at first able to give a 
precise opinion on a poem so much out of the 
common road ; but that as they walked home to- 
gether to the city, they had talked much on the 
subject, and the result was an earnest desire that 
I would proceed with the composition. He also 
added, that some sort of prologue might be neces- 
»ary, to place the mind of the hearers in the situa- 
tion to understand and enjoy the poem, and recom- 
mended the adoption of such quaint mottoes as 
Spenser has used to annoimce the contents of the 
d apters of the Faery Queen, such as — 

" Babe's bloody hands may not be cleansed 
The face of golden Mean : 
Her sisters two, ExrrfTnities, 
Strive her to banish clean." > 

I entirely agreed with my friendly critic in the 
necessity of having some sort of pitch-pipe, which 
might make readers aware of the object, or rather 
the tone, of the publication. But I doubted wheth- 
er, in assuming the oracular style of Spenser's 
tnttt'H>s, tfce interpreter might not be censured as 
the border to be imderstood of the two. I there- 
fore introduced the Old Minstrel, as an appropri- 
ate yjrolocutor, by whom the lay might be stmg, or 
spoken, and the uitroduction of whom betwixt the 

' One of these, William Erskine, Esq. (Lord Kinnedder), I 
nave often had occasion to mention ; and though I may hardly 
■"e thanked for disclosing the name of the other, yet I cannot 
«at state tliat the second is George Crunstonn, Esq., now a 
Senator of the College of Justice, by the title of Lord Core- 
louw. 1831 — [Mr. CiuistouD resigned is seat on the Bench 
« 1839.': 



cantos, might remind the reader, at intei vala, o! 
the time, place, and circimistaiicen of the recita- 
tion. This species of cadre, or frame, afterward* 
afforded the poem its name of " The Lay of the 
Last MinstreL" 

The work was subsequently shown to othel 
friends during its progress, and received the tw 
primatur of Mr. Francis Jeffrey, who had beer 
already for some time distinguished by his crit ica) 
talent. 

The poem, being once licensed by the critict at 
fit for the market, was soon finished, proceeding at 
about the rate of a canto per week. There was, 
indeed, little occasion for pause or hesitation, when 
a troublesome rhyme might be accommodated by 
an alteration of the stanza, or where an incorrect * 
measure might \jc remedied by a variation of the 
rhyme. It was finally pubUshed in 1805, and may 
be regarded as the first work in which the writer, 
who has been since so voluminous, laid his claiir 
to be considered as an original author. 

The book was pubhshed by Longman and CoiB 
I pany, and Archibald Constable and Company. Th« 
principal of the latter firm was then conunencing 
that course of bold and Uberal industry wliich was 
of so much advantage to his country, and might 
have been so to himself, but for causes wliich it La 
needless to enter into here. The work, brought 
out on the usual terms of division rf profits bp 
tween the author and pubhshers, was not long 
after ptirchased by them for £500, to which 
Messrs. Longman and Company afterwards added 
£100, in their own unsoUcited kindness, in ^couse- 
quence of the uncommon success of the work. It 
was handsomely given to supply the loss of a fine 
horse, which broke down suddenly while the au- 
thor was riding with one of the worthy publish- 
ers.' 

It would be great affectation not to own 
frankly, that the author expected some success 
from "The Lay of the Last MinstreL" The at 
tempt to return to a more simple and natural 
style of poetry was likely to be welcomed, at a 
time when the public had become tired of heroic 
hexameters, with all the buckram and binduig 
which belong to them of later days. But what- 
ever might have been his expectations, whethei 
moderate or unreasonable, the result left them fai 
beliind, for among those who smiled for the adven 
tiu*ous Minstrel, were numbered the great names 
of Wilham Pitt and Charles Fox.* Neither was 

1 Book II. Canto II. 

• Mr. Owen Rees, here allnded to, retired from the hoDse ol 
Longman & Co. at Midsummer, 1837, and died 5th 9eptembe( 
following, in his 67th year. — Ed. 

< " Througli what channel or in what terms Fox made knows 
his opinion of the Lay, I have failed to ascertain. Pitt's piaise 
as expressed to his niece. Lady Hester Htan^vi* within a few 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



It 



ihe extent of the oale inferior to the character of 
the judges who received the poem with approba- 
tioa Upwards of thirty thousand copies of the 
Lay were disposed of by the trade ; and the au- 
thor had to perform a task difficult to human 
vanity, when called upon to make the necessary 

weeks after the poem appeared, was repeated by her to Mr. 
l\'illiani Stewart Rose, who, of course, communicated it forth- 
>vith to the author ; and not long after, the Minister, in con- 
rersation with Scott's early friend, the Right Hon. William 
Uundas, signified that it would give him pleasure to find some 
opportunity of advancing the fortunes of such a writer. " I 
remember," writes this gentleman, "at Mr. Pitt's table in 
1805, the Chancellor asked me about you and your then situa- 
tion, and after I had answered him, Mr. Pitt observed — ' He 
can't remain as he is,' and desired me to ' look to it.' " — 
LocKHART. Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 236. 

I " The poet has ander«8timated even the patent and tangi- 
tie evidence of bis saccess. The first edition of the Lay wai 
I nafnifioeBt qaarto, 750 oopie» ; bat tbi* wbj Kan nhaait' 



I 



deductions from his own merits, m a calm attempt 
to accoimt for his popularity.' 

A few additional remarkb on the author's liter 
ary attempts after this period, will be foimd in 
the Introduction to the Pocm of Marmioji 
Abbotsfoed, April, 1830. 

ed, and there followed, an octavo impre»tl<ra of 'V'C ; in 1801 
two more, one of 2000 copies, another of 2250 ; in 1807, a fifti 
edition of 2000, and a sixth of 3000 ; in 1808, 3550 , in 180P 
3000 — a small edition in quarto (the ballads and lyrical ■"'ece 
being then annexed to it) — and another octavo edition o' 
3250; in 1811, 3000; in 1812, 3000; in 1816, 3000; in 1623 
1000. A fourteenth impression of 2000 foolscap appeared in 
1825; and besides all this, before the end of 1836, 11,000 
copies had gone forth in the collected editions of his poetica 
wwrks. Thus, nearly forty-four thousand copies had been dis- 
posed of in this country, and by the legitimate »ade alone, 
before he superintended the edition of 1830, to which his bio 
graphical introductions were prefixed. In flie history of Brit- 
ish Poetry nothing had ever equalled the demand for Um Lai 
of tlM La«t Minsti*!."— Z/^«, vol. u. p. 931. 



16 



©he £aa of tlie Cast iltinatrd. 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONORABLE 

CHARLES EARL OF DALKEITH. 

THIS POEU IS INSCRIBED BT 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

The Poem now offered to tlie Public, is intended to illustrate the customs and manners which anaentlf 
prevailed on the Borders of England and Scotland. The inhabitants living in a state partly pastoral 
and partly warlike, and combining habits of constant depredation with the influence of a rude spirit oj 
chivalry, were often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical orimm^nt. As the description oj 
teener y and manners was more the object of the Author than a combined and regular narrative, the plan 
of the Ancient Metrical Romance was adopted, which allows greater latitude, in this respect, than would 
be consistent loith the dignity of a regular Poem. The same model offered other facilities, as it permits 
an occasional alteration of meas^ire, which, in some degree, authorizes the change of rhythm in the text? 
The muchinery, also, adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile in a Poem which did not 
partake of the rudeness of the old Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put info the mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the last of the race, who, 
at he is supposed to have survived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of the refinement oJ 
modern poetry, without losing tJie simplicity of his original model. The date of the Tale itself is abmii 
ihe tniddle of the sixteenth century, wlien moat of the personages actiMlly flourished. The time occuviea 
If the action is Three Nights and Th^ee Days} 



INTRODUCTION. 

The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 

I «' The chief excellence of the Lay consists in the beanty 
of the descriptions of local scenery, and the accnrate picture 
of castoms and manners among the Scottish Borderers at the 
trme it refers to. The various exploits and adventures which 
occur in tno« half-civilized times, when the bands of govern- 
ment were so loosely twisted, that every man depended for 
■afety more on his own arm, or the prowess of his chief, than 
on the civil power, may be said to hold a middle rank between 
uistory and private anecdote. War is always most picturesque 
where it is least formed into a science ; it has most variety and 
lnterp«t where the prowess and activity of individuals has most 
play ; and the nocturnal expedition of Diomed and Ulysses to 
ieize the chariot and horses of Rhesus, or a raid of the Scotts 
or the Kerrs to drive cattle, will make a better figure in verse, 
than all the battles of the great King of Prussia. The aleuth- 
iog, the beacon-fires, the Jedwood-azct , the moss-troopers, 
the yell of the slogan, and all the irregular warfare of preda- 
tory expeditions, or feuds of hereditary vengeance, are far more 
captivating to the imagination than a park of artillery and bat- 
talions of well-drilled soldiers." — Annual Review, 1804. 

' It must be observed, that there is this difference between 
be license of the bid romancer, and that assumed by Mr. 
Bcott : the aberrations of the first are usually casual and 
di^ht ; those of the other, premeditated and systematic. The 
«ld romancer may be compared to a man who trusts his reins 
lo his hoTse ; his palfrey often blunders, and occasionally 
W«aka bis pace, somaMmes from vivacity, oftener through in- 



ffis inther'd cheek, and tresses gray, 
Seem'd to have known a better day ; 
The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 

dolence. Mr. Scott sets out with the intention of diverslfytqf 
his journey by every variety of motion. He is now at a trot 
now at a gallop ; nay, he sometimes stops, as if to 

* Make graceful caprioles, and prance 
Between the pillan.' 

A main objection to this plan is to be found in the shock whic) 
the ear receives from violent and abrupt transitions. On th> 
other hand, it must be allowed, that as different species o° 
verse are individually better suited to the expression of th< 
different ideas, sentiments, and passions, which it is the object 
of poetry to convey, the happiest efforts may be produced by 
adapting to the subject its most congenial structure of verse ' 
—Critical Review, 1805. 

" From the novelty of its style and subject, and from the 
spirit of its execution, Mr. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrei 
kindled a sort of enthusiasm among all classes of readers ; and 
the concurrent voice of the public assigned to it a very exalted 
rank, which, on more cool and dispassionate exasiination, iff 
numerous essential beauties will enable it to maintain. Foi 
vivid richness of coloring and truth of costume, nrany of Its 
descriptive pictures stand almost unrivalled ; it carries us back 
in imagination to the time of action ; and we wander with ths 
poet along Tweedside, or among the wild glades of Ettiick 
Forest."— .WorrtA/y Review, May, 1808. 

s '• We consider this poem as an attempt to transfer the r» 
finemena of modern poetry to the natter and the maniwr tt 



OAHO I, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



The last of all the Birds was he, 

Who sung of Border chivalry ; 

For, welladay ! their date was flp.d. 

His tuneful brethren all were dead ; 

Ajid he, neglected and oppress'd, 

^'^ish'd to be with them, and at rest.' 

tiTo more on prancing palfrey borne, 

Ho caroll'd, Ught as lark at mom ; 

No longer courted and caress' d, 

fligh placed in haU, a welcome guest, 

He pour'd, to lord and lady gay, 

Tlie unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners gone ; 

A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne ; 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had call'd his harmless art a crime. 

A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor. 

He begg'd his bread from door to door, 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 

The liarp, a ting had loved to hear. 

He pass'd where Newark's" stately tower 

Mit »ncient metrical romance. The author, enamored of the 
cft.y visions of chivalry, and partial to the strains in which 
hey were formerly embodied, seems to have employed all the 
ftjsources of his gemus in endeavoring to recall them to the 
avor and admiration of the public, and in adapting to the 
vaste of modern readers a species of poetry which was once the 
'elight of the courtly, but heis long ceased to gladden any other 
■yes than those of the scholar and the antiquary. This is a 
omance, therefore, composed by a minstrel of the present day ; 
«r such a romance as we may suppose would have been writ- 
en in modern times, if that style of composition had continued 
,0 be cultivated, and partakes consequently of the improve- 
ments wiiich every branch of literature has received since the 
ame of its desertion." — Jeffrey, April, 1805. 

' " Turning to the northward, Scott showed us the crags 
and tower of Smailholme, and behind it the shattered frag- 
ment of Erceldoune, and repeated some pretty stanzas as- 
sribed to the last of the real wandering minstrels of this dis- 
crict by name Burn ; 

' Sing Erceldoune, and Cowdenknowes, 

Where Homes had ance commanding. 
And Drygrange, wi' the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing. 
The bird that flees through Redpath trees 

And Gledswood banks each morrow. 
May chaunt and sing — Sweet Leader's haugha 

And Bonny hnwms of Yarrow. 
Bnt Minstrel Knm cannot assuage 

His grief while life endureth. 
To see the chauj; s of this age 

Which fleeting time procureth ; 
For mony a place stands in hard case. 

Where '>lylhe folks kent nae sorrow, 
With Uor-ies that dwelt on Leader side. 

And Scotts that dwelt on Yarrow.' " 

Life, vol. v\. p. 78. 

* " This is a massive square tower, now unroofed and 
nilnous, surrounded by an outward wall, defended by round 
flanking turrets. It is most beautifully situated, about three 
miles from Selkirk, upon the banks of the Yarrow, a fierce 
ud precipitous stream, which unites with the Ettricke about 
■ aula beueath tha castle 
8 



Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower: 
Tlie Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting-place was nigh. 
With hesitating step at last^ 
The embattled portal arch he pass d. 
Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
Had oft foll'd back the tide of war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess' mark'd his weary pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face, 
And bade her page the menials tell, 
That they should tend the old man well : 
For she had known adversity, 
Tliough born in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ' 

When kindness had liis wants supplied 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise liis minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon, 

" Newark Castle was built by James IL The royal arms 
with the unicorn, are engraved on a stone in the western sid* 
of the tower. There was a much more ancient castle in its 
immediate vicinity, called Auldwark, founded, it is said, by 
Alexander III. Both were designed for the royal residence 
when the king was disposed to take his pleasure in the exten- 
sive forest of Ettricke. Various grants occur in the records 
of the Privy Seal, bestowing the keeping of the Castle o! 
Newark upon different barons. There is a popular tradition 
that it was once seized, and held out by the outlaw Murray 
a noted character in song, who only surrendered Newark »|)on 
condition of being made hereditary sheriff" of the forest. A 
long ballad, containing an account of this transaction, is pre- 
served in the Border Minstrelsy (vol. i. p. 369). Upon the 
marriage of James IV. with Margaret, sister of Henry VIII.. 
the Castle of Newark, with the whole forest of Ettricke, was 
assigned to her as a part of her jointure lands. Bui of this she 
could make little advantage ; tor, after the death of her hga 
band, she is found complaining heavily, that Buccleucii had 
seized upon these lands. Indeed, the oflSce of keeper was lat- 
terly held by the fami.y of Buccleuch, and with so firm u 
grasp, that when the Forest of Ettricke was disparked, they 
obtained a grant of the Castle of Newark in property. It was 
within the courtyard of this castle that General Lesly did mili- 
tary execution upon the prisoners whom he had taken at th« 
battle of Philiphangh. The castle continued to be an oec» 
sional seat of the Buccleuch family for more than a cenfjry 
and here, it is said, the Duchess of Monmouth and Bucclenck 
was brought up. For this reason, probably, Mr Scott h» 
chosen to make it the scene in which the Lay of the Last IVlio 
strel is recited in her presence, and for her amnseTient ' — 
Schetky's Illustrations of the Lay of the Last Minstrei. 

It may be added that Bowhill was the favorite resideno* 
of Lord and Lady Dalkeith (afterwards Duke and Duchess 
of Buccleuch), at the time when the poem was composed ; the 
ruins of Newark are all but included in the park attached to 
that modem seat of the family ; and Sir Walter Scott, no 
doubt, was influenced in his choice of the locality, by th« 
predilection of the charming lady who snsgested the subjetl 
of his Lay for the scenery of the Yarrow — s be.iutifv 1 walk on 
whose banks, leading from the house to th- old oastle, is called, 
in memory of her, the Duchess's JV:ilk. — En. 

* Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmontli, represents 



18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



VAtll'J I. 



Of good Earl Francis,' dead and gone, 

And uf Eai-1 Walter," rest liim, God 1 

A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 

And how full many a tale he knew, 

Of the old warriors of Buccleuch : 

And, would the noble Duchess deign 

To hsten to an old man's strain, 

'fill ugh stiff' his hana, his voice though weak. 

Ho thought even yei, the sooth to speak, 

That, if she loved the harp to hear. 

He could make music to her ear. 

The Larable boon was soon obtain'd ; 
I'he Aged Minstrel audience gain'd. 
But, when he reach'd the room of state, 
Where she, with all her ladies, sate, 
Perchance he wish'd his boon denied : 
Foi, when to tune his harp he tried. 
His trembhng hand had lost the ease, 
Which marks security to please ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 
Came wUdering o'er his aged brain — 
He tried to time liis harp in vain !' 
The pitymg Duchess praised its chime, 
And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 
And then, he said, he would full fain 
He could recall an ancient strain. 
He never thought to sing again. 
It was not framed for village churls. 
But for high dames and mighty earls ; 
He had play'd it to King Charles the Good, 
When he kept court in Holyrood ; 
And much he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try 
The long-forgotten melody. 
Amid the strings his fingers stray' d. 
And an uncertain warbling made. 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wUd, 
The old man raised his face, and smiled ; 

ove of the ancient Lords of Bucclenoh, and widow of the nn- 
icTinrate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded in 

' Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father of the Duchess. 

* Walter, E.arl of Ruccleuch, grandfather of the Duchess 
»t^ 1 celebrated warHbr. 

> Mr. W. Dundas (see Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 226), says, 
h§' I'ltt repeated the lines, describing the old harper's embar- 
(»»iir»ent when asked to play, and said, — ' This is a sort of thing 
whkli I might have expected in painting, but could never have 
fanrjod eapalile of being given in poetry.' " 

■• " In ine very first rank of poetical excellence, we are in- 
eljnoi) to place the introductory and concluding lines of every 
eanto, in which the ancient strain is suspended, and the feel- 
ngs and situation of the minstrel himself described in the words 
•f the author. The elegance and the beauty of this setting', 
if we may so call it, though entirely of modern workmanship, 
appears to us to be fully more worthy of admiration than the 
Vilder relief of the antiques which it encloses, and leads us to 
vgrrt that the author should have wasted, in imitation and 



And lighten'd up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sovmding chords along: 
The present scene, the future lot. 
His toils, Ms wants, were all forgot • 
Cold diiEdence, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song were lost ; 
Each blank, in faithless memory void, 
The poet's glowing thought suppUed ; 
And, while liis harp responsive rimg, 
'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung.* 



^c €a^ of tlje last iHinstrel. 



CANTO FIRST. 



The feast was over in Branksome tower,* 
And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower , 
Her bower that was guarded by word and by 

spell. 
Deadly to hear and deadly to foll — 
Jesu Maria, shield us well ! 
No living wight, save the Ladye alone, 
Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 

IL 

The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all ; 

Knight, and page, and household squire, 
Loiter'd tlirough the lofty hall. 

Or crowded round the ample firtr. 
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase. 

Lay stretch'd upon the rushy floor, 
And urged, in dreams, the forest race. 

From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor.* 

antiquarian researches, so much of those powers which item 
fully equal to the task of raising him an iKdependen* repu- 
tation.^' — Jeffrey. 

' See Appendix, Note A. 

6 "The ancient romance owes much of Ks interest to ttt. 
lively picture which it affords of the times of chivalry, »nJ t> 
those usages, manners, and institutions, which we hare he«? 
accustomed to associate in our minds, with a certain comb i & 
tion of magnificence with simplicity, and ferocity with roam 
tic honor. The representations contained in those perform 
ances, however, are, for the most part, too rude and naked to give 
complete satisfaction. The execution is always extremely un- 
equal ; and though the writer sometimes touches upon the ap 
propriate feeling with great effect and felicity, still this appean 
to be done more by accident than design ; and he wanders avraj 
immediately into all sorts of ridiculous or uninteresting details, 
without any apparent consciousness of incongruity. Thes« 
defects Mr. Scott has corrected with admirable addtvaa and 
judgment in the greater part of the work now before us : and 
while he has exhibited a very striking and impressive pistora 







CANTO I. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



II 



III. 
Nine-and-twenty knighta of fame 

HuDg their shields in Branksome-HaU ;' 
'!f ine-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds to bower from stall \ 
ITme-and-twenty yeomen tall 
iVaited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all knights of mettle true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV. 

Ten of them were sheathed in steel. 
With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
Tliey quitted not their harness bright, 
Neither by day, nor yet by night : 

They lay down to rest. 

With corslet laced, 
I'illow'd on buckler cold and hard ; 

They carved at the meal 

"With gloves of steel, 
\nd they drank the red wine through the helmet 
barr'd. 



Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, 
Waited the beck of the warders ten ; 
Tliirty steeds, both fleet and wight, 
Stood saddled in stable day and night, 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow, 
And with Jedwood-axe at saddlebow ;' 
A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
Such was the custom of Branksome-HalL 

VL 

Why do these steeds stand ready dight ? 
Why watch these warriors, arm'd, by night ? — 
They watch, to hear the blood-hound baying : 
They watch to hear the war-horn braying ; 
To see St. George's red cross streaming. 
To see the midnight beacon gleaming : 
They watch, against Southern force and guile, 

•( the old feudal asag«s and institntions, he has shown still 
P'.ater talent in engrafting apon those descriptions all the ten- 
\Bt or magnanimous emotions to which the circumstances of 
M Story naturally give rise. Without impairing the antique 
i) uf the whole piece, or violating the simplicity of the bal- 
«i stjie, he lias contrived, in this way, to impart a much 
fitter dijjT.i'.v and more powerful interest to his production, 
hanoiuld ever be obtained by the unskilful and unsteady 
lelineations of the old romancers Nothing, we think, can 
afford a finer illustration of this remark, than the opening 
ilanzas of the whole poem ; they transport us at once into the 
days of knightly daring ind feudal hostility, at the same time 
that they suggest, in a very interesting way, all those softer 
lentimenrs which arise out of some parts of the description." 
— Jeffrky 

I bee Appendix, Note B. 
1 See Appendix, Note C. 

» See Appendix, Note D, and compare these stanzas with 
*« d^aoription of Jai" 'e Telfer's appearance at Branksome. 



Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's pt>werB, 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers, 
From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carliida 

VII. 

Such is the custom of Branksome-Hull. — * 

Many a valiant knight is here ; 
But he, the cliieftain of them all. 
His aword hangs rusting on the wall. 
Beside his broken spear 
Bards long shall tell 
How Lord Walter fell !» 
When startled burghers fled, afar, 
The furies of the Border war ; 
When the streets of high Dunedin* 
Saw lances gleam, and falcliions redden. 
And heard the slogan's' deadly yell- 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell 

VIIL 
Can piety the discord heal. 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity ? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal. 

Can love of blessed charity ? 
No ! vainly to each holy slu"ine, 

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew ; 
Implored, in vain, the grace divine 

For cliiefs, tlieir own red falchions ale\r ; 
While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar. 
The havoc of the feudal war. 

Shall never, never be forgot ?* 

IX. 

In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 

The warlike foresters had bent ; 
And many a flower, and many a tear, 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent ; 
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
nie Ladye dropp'd nor flower nor tear 1* 

Hall (Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 5), to claim the protectioi 
of " Auld Buccleuch" — and the ensuing scene (page 9). 

" The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran, 
Sae starkly and sae steadilie I 
And aye the ower-word o' the thrang 
Was — ' Rise for Branksome readilie, " Sto. 

Compare also the Ballad of Kinmont Willie (vol. ii. p. £8). 

" Now word is gane to the bauld keeper. 
In Branksome ha' where that he lay," &c. Eb. 

* There are not many passages in English poetry more is 
pressive than some parts of Stanzas vii. viii. ix.— Jbffrit 
6 See Appendix, Note E. 
« Edinburgh. 

' The war-cry, or gathering-word, of a Border clan. 
•• See Appendix, Note F. 

8 Orig. (1st Edition,) " The Ladye dropp'd nor tigk »• 
tear." 



20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CaNTO I, 



Vengeance, deep-broodb^g o'er the slain, 

Had lock'd the source of softer woe ; 
Ajid burning pride, and liigli disdain, 

Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
Until, aniid liis sorrowing clan, 

Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee — 
' Ami if I Uve to be a man, 

M^ father's death revenged shall be 1" 
rhet fust the mother's tears did seek 
Tc 4 •f the infant's kindling cheek. 



Ml loose her negligent attire, 

AU loose her golden hair, 
Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, 

And wept in wild despair : 
But no* alone the bitter tear 

Had fihal grief supplied ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear, 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her mother's alter'd eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, 

With Carr in arms had stood,' 
Wlien Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran 

All purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew, her mother dread, 
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed,' 
Would see her on her dying bed. 

XL 

Of noble race the Ladye came^ 
Her father was a clerk of fame. 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie ;' 
He learu'd the art that none may name. 

In Padua, far beyond the sea.'* 
Men said, he changed liis mortal frame 

By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when, in studious mood, he paced 

St. Andrew's cloister'd haU,' 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny wall !" 

XIL 

And of his skill, as bards avow, 

He taught that Ladye fair. 
Till to her bidding she could bow 

The viewless forms of air.' 
And now she sits in secret bower, 
in old Lord David's western tower. 
And hstens to a heavy soimd, 
That moans the mossy turrets round 

' 8ee Appendix, Note G. (The name is gpelt differently by 
iba various families who bear it. Carr is selected, not as the 
von correct, but as the most poetical reading.) 

♦ See Appendix, Note H. 
9r* Appendix, Note 1. 1 



Is it the roar of Teviot's i ide, 

That chafes against the scamp's* red side f 

Is it the wind that swings the oaks f 

Is it the echo from the rocks ? 

WTiat may it be, the heavy sound, 

That moans old Branksome's turrets round 1 

XIIL 
At the sullen, moaning sound, 

The ban-dogs bay and howl ; 
And, from the turrets round. 

Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the hall, both squire and knigh/ 

Swore that a storm was near. 
And looked forth to view the night , 

But the night was still and clear I 

XIV. 
From the sound of Teviot's tide. 
Chafing with the motmtain's side. 
From the groan of the wind-swimg oak, 
From the sullen echo of the rock, 
From the voice of the coming storm. 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, 

And he called on the Spirit of the FelL 

XV. 

RIVER SPIRIT. 

"Sleep's* thou, brother ?"— 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

— " Brother, nay — 
On my hills the moonbeams play. 
From Craik-cross to Skelfliill-pen, 
By every riU, in every glen, 

Merry elves their morris pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy. 
Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, 

Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet 1 
Up, and list their music sweet !" — 

XVI. 

RIVER SPIRIT. 

" Tears of an imprison'd maiden 
Mix with my polluted stream ; 

Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden. 
Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. 

Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars, 

Wlien shall cease these feudal jars ? 

What shall be the maiden's fate ? 

Who shall be the maiden's mate ?" — 



* See Appendix, Note K. 

6 First Edition—" St. Kentigerne's hall."— St. Mam* 
Kentigeme, is the patron saint of Olasgow. 

• See Appendix, Note L. 
' See Appendix, Note M. 

B Scaur, a precipitoos bank of earth. 



CANTO I. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



2) 



XVIL 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

" Arthur's slow -wain his course doth roll. 
In utter darkness round the pole ; 
The Nothern Bear lowers black and grim ; 
Orion's studded belt is dim ; 
Twinkling faint, and distant far, 
Shimmers thi'ough mist each planet star ; 

El may I read their high decree 1 
But no kind influence deign they shower 
Ou Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, 

TiU pride be queU'd, and love be free." 

XVIII. 

The unearthly voices ceast, 

And the heavy sound was still ; 
It died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of the hilL 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound stiU floated near ; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower. 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head, 

And her heart throbb'd high with pride :— 
" Your mountains shall bend. 
And your streams ascend, 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride l" 

XIX. 
The Ladye sought the lofty hall, 

Where many a bold retainer lay, 
And, with jocund din, among them all. 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A. fancied moss-trooper,' the boy 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode, 
And round the hall, right merrily, 

In mimic foray^ rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old. 

Share in his frolic gambols bore, 
AJbeit their hearts, of rugged mould. 

Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied. 

How the brave boy, in future war, 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride,' 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star.* 

XX. 

The Ladye forgot her purpose high, 

One moment, and no more ; 
One moment gazed with a mother's eye. 

As she paused at the arched door : 
Then, from amid the armed train, * 

She caU'd to her Wilham of Deloraine.' 

* See Appendix, Note N. 

« Foray, a predatory inroad. 

' This line, of wiiicli the metre appears defective, would 
lave its full complement of feet according to ths pronunciation 
f the poet himself — as all who were familiar if ith his ntter- 
oae of the letter r will bear testimonv. — Ed 



XXL 

\. stark moss-trooping Scott was he, 
A.8 e'er couch'd Border lance by knee : 
Through Solway sands, through Tarras 

moss, 
Blii»dfold, he knew the paths to cross 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Percy's best blood-houijda * 
In Eske or Liddel, fords were none, 
But he would ride them, one by one 
Alike to him was time or tide, 
December's snow, or July's pride : 
Alike to him was tide or time, 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime : 
Steady of heart, and stout of hand. 
As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 
Five times outlawed had he been. 
By England's King and Scotland's Queea 

XXIL 
" Sir William of Deloraine, good at need. 
Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spin*, nor stint to ride. 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

Greet the Father well from me ; 
Say that the fated hour is come. 

And to-night he shall watch with thee. 
To win the treasiu-e of the tomb : 
For this wUl be St. Michael's night. 
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright ; 
And the Cross, of bloody red, 
Win point to the grave of the mighty dead. 

XXIIL 
" What he gives thee, see thou keep ; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll, or be it book. 
Into it. Knight, thou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better hadst thou ne'er been bom." — 

XXIV. , 

" swiftly can speed my dapple-gray eU^ei 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear ; 
Ere break of day," the W^rior 'gan say, 

" Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy errand be doi*. 

Than, noble dame, by me ; 
Letter nor line know I never a one, 

Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee."* 

* See Appendix, Note O. ^ Ibid. Note P. 

8 Ibid. Note G. 

' Hairibee, the place of executing the Border maranden •>' 
Carlisla. The neck-verse, is the beginning of the 51st Psa.ni 
Miserere mei, &c., anciently read by jriminals claiming th« 
benefit of clergy. ["Id the roug^ but epirited sketch sf tb* 



12 SCOTT'S POETICAT. WORKS. €anto t 


XXV. 


Down from the lakes did raving come ; 


Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 


Each wave was crested with tawny foain. 


Ajid soon the steep descent he past, 


Tjike the mane of a chestnut steed. 


Soon cross'd the sounding barbican,* 


In vain 1 no torrent, deep or broad. 


And soon the Teviot side he won. 


Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. 


Eiietward tlie wooded path he rode, 




Gieen hazels o'er his basnet nod, 


XXTX 


He pass'd the PeeP of Golddand, 


At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 


Lnd cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand ; 


And the water broke o'er the saddlebow : 


OJnily he riew'd the Moat-liill's mound, 


Above the foaming tide, I ween. 


IV here Dr jid shades still flitted round ;* 


Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; 


In Hawick twinkled many a Ught ; 


For he was barded" from counter to tail. 


Beliiud him soon they set in night ; 


And the rider was armed' complete in mail , 


And soon he spurr'd bis courser keen 


Never heavier man and horse 


Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.* 


Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. 




The warrior's very pliune, I say 


XXVL 


Was daggled by the dashing spray ; 


The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ; — 


Yet through good heart, and Our Ladye's graet 


" Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark." — 


At length he gain'd the landing place. 


" For Brmksome, ho 1" the knight rejoin' d, 




And left the friendly tower behind. 


XXX. 


He turu'd him now from Teviotside, 


Now Bowden Moor the march-man won. 


And, guided by the tinkling rill. 


And sternly shook his plumed head, 


Northward the dark ascent did ride. 


As glanced liis eye o'er Halidon ;' 


And gain'd the moor at Horsliehill ; 


For on his soul the slaughter red 


Broad on the left before him lay. 


Of that mihallow'd morn arose. 


For many a mile, the Roman way.* 


When fii"st the Scott and Carr were foes ; 




When royal James beheld the fray, 


XXVII. 


Prize to the victor of the day ; 


A moment now he slack'd liis speed, 


W hen Home and Douglas, in the van. 


\ moment breathed his panting steed ; 


Bore down Buccleuch's retiruig clan. 


Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band, 


Tin gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 


And loosen'd in the sheath Ms brand. 


Reek'd on dark EUiot's Border spear. 


On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint,* 




Where BarnhiU hew'd his bed of flint ; 


XXXL 


Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest, 


In bitter mood he spurred fast, 


Where falcons hang their giddy nest, 


And soon the hated heath was past ; 


Mid cliffs, from whence liis eagle eye 


And far beneath, in lustre wan, 


For many a league his prey could spy ; 


Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran : 


Clifts, doubling, on their echoes borne, 


Like some tall rock with lichens gray. 


The terrors of the robber's horn ? 


Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. 


Cliffs, which, for many a later year, 


When Hawick he pass'd, had ciu-few rnnj. 
Now midnight lauds'" were in Melro^ie sung 


Tlie warbling Doric reed shall hear. 


When some sad swain shall teach the grove. 


The somid, upon the fitful gale 


Ambition is no cure for love 1 


In solenon wise did rise and fad. 




Like that wild harp, whose magic t/vie 


XXVIII. 


Is waken'd by the winds alone. 


C nchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, 


But when Melrose he reach' d, 'twas silence Ui 


To ancient Riddel's fair domain,' 


He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 


Where Aill, from mountains freed, 


And sought the convent's lonely wall." 


naraurfing Bord ir, and in the na'iveti of his la.st declaration, 


e See Appendix, Note T. ' Ibid. Notfl U 


he reader will recognize some of the most striking features of 


8 Barded, or barbed, — applied to a horse accoutred with d» 


he ancient ballad." — Critical Review.'] 


fensive armor. 


Biirbicrn, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 


' Halidon was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cessford now 


' Pee/, a Border-tower. 


demolished. About a quarter of a mile to the northward laj 


• See Appendix, Note R. 


the field of battle betwixt Buccleuuh and Angus, which il 


See Appendix. Note S. 


called to this day the Skirmish Field. — See Appendix. Note D 


6 An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Rox- 


1" Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church. 


•qrjlisliire. 


11 See Appendix. Note V. 



tAvro 11. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



2i 



Hese paused the liaip ; and with its swell 

The Master's fire and courage fell ; 
Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd. 
And, gazing timid on the crowd. 
He seem'd to seek, in every eye, 
If they approved his minstrelsy ; 
And, diffident of present praise, 
Somewhat he spoke of former days, 
And how old age, and wand'riug long, 
LLid done his hand and harp some wrong. 
The Duchess, and her daughters fair, 
And every gentle lady there, 
Each after each, in due degree. 
Gave praises to his melody ; 
His hand was true, his voice was clear, 
And much they long'd the rest to hear. 
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 
After meet rest, again began. 



Sl)£ £ai) of tl)e Cast iHinstnl. 



CANTO SECOND. 



jjr thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,' 

Go visit it by the pale moonhght ; 

For the gay beams of hghtsome day 

Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches are black in night, 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 

When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 

When silver edges the imagery, 

.ind the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;* 

Wlien distant Tweed is heard to rave. 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Then go — but go alone the while — 

Then view St. David's rum'd pile ;* 

And, home returning, soothly swear. 

Was never scene so sad and fair 1 • 

II. 

Short halt did Deloraine make there ; 
Little reck'd he of the scene so fair : 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, 
H.i struck fuU loud, and struck full long. 

1 " In .he description of Melrose, which introduces the Seo 
»nd Canto, the reader willjObserve how skilfully the Author 
lalls in the aid of sentimental associations to heighten the effect 
•f the picture which he presents to the eye " — Jeffrey. 

» See Appendix, Note W. 

'David I. of Scotland, pnrchaset* the reputation of sanctity. 
By lonnaing, and li lerally endowing, not only the monastery 
U Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jedhnrgh, and many others ; 



The porter hurried to the gate — 
" Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late ?" 
" From Branksome, I," the warrior cried ; 
And straight the wicket open'd wide : 
For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood, 

To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 
And lands and livings, many a rood, 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repot* 

IIL 
Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 
The porter bent hie himible head ; 
With torch in hand, and feet vmshod, 
And noiseless step, the path he trod : 
The arched cloister, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 
Till, stooping low his lofty crest, 
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest. 
And lifted liis barred aventayle,* 
T6 hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

IV. 

" Tlie Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me 

Says, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee 

To win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 

With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd ; 
A hundred years had flung then- snows 

On his thin locks and floating beari 



And strangely on the Knight look'd he, 

And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide ; 
" And, darest thou. Warrior 1 seek to see 

What heaven and heU ahke would hide I 
My breast, in belt of u-on pent, 

With slm-t of hair and scourge of thorn , 
For threescore years, m penance spent, 

My knees those flinty stones have worn • 
Yet all too Uttle to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known 

Woiddst thou thy every future year 
In ceaseless prayer and penance drio, 

Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 
Then, darmg Warrior, follow me t" - 

VL 

" Penance, father, will I none ; 
Prayer know I hardly one ; 

which led to the well-known observation of his s accessor, in«i 
he was a sore saint for the crown. 

* The Bucclench family were great benefactors to the Abbej 
of Melrose. As early as the reign of Robert II., Robert Scott, 
Baron of Murdieston and Ranklebnrn (now Buccleuch), gav« 
to the monks the lands of Hinkery, in Ettrick Forest, pro aa 
lute animcB auiB.—Chartulary of Melrose, 28th May, HIS 

1 Aventayle, visor of the helmet. 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO II 



For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, 

Save tc patter an Ave Mary, 

When I ride on a Border foray.* 

Other prayer can I none ; 

So epeed me my errand, and let me be gone." — 

VIL 

igak. an tht Knight look'd the Chm-chman old, 

And again he sighed heavily ; 
'or he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that were long 

since by 
When his Umbs were strong, and his courage was 

high:— 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way. 
Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay ; 
The piUar'd arches were over their head. 
And beneath their feet were the bones of the 
dead." • 

VIIL 
Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
Glisten'd with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd tliere. 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon, 

Then into the night he looked forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers light 

Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in gUttering squadrons start ;* 
Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dai't. 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright. 
That spirits were riding the northern light. 

IX. 

By a steel-clenched postern door. 
They enter'd now the chancel tall ; 

The darken'd roof rose high aloof 
On pillars lofty and light and small : 

The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, 

Wiii a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; 

Tlie cr rbells* were carved grotesque and grim ; 

And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim, 

• See Appendix, Note X. 

• Th« eloistere were frequently used aa places of sepnlture. 
&J1 instance occurs in Dryburgh Abbey, where the cloister hag 
*i inBcriptijn, bearing, Hie jacetf rater ArchibcUdua. 

• See A| pendix, Note Y. 

• Corbells, tlie projections from which the arches spring, 
ksaally cut in a fantastic face, or mask. 

» " yf'x^h plinth, and with capital flonrish'd around." 

First Edition. 

• See Appendix, Note Z. ' Ibid. Note 2 A. " Ibid. Note 2 B. 
» " Bomhay, September '25, 1805. — I began last night to read 

Valter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, as part of my even- 
ng readings to my bildren. I was extremely delighted by the 
xieiical beauty of t>me passciges, the Abbey of Melrose for 



With base and with capital flourish'd around,* 
Seem'd bimdles of lances which garlands hat' 
bound. 



Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, 
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, 

Aroimd the screened altar's pale ; 
And there the dying lamps did burn, 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
gallant Chief of Otterbm-ne I* 

And tliine, dark Knight of Liddesdalo 1' 
fading honors of the dead I 
high ambi+'on, lowly laid I 

XL 

The moon on the east oriel shone* 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 

By foUaged tracery combined ; 
ITiou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand. 

In many a freakish knot, had twined ; 
Then framed a speU, when the w jrk was done^ 
And chiuiged the willow-wreaths to stone. 
The sQver hght, so pale and faint, 
Show'd many a prophet, and many a saint, 

Whose image on the glass was dyed ; 
FuU in the midst, his Cross of Red 
Triumphant Michael brandished. 

And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane, 
And thi-ew on the pavement a bloody stain.* 

XIL 
They sate them down on a marble stone,* — 

(A Scottish monarch slept below) ; 
Tlius spoke the Monk, in solenm tone :- - 

" I was not always a man of woe ; 
For Paynim coimtries I have trod. 
And fought beneath the Cross of God : 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arras appear. 
And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear 

, XIIL 

•' In these far climes it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott , 

example, and most of the prologues to the canioa. Thr ou* 
turae, too, is admirable. The tone is antique ; and it migui 
be read for instruction as a picture of the manners of the mid 
die ages." " JVovember 2, 1805. — We are j>erfectly enchantei? 
with Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. He is suivilj 
the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not tne gooa 
parts of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our lan- 
guage 1 There are tedious passages, and so are there in Ho 
mer." — Sir James Mackintosh, Life, vol. i. pji. 254, 262. 

■0 A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed 
out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest <A 
our early kings ; others say, it is the resting-place of Wal Jwve 
one of the eariy abbots, who died in the odor of sanctity. 

" See Appendix, Note 2 C. 



CiUITO II. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



A wizard, of such dreaded fame, 


XVIL 


That when, in Salamanca's cave,* 


" Lo, Warrior ! now, the Cross of Red 


Hirix fisted his magic wand to wave, 


Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; 


The bells would ring in Notre Dame 1* 


Within it burns a wondrous Ught, 


Some of his skill he taught to me ; 


To chase the spirits that love the night : 


And, Warrior, I could say to thee 


That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 


The words that cleft Eildon hiUs m three,* 


Until the eternal doom shall be."* — 


And Iffidled the Tweed with a curb of 


Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 


stone : 


W hich the bloody Cross was traced upon : 


But to speak them were a deadly sin ; 


He pointed to a secret nook ; 


And for having but thought them nly heart 


An iron bar the Warrior took ;' 


within, 


And the Monk made a sign with liis wither'd '^aod 


A. treble penance must be done. 


The grave's huge portal to expand. 


XIV. 


XVIIL 


" W hen Michael lay on his dying bed. 


With beating heart to the task he went ; 


His conscience was awakened : 


His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent ; 


He bethought him of his sinful deed. 


With bar of iron heaved amain, 


And he gave me a sign to come with speed : 


TiU the toil-drops fell from his brows, like raia 


I was in Spain when the morning rose, 


It was by dint of passmg strength. 


But I stood by his bed ere evening close. 


That he moved the massy stone at length. 


The words may not again be said. 


I would you had been there, to see 


That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ; 


How the Ught broke forth so gloriously. 


Ihey would rend this Abbaye's massy nave, 


Stream'd upward to the chancel roof. 


And pile it in heaps above his grave. 


And through the galleries far aloof 1 




No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright : 


XV. 


It shone like heaven's own blessed light. 


" I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 


And, issuing from the tomb. 


That never mortal might therein look ; 


Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale. 


And never to tell where it was hid. 


Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail, 


Save at his Chief of Branksome's need : 


And kiss'd his waving plume. 


Ajid when that need was past and o'er, 




Again the volume to restore. 


XIX. 


I buried him on St. Michael's night, 


Before their eyes the Wizard lay. 


WTien the bell toU'd one, and the moon was 


As if he had not been dead a day. 


bright. 


His hoary beard in silver roll'd. 


And I dug his chamber among the dead. 


He seem'd some seventy winters old ; 


W hen the floor of the chancel was stained red. 


A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round, 


rhat his patron's cross might over him wave, 


With a wrought Spanish baldric bound. 


And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. 


I jke a pilgrim from beyond the sea : 




His left hand held his Book of Might; 


XVL 


A silver cross was in his right ; 


" It was a night of wo and dread. 


The lamp was placed beside his knee , 


W hen Michael in the tomb I laid ! 


High and majestic was his look, 


Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd, 


At which the feUest fiends had shook, 


Tb; banners waved without a blast" — 


And all unruSled was his face : 


— SiiU spoke the Monk, when the bell toU'd 

one !— — 


They trusted his soul had gotten grace.* 


1 tell you, that a braver man 


XX 


Than William of Deloraine, good at need; 


Often had William of Delorame 


Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed ; 


Rode through the battle's bloody plain, 


Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread. 


And trampled down the warriors slain. 


Aifd his hair did brisile upon his head. 


And neither known remorse nor awe ; 


I See Appendix, Note 2D. 2 Ibid. Note 2 E. 


he had loved with brotherly aflfection — the horror of Delorain* 


• See Appendix, Note 2 F. ■• Ibid. Note 2 G. 


and his belief that the corpse frowned, as he withdrew th* 




magic volume from its grasp, are, in a sncceeding part 9f Um 


Orig. — A bar from thence the warrior took. 


narrative, circumstances not more happily o Qceived than •» 


■ " The agitation of the monk at the sight of the man whom 


qnisitely vnought."— Critical Review 



u 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Yet now remorse and awe he own'd ; 
His breath came thick, his head swam round. 
When tliis strange scene of death he saw. 
Bewilder'd and unnerved he stood, 
And the priest pray'd fervently and loud : 
With o.jes averted prayed he ; 
He might not endure the sight to see, 
Of thi man he had loved so brotherly. 

XXL 

And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, 

Thus unto Deloraine he said : — 

" Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, 

Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue ; 

For those, thou mayst not look upon, 

Are gathering fast round tlie yawning stone 1" 

Then Deloraine, in terror, took 

From the oold hand the Mighty Book, 

With iron clasp' d, and with iron bound : 

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd ;* 

But the glare of the sepulchral hght, 

Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 

XXIL 
W Len the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 
The night retm-n'd in double gloom ; 
For the moon had gone down, and the stars were 

few; 
And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, 
With wavering steps and dizzy brain, 
They hardly might the postern gain. 
'Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd. 
They heard strange noises on the blast ; 
And through the cloister-galleries small. 
Which at mid-heiylit thread the chancel wall. 
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, 
Aiivi voices unlike the voice of man ; 
As if the fiends kept holiday, 
Becajise these speUs were brought to day. 
I cannot teU how the truth may be ; 
I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 

XXIIL 
* Now, liie thee hence," the Father said, 
" And when we are on death-bed laid, 
may oiu- dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done 1"— 
The Monk return'd him to his cell. 

And many a prayer and penance sped ; 
"WTien the convent met at the noontide bell — 
The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead 1 
Before the cross was the body laid. 
With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd. 

' See Appendix, Note 2 H, 

* A moomain on the Border of England, above Jedbnrgh. 

• " How lovely and exhilarating is the fresh, cool morning 
Kndecapp which relieves the mind after the horron of the spell- 

na ded tomb 1' — Anna Sbward. 



XXIV. 

The Knight breathed free in the moroiBg 

wind. 
And strove his hardihood to find : 
He was glad when he pass'd the tombston« 

gray 
Which girdle round the fair Abbaye ; 
For the mystic Book, to his bosom pi est, 
Felt like a load upon his breast ; 
And his jomts, with nerves of iron twined. 
Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 
Full fain was he when the dawn of day 
Began to- brighten Cheviot gray ; 
He joy'd to see the cheerful hght, 
.And he sgijJLAve Mary, as well he might. 

XXY. 

The sun had brighten'd Cheviot gray. 

The sun had brighten'd the Carter's' side ; 
And soon beneath the rising day 

Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's tid» 
The wild birds told their warbling tale, 

And waken'd every flower that blows ; 
And peeped forth the violet pale. 

And spread her breast the mountain rose 
And lovelier than the rose so red. 

Yet paler than the violet pale. 
She early left her sleepless bed, • 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 

XXVL 

Why does fair Margaret so early awake,* 

And don her kirtle so hastUie ; 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she woulJ 
make. 

Why tremble her slender fingers to tie ; 
Why does she stop, and look often around, 

As she glides down the secret stair ; 
And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound, 

As he rouses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern alone, 
Why is not the watchman's bngls blown ? 

XXVIL 

The ladye steps in doubt and dread. 

Lest her watchful mother hear her tread 

The lady caresses the rough blood-nouad. 

Lest his voice shotild waken the caslie rocmd; 

The watchman's bugle is not blown. 

For he was her foster-father's son ; 

And she glides through greenwood at dawn ol 

Ught 
To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight 

* " How true, sweet, and original is this description a 
Margaret — the trembling haste with which she attires hm 
self, descends, and apuedB to the bower!" — Anms, 

WASD. 



eAJTTO II. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



2; 



XXVIII. 
The Knight and ladye fair are met, 
And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. 
A fau"er pair were never seen 
To meet beneath the hawthorn green. 
He was stately, and young, and taU ; 
Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 
And ihe, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, 
Lent to her cheek a hveher red ; 
When tlie half sigh her swelling breast 
Against the silken ribbon prest ; 
When her blue eyes their secret told. 
Though shaded by her locks of gold — 
Where would you find the peerless fair. 
With Margaret of Branksome might compare 1 

XXIX. 
And now, fair dames, methinks I see 
You listen to my minstrelsy ; 
Your waving locks ye backward throw, 
And sidelong bend your necks of snow ; 
Ye ween to hear a melting tale, 
Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender fire, 
To paint his faithful passion strove ; 

Swore he might at her feet expire, 
But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blush' d, and how she sigh'd. 
And, half consenting, half denied. 
And said that she would die a maid ; — 
Yet, might the bloody feud be stay'd, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should ba 

XXX. 

Alas 1 fair dames, your hopes are vain ! 
My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hairs are gray, my limbs are old. 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 

XXXI. 

Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld, 
The Baron's Dwarf his coiu-ser held,' 
And held his crested helm and spear : 

' See Appendix, Notn 2 I. 

* The idea of the imp domesticating himself with the first 
person he met, and subjecting himself to that one's aathority, 
U perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson, in his play 
K ' The Devil is an Ass," has founded the leading incident 
»f that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A 
fiend, styled Pug, is ambitious for figuring in the world, and 
netitions his STjperior for permission to exhibit himself upon 
Mirth. The devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this 
Acdition,— 

" Satan — Only thus more, I bind you 
To serre tne ftrst man that von meet : and him 



That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, 
If the tales were true that of him ran 

Through aU the Border, far and near. 
'Twas said, when the Baron a-himting rode 
Through Reedsdale's glens, but rarely trod. 

He heard a voice cry, " Lost ! lost 1 lost 1' 

And, like tennis-ball by racket toss'd, 
A leap, of thirty feet and three, 

Made from the gorse this eliin shape. 

Distorted like some dwarfish ape. 

And lighted at Lord Cranstomi's knee. 

Lord Cranstoun was some wliit disniay'd; 

'Tis said that five good miles he rade, 
To rid him of his company ; 
But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran foia 
And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. 

XXXII. 

Use lessens marvel, it is said : 

This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid 

Little he ate, and less he spoke. 

Nor mingled with the menial flock : 

And oft apart his arms he toss'd. 

And often mutter'd " Lost ! lost 1 lost 1" 
He was waspish, arch, and htherlie,* 
But well Lord Cranstoun served he ' 

And he of his service was full fain ; 

For once he had been ta'en or slain. 
An it had not been for his ministry. 

All between Home and Hermitage, 

Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. 

XXXIIL 

For the Baron went on pilgrimage. 
And took with him this elvish Page, 

To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes ; 
For there, beside om* Ladye's lake, 
An offering he had sworn to make, 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band 
Of the best that would ride at her commsuid :* 

The try sting place was Newark lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain. 
And thither came John of Thirlestane, 
And thither came WUUam of Deloraine 

They were three hundred spears 

I'll show yon now ; observe him, follow liim , 
But, once engaged, there you must stay and fix 

It is observable that in the same play. Pug alludes 
spareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though " w 
arch, and litherlie," proves a faithful and honest retain 
the lord, into whose service lie had introduced himself, 
sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of th« 
diabolic cnaracter. Thus, in the romances of the Round 
Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himsell 
most zealously in the cause of virtue and religion, the friend 
and counsellor of King Arthur, the cbastiser of wroiiss, bbW 
the scourge of the infidels. 

' See Appendix, Note 2 E. 



88 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAB TO III 



Through Douglas-burn, up Tarrow stream,' 
Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
They came to St. Mary's lake ere day ; 
But the chapel was void, and the Baron away, 
rhey burn'd the chapel for very rage, 
^d cursed Lord Cranstoun's Gobliu-Page. 

XXXIV. 

Axid now, in Branksome's good green wood. 
As imder the aged oak he stood. 
The Baron's courser pricks his ears, 
As if a distant noise he hears. 
The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, 
And signs to the lovers to part and fly ; 
No time was then to vow or sigh. 
Fair Margaret through the hazel grove, 
Flew like the startled cushat-dove :' . 
The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ; 
Vaulted the Knight on his steed amain, 
And, pondering deep that morning's scene. 
Rode eastward through the hawthorns green. 



While thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale, 
llie Minstrel's voice began to fail : 
Full slyly smiled the observant page, 
And gave the wither'd hand of age 
A goblet, crown'd with mighty wine. 
The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 
He raised the silver cup on high, 
And, while the big drop fill'd his eye, 
Pray'd God to bless the Duchess long. 
And all who cheer'd a son of song. 
The attending maidens smil'd to see 
How long, how deep, how zealously, 
The precious juice the Minstrel quaff 'd ; 
And he, embolden'd by the draught, 
Look'd gayly back to them, and laugh'd. 
The cordial nectar of the bowl 
Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul ; 
A liveUer, lighter prelude ran. 
Ere thus his tale again began. 



€l)c Cag of tljc Cast iHinstrcl. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Ane said I that my limbs were old, 
And said I that my blood was cold, 
And that my kindly fire was fled. 
And my poor wither'd heart was dead. 



8ee notes on The Douglat Tragedy in the Minstrelsy, 
•I. iii. p. 3.— Ed. 
Woad-pigeoo. 



And that I might not smg of love I — 
How could I to the dearest theme. 
That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream. 

So foul, so false a recreant prove ! 
How could I name love's very name 
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame ! 

K 

In peace. Love times the shepherd's reed ; 

In war, he motmts the warrior's steed • 

In haUs, in gay attire is seen ; 

In hamlets, dances on the greea 

Love rules the court, tlie camp, the grove, 

And men below, and saints above ; 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 

HI 
So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, 
While, pondering deep the tender scene. 
He rode through Branksome's hawthorn greea 
But the page shouted wild and shrill. 
And scarce his helmet could he don, 
When downward from the shady hiU 
A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray. 
Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay 

HJH armor red with many a stain : 
He seem'd in such a weary plight. 
As if he had ridden the Uve-long night ; 
For it was William of Deloraine. 

IV. 

But no whit weary did he seem. 

When, dancing in the sunny beam, 

He mark'd the crane on the Baion's crest ;• 

For his ready spear was in his rest. 

Few were the words, and stern and high. 
That mark'd the foemen's feuilal hate ; 

For question fierce, and proud reply. 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 
Their very coursers seem'd to know 
That each was other's mortal foe. 
And snorted fire, when wheel'd around. 
To give each knight liis vantage-groimd. 

V. 

In rapid round the Baron bent ; 

He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer ; 
The prayer was to his patron saint, 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sigh'd nor pra^ J, 
Nor saint, nor ladye, call'd to aid ; 
But he stoop'd his head, and cuuch'd his spea. 
And spurr'd his steed to full career. 

• The crest of the Cranstonns, in alloeioQ •« their name, i> 
crane dormant, holding a stone in hi* fooi, with an em<>nsli> 
border motto, Thou thalt icant ere I tea%* 



tt 

H 

O 
O 

a 



OQ 




•jAKTO III THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 2« 


The meeting of these champions proud 


Would not yield to unchristen'd hand, 


Secim'd like the bursting thunder-cloud. 


Till he smear'd the cover o'er 




With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 


VI. 


A moment then the volume spread. 


fitern was ihe dirt the Borderer lent 1 


And one short spell therein he read : 


The stately Baron backwards bent ; 


It had much of glamour* might. 


Bent back-wards to his horse's tail. 


Could make a ladye seem a knight , 


Ami liis phimes went scattering on the gale; 


The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 


The, tough ash spear, so stout and true, 


Seem tapestry in lordly hall ; 


flit a thousand flinders flew. 


A nutshell seem a gilded barge. 


B;i Cranstoim's lance, of more avail. 


A sheeling' seem a palace large. 


Pierced through, Uke silk, the Borderer's mail ; 


And youth seem age, and age seem youth- 


Through shield, and jack, and acton, past, 


All was delusion, nought was truth.* 


Deep in his bosom broke at last. — 




Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, 


X. 


TUl, stumbling in the mortal sho(5k, 


He had not read another spell. 


Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 


Wlien on his cheek a buffet feU, 


Hurl'd on a heap lay man and horsa 


So fierce, it stretch'd him on the plain. 


The Baron onward pass'd his course ; 


Beside the wounded Deloraine. 


Nor knew — so giddy roU'd his brain — 


From the ground he rose dismay'd, 


His foe lay stretch'd upon the plain. 


And shook his huge and matted head; 




One word he mutter'd, and no more. 


VII. 


" Man of age, thou smitest sore I" — 


But when he rein'd his courser round, 


No more the Elfin Page durst try 


Ajid saw his foeman on the ground 


Into the wondrous Book to pry ; 


Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 


The clasps, though smeared with Christiac iJor« 


He bade his page to stanch the woimd 


Shut faster than they were before. 


And there beside the warrior stay. 


He hid it underneath his cloak. — 


A.nd tend him in his doubtful state. 


Now, if you ask who gave the stroke. 


And lead him to Branksome castle-gate : 


I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 


His noble mind was inly moved 


It was not given by man alive.' 


For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 




" This shalt thou do without delay : 


XL 


No longer here myself may stay; 


Unwillingly himself he address'd. 


Unless the swifter I speed away. 


To do his master's liigh behest : 


Short shrift will be at my dying day." 


He lifted up the living corse, 


- 


And laid it on the weary horse ; 


VIII. 


He led him into Branksome Hall, 


A. way m speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; 


Before the beards of the warders aU ; 


TJie Goblin Page behind abode ; 


And each did after swear and say. 


His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 


There only pass'd a wain of hay. 


Though small liis pleasure to do good. 


He took him to Lord David's tower, 


As the corslet off he took, 


Even to the Ladye's secret bower ; 


The dwarf espied the Mighty Book I 


And, but that stronger spells were spread, 


Much he marveU'd a knight of pride, 


And the door might not be opened, 


Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride :' 


He had laid liim on her very bed. 


He thought not to search or stanch the wound, 


Whate'er he did of gramarye,* 


Until the secret he had found. 


Was always done maliciously ; 




He fliuig the warrior on the ground. 


IX. 


And the blood well'd freshly firom the woootl 


The iron band, the iron clasp. 




Resisted long the elfin grasp : 


XIL 


For when the first he had undone, 


As he repass'd the outer court. 


It closed as he the next begun. 


He spied the fair young child at sport : 


Those iron clasps, that iron band, 


He thought to tram him to the wood ; 


• See Appendix, Note 8 L. 


> A shepherd's hut. * See Appondix, Note 2 M, 


* MaeioaJ tfeliuioD 


' Ibid. Note 2 N. « Magic 



•0 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ni 


For, at a word, be it understood, 


At cautious distance hoarsely bav'd. 


He was always for ill, and never for good. 


But still in act to spring ; 


Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay 


When dash'd an archer through the glade, 


Led him forth to the woods to play ; 


And when he saw the hound was stay'd. 


Ou the di-awbridge the warders stout 


He drew liis tough bow-string ; 


tJaw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 


But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, hoy ! 




Ho I shoot not, Edward— 'Tis a boy '." 


XIII. 




Be led the boy o'er bank and fell. 


XVI. 


Until they came to a woodland brook ; 


The speaker issued from the wood. 


The nmniug stream dissolved the spell,* 


And check'd his fellow's surly mood, 


Aftd his own elvish shape he took. 


And quell'd the ban-dog's ire : 


Could he have had his pleasure vilde, 


He was an English yeoman good. 


He had crippled the joints of the noble child • 


And bom in Lancaalihe. 


Or, with his fingers long and lean, 


Well could he liit a fallow-deer 


Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 


Five hundred feet him fro ; 


But his awful mother he had in dread, 


With hand more true, and eve more clflW 


And also his power was limited ; 


No archer bended bow. 


So he but scowl'd on the startled child, 


His coal-black hair, shorn round and clos*;, 


A.nd darted tlu-ough the forest wild ; 


Set off his sim-burn'd face : 


The woodland brook he bounding cross'd, 


Old England's sign, St. George's cross. 


And laugh' d, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!" 


His barret-cap did grace ; 




His bugle-horn himg by his side, 


XIV. 


All in a wolf-skin balch-ic tied ; 


Full sore amazed at the wondrous change, 


And his short falcliion, sha^p and clear 


And frighten'd as a cliild might be, ^ 


Had pierced the throat of many a deer 


A.t the wild yell and visage strange, 




And the dark words of gramarye, 


XVH. 


The child, amidst the forest bower. 


His kirtle, made of forest green, 


Stood rooted like a lUy flower ; 


Reach'd scantly to his knee ; 


And when at length, with trembling pace, 


And, at his belt, of arrows keen 


He sought to find where Branksome lay. 


A furbish'd sheaf bore he ; 


He fear'd to see that grisly face. 


His buckler, scarce in breadth a span, 


Glare from some thicket on his way. 


No larger fence had he ; 


Tims, starting oft, he journey'd on. 


He never counted him a man. 


And deeper m the wood is gone, — 


Would strike below the knee :' 


For aye the more he sought his way, 


His slacken'd bow was in bis hand. 


The farther still he went astray, — 


And the leash, that was his blood-hound b OMiA 


Until he heard the mountains roiond 




Ring to the baying of a hoimd. 


XVIII. 




He would not do the fair cliild bdim, 


XV. 


But held him with his powerful arm, 


And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 


That he might neither fight nor flee , 


Comes nigher still, and nigher : 


For the Red-Cross spied he. 


Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, 


The boy strove long and violently. 


His tawny muzzle track'd the ground, 


" Now, by St. George," the archer crieg. 


And his rod eye shot fire. 


" Edward, metluiiks we have a prize ! 


Soon as the wilder'd child saw he, 


This boy's fair face, and courage free. 


He flew at him right furioushe. 


Show he is come of high degree." 


I ween you would have seen with joy 




The bearing of the gallant boy. 


XIX. 


When, worthy of his noble sire. 


" Yes I I am come of high degree. 


His wet cheek glow'd 'twixt fear and ire 1 


For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 


He faced the blood-hound manfully, 


And if thou dost not set me free. 


And held his little bat on high ; 


False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue 1 


So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid. 


For Walter of Harden shall come with speoa 


> See Appendix, Note 2 O 


« Sea Appendix. Nolr ^ P 



CANTO III. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



S\ 



And William o: Deloraine, good at need, 
And every Scott from Esk to Tweed ; 
And if thou dost not let me go, 
Despite thy arrows, and thy bow, 
•'il hiTC thee hang'd to feed the crow !" — 

XX. 

" Gramercy for thy good will, fair boy ! 
My muu) was never set so high ; 
Bui if thou art chief of such a clan, 
Anu art the son of such a man. 
And ever comest to thy command. 

Our wardens had need to keep good or- 
der ; 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border. 
Meantime be pleased to come with me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begim, 
Whe)> we have taken thy father's son." 

xj?:l 

Although the child was led away, 
In Branksome still he seem'd to stay, 
For 80 the Dwarf his part did play ; 
And, in the shape of that young boy, 
He wrought the castle much anr.oy. 
Tlie conu-ades of the young Pucoleuch 
He pinch'd, and beat, ard overthrew ; 
Nay, some of them ho wcllnigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's sih^en tire, 
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire. 
He hghted the match of his bandeUer,' 
And wofully scorch'd the hackbuteer.' 
It may be hardly thought or said, 
Tlie mischief that the uvchin made, 
Tin many of the castle g less'd. 
Thai the young Baron was possess'd I 

XXII. 
Well I ween the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd ; 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 
Miich she wonder'd to find him lie. 

On the stone threshold stretch'd along ; 
She thought some spu-it of the sky 

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong; 
Because, despite her precept dread, 
Perchance he in the Book had read , 
But the broken lance hi his bosom stood. 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 

Banddier belt for carrying ammnnition. 
• Hackbuteer, mnsketeer, 

Se« Appendix, Note 2 Q. 

> IU4. Note 2 R. 



XXIIL 

She drew the splinter from the wound. 
And with a charm she stanch d the blood-' 

She bade the gash be cleansed and bound : 
No longer by his couch she stood ; 

But she has ta'en the broken lance. 
And wash'd it from the clotted gore. 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.' 

WUham of Deloraine, in trance. 

Whene'er she turn'd it round and roimd 
Twisted as if she gall'd his wound. 
Then to her maidens she did say. 
That he should be whole man and sound. 
Within the course of a night and day. 

Full long she toil'd ; for she did rue 

Mishap to friend so stout and true. 

XXIV.» 
So pass'd the day — the «vening fell, 
'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mUd, the wind was calm. 
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm 
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, 
Enjoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and bless'd 
The hom- of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone, 
She waked at tunes the lute's soft tone ; 
Touch'd a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns greea 
Her golden hair stream'd free from band. 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
For lovers love the western star. 

XXV. 

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 

That rises slowly to her ken, 

And, spreading broad its wavering %ht. 

Shakes its loose tresses on the night ? 

Is yon red glare the western star ? — 

0, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war 1 

Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breatit. 

For well she knew the fire of death I 

XXV i 

The Warder view'd it blazing strong. 
And blew his war-note loud and long, 
Till, at the liigh and haughty sotmd, 
Rock, wood, and river rung arotmd 
The blast alarm'd the festal hall. 
And startled forth the warriors all ; 

* " As another illnstration of the prodigious improvemeM 
which the style of the old romance is capable of receiving from 
a more liberal admixture of pathetic sentiments ind gentle 
affections, we insert the followmg passage [Stanzas xxiv to 
xjcvii.], wherp the effect of the picture is finely assisted 'v th»« 
contrast of iti iwo oo-nDartments." — JKF7KKY. 



S2 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m 




Far downward, in the castle-yard, 


Each from each the signal caught ; 


Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 


Each after each they glanced to sight, 




And helms and plumes, confusedly toss'd, 


As stars arise upon the night. 




Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost ; 


They gleam'd on many a dusky tarn,* 




And spears in wild disorder shook, 


Haunted by the- lonely earn ;' 




Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 


On many a caun's' gray pyramid 
W here urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; 




XXVII. 


Till high Dunedin the blazes saw. 




The Seneschal, whose silver hair 


From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; 




Was redden'd by the torches' glare, 


And Lothian heard the Regent's order. 




Stood in the inidst, with gesture proud, 


That all should bowne' them for the Border 




And issued forth his mandates loud : — 






" On Penchryst glows a bale' of fire. 


XXX. 




And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire ; 


The livelong night in Branksome rang 




Ride out, ride out, 


The ceaseless sound of steel ; 




The foe to scout ! 


The castle-bell, with backward clang, 




Mo\mt, mount for Branksome,' every man I 


Sent forth the lariun peal ; 




Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, 


Was frequent heard the heavy jar. 




That ever are true and stout — 


W here massy stone and iron bar 




Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 


Were piled on echoing keep and tower, 




For when they see the blazing bale, 


To whelm the foe with deadly shower ; 




Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 


Was frequent heard the changing guard. 




Ride, Alton, ride, for death and Ufe 1 


And watchword from the sleepless ward ; 




And warn the Warder of the strife. 


While, wearied by the endless din. 




Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze, 


Blood-hound and ban-dog yell'd within. 




Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise."" 


XXXL 




XXVIII. 


The noble Dame, amid the broil. 




Fair Margaret, from the turret head. 


Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil, 




Heard, far below, the coursers' tread. 


And spoke of danger with a smile ; 




While loud the harness rimg. 


Gheer'd the young knights, and council aig« 




As to their seats, with clamor dread, 


Held with the chiefs of riper age. 




The ready horsemen sprung : 


No tidings of the foe were brought. 




And tramphng hoofs, and iron coats. 


Nor of his nimabers knew they aught, 




And leaders' voices, mingled notes. 


Nor what in time of truce he sought. 




And out 1 and out 1 


Some said, that there were thousands ten : 




In hasty route. 


And others ween'd that it was naught 




The horsemen gallop'd forth ; 


But Leven clans, or Tynedale men. 




Dispersing to the south to scout. 


Who came to gather in black-mail ;" 




And east, and west, and north, 


And Liddesdale, with small avail. 




To view their coming enemies. 


Might drive them lightly back agen. 




And warn their vassals and allies. 


So pass'd the anxious night away. 
And welcome was the peep of day. 




XXIX. 






The ready page, with hurried hand,* 
Awaked the need-iire's* slumbering brand. 








And ruddy blush'd the heaven : 






For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, 


Ceased the high sound — the listening throng 




Waved lilce a blood-flag on the sky. 


Applaud the Master of the Song ; 




AU flaring and uneven ; 


And marvel much, in helpless age, 




And soon a score of fires, I ween. 


So hard should be his pilgrimage. 




From height, and hill, and cUfF were seen ; 


Had he no friend — no daughter dear, 




Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 


His wandering toil to share and cheer ; 




' See Appendix, Note 2 S. 


6 JVeed-Jire, beacon. 




» Mount for Br anksome was the gathering word of the Scotts. 


• Tarn, a mountain lake. 




» See Appendix, Note 2 T. 


1 Earn, a Scottish eagle. s See Appendix, Note t U 




• " We absola »ly lee the fires kindling, one after another, in 


• Bowne, make ready. 




*• following animated desoript' "y."— Annual Review, 1804. 


>o Protection money exacted by freebooten. 





aANTO IV. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



31 



No son to be his father's stay, 
Ajid guide liun on the rugged way ? 
" Ay, once he had — ^but he was dead !" — 
Upon the harp he stoop'd his head, 
Ajid busied liimself the strings withal, 
•'o hide the tear that fain would faU. 
In solemn measure, soft and slow, 
JLrose a father's notes of woe.' 



€\)t Cas of tijc Cast iHinstrel. 



CANTO FOUETH. 



Sweet Teviot ! on thy silver tide 

Tlie glaring bale-fires blaze no more , 
No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and wiUow'd sliore ;* 
Where'er thou wind'st, by dale ot hill, 
All, all is peaceful, all is still. 

As if thy waves, smce Time was born. 
Since first they roll'd upon the Twwid,* 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed, 

Nor started at the bugle-horn, 

IL 

Unlike the tide of human time, 

Wliich, though it change in ceaseless flow, 
Retains each gi'ief, retains each crime 

Ito earliest course was doom'd to know ; 
And, darker as it downward bears. 
Is stain'd with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebb'd with me, 
It still reflects to Memory's eye 
The hour my brave, my only boy, 

FeU by the side of great Dundee.* 

> " Nothing can excel the simple concise pathos of the 
iiose ot this Canto — nor the touching picture of the Bard when, 
with assumed bnsiness, he tries to conceal real sorrow. How 
well the ]>oet understands the art of contrast — and how jndi- 
uonsly it is exerted in the exordium of the next Canto, where 
our mourning sympathy is exchanged for the thrill of pleas- 
arc 1" — Anna Seward. 

' " What luxury of sound in this line !"— Anna Seward. 

s Orin ■ -" Since first they rolled t/ieir way to Tweed." 

* The Vis^eomit of Dundee, slain in the battle of Killicrankie. 

6 " Some of the most interesting passages of the poem are 
kflose in wliich the author drops the business of his story to 
moralize, and apply to his own situation the images and reflec- 
tions it has siggested. After concluding one Canto with an 
account of the warlike array which was prepared for the re- 
ception of the English invaders, he opens the succeeding one 
with the following beautiful verses, (Stanzas i. and ii.) 

" Thsie are several other detached passages of equal beanty,« 

6 No one will dissent from this, who reads, in particular, the first two 
tnd heart-glowing stanias of Canto VI. — noWf by association of the past, 
'Cttde-aU the more Affecting -E» 



Why, when the volleying musket play'd 
Against tlie bloody Higldand blade, 
Why was not I beside hun laid ! — 
Enough — he died the death of fame ; 

he died with conquering Graeuae. 



Enough 



III. 
Now over Border, dale and fell, 

Full wide and far was terror spread 
For pathless marsh, and moimtain cell, 

The peasant left liis lowly shed.' 
The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent 
Beneath the peel's rude battlement ; 
And maids and matrons dropp'd the teiir, 
While ready warriors seized the spear. 
From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eyt 
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, 
Which, curling in the risuig sun, 
Show'd southern ravage was begun.' 

IV. 

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried — 
" Prepare ye all for blows and blood ; 
Watt Tinlinn,' from the Liddel-side, 
Comes wading through the flood.'" 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock ; 
It was but last St. Barnabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night, 
But fled at morning : well they knew, 
In vain he never twang'd the yew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower, 
That drove him from liis Liddel tower ; 
And, by my faith," the gate-ward said, 
" I think 'twill prove a Warden-Raid."" 

V. 

While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman * 
Enter'd the echoing barbican. 

which might be quoted in prdoi of the effect which is proilaiMl 
by this dramatic interference of the narrator." — Jeffrrt 

'' See Appendix, Note 2 V, 

e Ifaid. Note 2 W. » Ibid. Note 2 X. 

10 " And when they cam to Branksome ha 
They shouted a' baith loud and hie, 
Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch, 

Said — ' Whae's this brings the fraye to me J' 
' It's I, Jamie Teller, o' the fair Dodhead, 
And a harried man I think I be,' " &c. 

Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 8. 

11 An inroad commanded by the Warden in person. 

13 " The dawn displays the smoke of ravaged fields, and ehe^ 
herds, with their flocks, flying before the storm. Tidingi 
brought by a tenant of the family, not used to seek a sheltai 
on light occasions of alarm, disclose the strength and objeo> 
of the invaders. This man is a character of a lower and of ■ 
rougher cast than Deloraine. The portrait of the rude m- 
tainer is sketched with the same masterly hand. Here, agaiB, 
Mr. Scott has trod in the footsteps tif tlxs old romancersf wlw 



14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO rv 



fie led a small and shaggy nag, 

'riiflt through a bog, from hag to hag,* 

Coald bomid hke any BilDiope stag." 

It bore his wife and cliildrun twain ; 

A half-clothed serf was all their train; 

His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd, 

Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,* 

Tiaugh'd to lier friends among the crowd. 

lie was of stature passing taU, 

But sp;\rely form'd, and le.on withalj 

A batter'd morion on his brow ; 

A leather jack, as fence enow. 

On lus broad shoulders loosely hung; 

A border axe beliind was slung ; 

His spear, six Scottish ells in length, 
Seem'd newly dyed with gore ; 

His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, 
His hardy partner bore. 

VI. 

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 

The tidhigs of the English foe : — 

" Belted Will Howard ° is marching here, 

And hot Lord Dacre," with many a spear. 

And all the German hackbut-men,' 

Who have long lain at Askerten : 

They cross'd the Liddel at, curfew hour, 

And burn'd my httle lonely tower : 

The fiend receive their souls therefor ! 

It had not been burnt this year and more. 

Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright. 

Served to guide me on my flight ; 

But I was chased the hvelong night. 

Black Jolm of Akeshaw, and Fergus Graeme, 

Fast upon my traces came. 

Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, 

And shot theh horses in the bog. 

Slew Fergu^with my lance outright — 

I had him long at liigh despite : 

He di'ove my cows last Fastern's night." 

VII.- 

Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, 
Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale ; 

wnf T« not themeelves to the display of a few personages who 
fcr.li oter the stage on stately stilts, but usually reflect all 
Jtt rarieties of character that marked the era to which they 
at'oag The interesting example of manners thus preserved 
M ns if not the orly advantage which results from this peco- 
&u itmcture of their plan. It is this, amongst other circum- 
I snces, wh oh enables them to carry ns along with them, 
I : ler 1 know not what species of fascination, and to make 
04 u it were, credulous speqfators of their most extravagant 
<ceTi*s. In t'lis they seem to resemble the painter, who, in 

je delineation of a battle, while ne places the adverse heroes 
if the day combating in the front, takes care to fill his back- 
^onnd with subordinate figures, whose app<^arance adds at 
Mice both spirit and an air of probability to the scene." — 

Oritieai Remew 1805. 
' The broken ground in a bo?. 



As far as they coull judge ly ken, 

Tliree hours would bring to Teviot's etrimc: 
Three thousand armed Enghshmen — 

MeanwJiile, fuU many a warlike band 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, 
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. 

There was saddling and mounting in haste, 

There was pricking o'er moor and loa ; 
He tliat was last at the trysting-plac« 

Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye. 

VIII. 

From fair St. Mary's silver wave. 

From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height 
His ready lances Tliirlestane brave 

Array'd beneath a banner bright. 
The tressured fleur-de-luce he claims, 
To wreath his sliiield, since royal James, 
Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave, 
The proud distinction grateful gave, 

For faith 'mid feudal jars; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone, 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars ; 
And hence, in fair remembrance worn, 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
Hence his high motto sliines reveal'd — 
" Ready, aye ready," for the field.® 

IX. 

An aged Knight, to danger steel' d, 

With many a moss-trooper, came on ; 
And azure in a golden field. 
The stars and crescent graced his shield. 

Without the bend of Murdieston.'" 
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower, 
And wide round haimted Castle-Ower : 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood, 
His wood-einbosom'd mansion stood ; 
In the dark glen, so deep below, 
The herds of plunder'd England low ; 
His bold retainers' daily food. 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Marauding cliief 1 his sole delight 

> See Appendix, Note 2 S 

9 Boadsman. 

* As the Borderers were indifferen itbont the fnrnirare j 
their habitations, so much exposed to be burned and plan 
derod, they were proportionally anxious to display splendor is 
decorating and ornamenting their female*. — See Lbs LIT rfi 
Moribus Limitaneorum. 

B See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 

6 Ibid. Note 3 A. 

"> Musketeers. See Appendix, Note 3 B. 

8 The four last lines of stanza vii. are not in the lit EriitiM 
—Ed. 

9 See Appendix, Note 3 O 
v> Ibid. Note 3 D. 



jANTo rv. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



isi 



The moonlight raid, th*- inorning figlit ; 
Not evou the Flower of Yarrow's charms, 
In youth, might tame his rage for arms ; 
And still, in age, he spurn'd at rest, 
And still Ills brows the helmet press'd, 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Wfre while as Dinlay's spotless snow, 

Five stately warriors drew the sword 
Before th^ir father's band ; 

A braver knight than Harden's lord 
Ne"er belted on a brand.' 

Snotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,' 

Came trooping down the TodshawhiU ; 
By the sword they won their land. 

And by the sword they hold it still. 
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale. 
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. — 
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair, 
The Beattisons were his vassals there. 
The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood. 
The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude ; 
High of heart, and haughty of word. 
Little they reck'd of a tame Uege lord. 
The Earl into fair Eskdale came. 
Homage and seignory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the GaUiard a heriot^ he sought, 
Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought." 
— " Dear to me is my bonny white steed, 
Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need ; 
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." — 
Word on word gave fuel to fire, 
I'ill so higUy blazed the Beattison's ire, 
But that the Earl the flight had ta'en, 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur. 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale miur ; 
And it fell down a weary wight. 
Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 

XL 

The Earl was a wrathful man to see. 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
bi haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke. 
Saying — " Take these traitors to thy yoke 
Fnr a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, 
AJl Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold 
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man ; 

i &ie, besides the note on this stanza, one in the Border 
kfinstreisy, vol. ii. p. ]0, respecting Wat of Harden, the Au- 
thor's ancestor. 

A iatirical piece, entitled "The Town Eclogue," which 
made much noise in Edinburgh shortlj after the appearance of 
ftie Minstrelsy, has these lines : — 

" A modem author spends a hundred leaves, 
To prove hi& an'cestors notorious thieves " — Bit 



But spare "Woodkerrick's lands alone, 

For he lent me his horse to escape upon." 

A glad man then was Branksome bold, 

Down he flung him the purse of gold ; 

To Eskdale soon he spm^r'd amain, 

And with him five himdred riders has ta'en. 

He left his merrymen in the midst of the liill, 

And bade them hold them close and still ; 

And alone he wended to the plain. 

To meet with the GaUiard and all his train. 

To Gilbert the GaUiard thus he said : — 

" Know thou me for thy Uege-lord and head • 

Deal not with me as -^ith Morton tame, 

For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 

Give me in peace my heriot due, 

Thy bonny wliite steed, or thou shalt rue. 

If my horn I tlu-ee times wind, 

Eskdale shall long have the sound in min d." 

XIL 
Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn ; 
" Little care we for thy winded horn. 
Ne'er shaU it be the GaUiard's lot. 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 
"Wend thou to Branksome back on foot, 
With rusty spur and miry Vjoot." — 
He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, 
That tke dun deer started at fair Craikcr nss ; 
He blew again so loud and clear. 
Through the gray mountain-mist there did lancei 

appear ; 
And the third blast rang with such a din, 
That the echoes answer'd from PentouE-Iinn, 
And aU his riders came Ughtly in. 
Then had you seen a gaUant shock. 
When saddles were emptied, and lances broke 
For each scornfxfl word the GaUiard had said, 
A Beattison on the field was laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain drew. 
And he bore the GalUard tlu-ough and through 
Where the Beattisons' blood mix'd with the rill, 
The GalUard's-Haugh men caU it etiU. 
The Scotts have scatter 'd the Beattison clan, 
Li Eskdale they left but one landed man. 
The vaUey of Eske, from the mouth to the sour** 
Was lost and won for that bonny -whits Lcrea. 

XIIL 

Wliitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, 
And waniors more than I may name ; 
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaagh-swair,* 

3 Stanzas x. xi. xii. were not i||||the first Edition. 

' See Appendix, Note 3 E. 

■• The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled t« 
best horse of the vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld. 

' This and the three folio iring lines are not in ihe firet e*J 
tion. — Ed. 



*« SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ur. 


From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen. 


And though the wound soon heal'd again. 


Troop'd man and liorse, and bow and spear ; 


Yet, as he ran, he yell'd for pain ; 


Their gathering word was Bellenden*. 


And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast, 


And better hearts o'er Border sod 


Rode back to Branksorae fiery fast. 


To siege or rescue never roele. 




Tlie Ladye mark'd the aids come in, 


XVL 


And liigh her heart of pride arose : 


Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood. 


Shfj bade her youthful son attend, 


That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood 


That he might know liis father's friend. 


And martial murmiu-s, from below, 


ArA learn to face liis foes. 


Proclauu'd the approaching southern foe. 


' Thi boy is ripe to look on war ; 


Through the dark wood, in mingled tone. 


I saw liim di-aw a cross-bow stifl^ 


Were Border pipes and bugles blown; 


Ajid his true arrow struck afar 


The coursers' neighing he could ken. 


The raven's nest upon the cliif ; 


A measured tread of marching men ; 


The red-cross, on a southern breast, 


Wliile broke at times the solemn hum, 


Is broader than the raven's nest : 


Tlie Ahuayn's sullen kettle-drum ; 


Thou, Wliitslade, shalt teach liim his weapon to 


And baimers tall, of crimson sheen, 


wield, 


Above the copse appear ; 


And o'er him hold his father's shield," 


And, glistening through the hawthorns 


XIV. 


green, 
Shine helm, and shield, and spear. 


Well may you think, the wily page 


■ 


Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 


XVIL 


He counterfeited childish fear. 


Light forayers, first, to view the ground, 


And shriek' d, and shed full many a tear, 


Spurr'd their fleet coursers loosely round ; 


And moan'd and plain'd in manner wUi 


Behind, in close array, and fast. 


Tlie attendants to the Ladye told, 


The Kendal archers, all in green. 


Some fairy, sure, had changed the diild, 


Obedient to the bugle blast, 


That wont to be so free and, bold. 


Advancing from the wood were seen. 


Then wrathful was the noble dame ; 


To back and guard the archer band. 


She blush'd blood-red for very shame : — 


Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand : 


" Hence I ere the clan liis faintness view ; 


A hardy race, on Irthmg bred, 


Hence with the weakling to BuccleuchI — 


With kirtles wliite and crosses red, 


Watt Tinlimi, thou shalt be his guide 


Array'd beneath the bamier tall 


To Rangleburn's lonely side. — 


That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer 'd wall; 


Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, 


And minstrels, as they march'd in order. 


That coward should e'er be son of mine l" 


Play'd, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on (Li 




Border" 


XV. 




A heavy task "Watt Tinlinn had, 


XVIIL 


To guide the counterfeited lad. 


Behind the EngUsh bill and bow, 
The mercenaries, firm and slow, 


Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 


Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight, 


Moved on to fight, in dark array, 


He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, 


By Conrad led of W olfenstein. 


Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. 


Who brought the band from distant Rhine, 


It cost Watt Tinhnn mickle toil 


And sold their blood for foreign pay. 


To drive him but a Scottish raUe ; 


The camp their home, their law the sword; 


But as a shallow brook they cross'd. 


They knew no country, own'd no lord :' 


The elf, amid the running stream, 


They were not arm'd Uke England's sons, 


His figure changed, like form in dream, 


But bore the levin-dartmg guns ; 


And fled, and shouted, " Lost 1 lost I lost 1" 


Buff coats, all frounced and 'broider'd o'er, 


Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, 


And morsing-horns' and scarfs they wore 


But faster still a clotn-yard shaft 


Each better knee was bared, to aid 


Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew. 


The warriors in the escalade ; 


And pierced his shoulder through and through 


All, as they march'd, in rugged tongue, 


Although the imp might not be slain, 


Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 


1 See Appendix, Note 3 F. 


t See Appendix, Note 3 O. * Powder-flAik* 



9AKT0 IV. 



THE LAY O^ THE LAST MII^TSTREL. 



XIX. 

But louder etill the clamor grew, 

And louder still the minstrels blew, 

Wlien, from beneath the greenwood tree, 

Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry ; 

His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear, 

Brought up the battle's gUttering rear : 

There many a youthful knight, fuU keen 

To gain hie spurs, in ai'ms was seen ; 

With favor in his crest, or glove, 

Memorial of his ladye-love. 

So rode they forth in fair array, 

TiU full their lengthen'd Unes display ; 

Then call'd a halt, and made a stand. 

And cried, " St. George, for merry England 1"' 

XX. 

Now every English eye, intent 
On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; 
So near they were, that they might know 
The straining harsh of each cross-bow ; 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partisan ; 
Falcon and culver," on each tower, 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower ; 
And flashing armor frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke, 
"Where upon tower and turret head, 
The seething pitch and molten lead 
Reek'd like a witch's caldron red. 
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall. 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoary Seneschal 

XXI. 

Armed he rode, aU save the head. 

His wliite beard o'er his breast-plate spread ; 

Unbroke by age, erect his seat, 

He ruled his eager courser's gait ; 

Forced him, with chasten'd fire, to prance, 

And, high curvetting, slow advance : 

In sign of truce, his better hand 

Display'd a peeled willow wand ; 

His squire, attending in the rear. 

Bore high a gauntlet on a spear.' 

When they espied liim riding out. 

Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 

Sped to the front of their array, 

To hear what this old knight should say. 

XXIL 
"Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 

' " The stanzas, describing the march of the English forces, 
lud the investiture of the castle of Branxholm, display a great 
«r.owledge of ancient costume, as well as a most picturesque 
and lively pictnra of feudal warfare." — Critical Review. 

I Ancient pieces of artillery. 

* A );'oi t npi a a lance was the emblem of faith among t'ie 



Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide, 

In hostile guise ye dare to ride. 

With Kendal bow, and GLLsland brand. 

And all yon mercenary band, 

Upon the bounds of fail' Scotland ? 

My Ladye reads you swith retm-n ; 

And, if but one poor straw you bum. 

Or do our towers so much molest, 

As scare one swallow from her nest, 

St. Mary 1 but we'll light a brand 

Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland."— 

XXIIL 

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, 
But cahner Howard took the word : 
" May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall, 
Oiu" pursuivant-at-arms shall show 
Both why we came, and when we go."— 
The message sped, the noble Dame 
To the wall's outward circle came ; 
Each chief around lean'd on his spear 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
AU in Lord Howard's livery dress'd. 
The Hon argent deck'd his breast ; 
He led a boy of blooming hue — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch, 
Obeisance meet the herald made, 
And thus his master's wUl he said :— 

XXIV. 
" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see. 
All through the Western Wardenry, 
Yom* law-contemning kmsmen ride. 
And burn and spoil tlie Border side ; 
And iU beseems your rank and birth 
To make your towers a flemens-firth.* 
We claim from thee William of Delfiraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason* pain. 
It was but last St. Cuthbert's even 
He prick'd to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harried' the lands of Ricliard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widow'd Dame 
These restless riders may not tame. 
Either receive witliin thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's powers. 
Or straight they sound their warrison,* 
And storm and spoil thy garrison : 

ancient Borderers, who were wont, wlien any one broita hit 
word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a fail.'ileai 
villain at the tirst Border meeting. This ceremony was muo> 
draaded. See Lesley. 
* An asylum for outlaws. ^ See Appendix, Nne 3 H 

(Plundered. ' Note of assault. 



18 



SCOTT'S FOI^IICAL WORKS. 



OAjno :;> 



And tliis fair boy, to London led, 

Shall good King Edward's page be bred." 

XXV. 

He ceased — and loud the boy did cry, 
And stretch'd his Kttle arras on high ; 
Implored for aid each well-known face, 
And strove! to seek the Dame's embrace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer, 
G ash'd to her eye the unbidden tear • 
She gazed upon the leaders romid, 
AtA dark and sad each warrior frown'd ; 
Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest ; 
I'^nalter'd and collected stood, 
And thus replied, in dauntless mood : — 

XXVI. 

" Say to your Lords of high emprize,' 

'Wlio war on women and on boys, 

That either WiUiam of Deloraine 

WLU cleanse liim, by oath, of march-treason stain,' 

Or else he will the combat take 

'Gainst Musgrave, for his lienor's sake. 

No knight in Cumberland so good, 

But William may coimt with liim kin and blood. 

Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,' 

Wlien EngUsh blood sweU'd Ancram's ford ;* 

And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight, 

And b:\re liim ably in the flight, 

Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight. 

F(jr the young heir of Branksome's line, 

God be his aid, and God be mine ; 

Tlirough me no friend shall meet his doom ; 

Here, wliile I Uve, no foe finds room. 

Then, if thy Lords their purpose urge. 
Take our defiance loud and liigh ; 

Our slogan is their lyke-wake' dirge. 

Our moat, the grave where they shall lie." 

XXVIL 

Proud she look'd round, applause to claim — 
Then lighten'd Tliirlestane's eye of flame ; 

His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were flung. 
To heaven the Border slogan rung 

" St. Mary for the young Buccleuch !" 
The Enghsh war-cry answer'd wide, 

And forward bent eacli southern spear ; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride, 

And drew the bowstring to his ear ; 
Each miastreFs war-note loud was blown ; — 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, 

A horseman gallop'd from the rear. 

Orip.—" Say to thy Lordi of high emprize." 

See \ppendix. Note 31. ^ Ibid. Note 3 K. 

(bid Note 3 (.. 



XXVIIL 
•' Ah ! noble Lords !" he breathless said, 

* What treason has your march betray'd I 
What make you here, from aid so far, 
Before you widls, around you war ? 
Your foemen triumph in the thought, 
Tliat in the toils the hon's caught. 
Already on dark Ruberslaw 

The Douglas holds liis weapon-schaw ;* 

The lances, waving in liis train. 

Clothe the dim heatli like autumn grain; 

And on the Liddel's northern strand, 

To bar retreat to Cumberland, 

Lord Maxwell ranks his merry -men good. 

Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 

And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 

Have to proud Angus come ; 
And aU the Merse and Lauderdale 
Have risen with haughty Home. 
An exile from Northumberland, 

Li Liddesdale I've wander'd long ; 
But still my heart was with merry Eng» 
land. 
And cannot brook my country's wrong ; 
And hard I've spurr'd all night, to show 
The mustering of the coining foe." 

XXIX. 
" And let them come !" fierce Dacre cried ; 
" For soon yon crest, my father's pride. 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea, 
And waved in gales of GalQee, 
From Branksome's highest towers display'd, 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid 1 — 
Level each harquebuss on row ; 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 
Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die !" — 

XXX. 

« Yet hear," -quoth Howard, " calmly hear, 

Nor deem my words the words of fear : 

For who, in field or foray slack. 

Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back T 

But thus to risk our Border flower 

In strife against a kingdom's power, 

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three, 

Certes, were desperate poUcy. 

Nay, take the terms the Ladye madt, 

Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 

Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine' 

In single fight, and, if he gain. 

He gains for us ; but if he's cross'd, 

'Tis but a smgle warrior lost • 

S Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previons tc intenMBI 

• Wcapon-schaw, the military array of a county. 
' See Appendix. Note 3 M. 8 Ibid. Note H .N. 



*ABTo IV THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 9V 


The reflt, retreating as they came, 


XXXIV. 


A.void defeat, and death, and shame." 


I know right well, that, in their lay, 




FuU many minstrels sing aiid say. 


XXXL 


Such combat shoidd be made on horse, 


111 could tin haughty Dacre brook 


On foaming steed, in fuU career. 


His ])rother Warden's sage rebuke ; 


With brand to aid, when as the speai 


A.nd yet his forward step he staid, 


Shovdd shiver in the course : 


Ajid slow and sidlenly obey'd. 


But he, the jovial Harper,' taught 


But ne'er agviin the Border side 


Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, 


Did these two lords in friendship ride ; 


In guise wluch now I say ; 


And tliis slight discontent, men say, 


He knew each ordinance and clause 


Cost blood upon another day. 


Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-laWc, 




In the old Douglas' day. 


XXXII. 


He brook'd not, he, that scoffing tongUu 


The pursuivant-at-arms again 


Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, 


Before the castle took his stand ; 


Or caU his song untrue : 


His trumpet call'd, with parleying strain. 


For this, when they the goblet pfied. 


The leaders of the Scottish baud ; 


And such rude taunt had chafed his pride. 


And he defied, in Musgrave's right. 


The Bard of Reull he slew. 


Stout Deloraine to single fight ; 


On Teviot's side, in tight they stood. 


A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 


And tuneful hands were stain'd with blood ; 


And thus the terms of fight he said : — 


Where still the thorn's white branches wav« 


" If in the fists good Musgrave's sword 


Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 


Vanquish the knight of Deloraine, 




Your youthful chieftain, Branksome'a 


XXXV. 


Lord, 


W hy should I teU the rigid doom, ^ 


Shall hostage for his clan remain: 


That dragg'd my master to his toi:. . . 


If Deloraine foil good Musgi'ave, 


How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair 


The boy his Uberty shall have. 


Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, 


Howe'er it falls, the Engfish band. 


And wrimg their hands for love of him, 


Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm'd. 


Who died at Jedwood Air ? 


In peaceful march, like men unarm' d, 


He died ! — his scholars, one by cne, 


Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 


To the cold silent grave are gone • 




And I, alas 1 survive alone. 


XXXIIL 


To muse o'er rivalries of yore. 


Unconscious of the near relief, 


And grieve that I shaU hear nc more 


The proffer pleased each Scottish chief. 


The strams, with envy heard be/oi ^ , 


Tho'igh much the Ladye sage gainsay'd ; 


For, with my minstrel brethren 6ci^ 


For though their hearts were brave and 

irue, 
FroEi Jedwood's recent sack they knev 


My jealousy of song is dead. 




How tardy was the Regent's aid: 


He paused : the fistening dames agaui 


And you may guess the noble Dame 


Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strairu 


Durst not the secret prescience own, 


With many a word of kindly chee*,— 


Sprung from the art she might not name, 


In pity half, and half sincere, — 


By which the coming help was known. 


Marvell'd the Duchess how so well 


Closed was the compact, and agreed 


His legendary song could teU — 


That fists should be enclosed with speed, 


Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 


Beneath the castle, on a lawn : 


Of feuds, whose memory was not ; 


They fix'd the morrow for the strife. 


Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 


Dn foot, with Scottish axe and knife, 


Of towers, which harbor now the hare ; 


At the fourth hour from peep of dawn ; 


Of maimers, long since changed and gone , 


W hen Deloraine, from sickness freed, 


Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 


Or else a champion in his stead. 


So long have slept, that fickle Fame 


Rhould for himself and chieftain stand, 


Had blottei from her rolls their namf 


Agail2jt stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 


And twined roimd some new minion's hea^ 


» See Appendix Note 3 0. 


9 See Appendix. Note 3 P. 



40 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK?. cakto » 


The fading wreath for which they bled ; 


Mourns e'er the field he heap'd with dead , 


In 800th, 'twas str.'inge, this old man's verse 


Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amaii^ 


Could call them from their marble hearse. 


And slu-ieks along the battle-plain. 




The Chief, whose antique crownlet loig 


The Harper smiled, well-pleased ; for ne'er 


StiU sparkled in the feudal song, 


Was flattery lost on poet's ear : 


Now, from the mountain's misty tLr»>:ia 


A simple race 1 they waste their toil 


Sees, in the thanedom once his owr. 


For the vain tribute of a smile ; 


His ashes undistinguish'd he. 


E'en, when in age their flame expires. 


His place, his power, his memory oie : 


Hei dulcet breath can fan its fires : 


His groans the lonely caverns fill, 


rheir droop-ng fancy wakes at praise. 


His tears of rage mipel t ae rill : 


And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. 


All mourn the Minstrel's harp unstrtmg 




Their name imknown, their praise uasunp 


Smiled then, weU-pleased, the Aged Man, 




And thus his tale continued ran. 


III. 




Scarcely the hot assault was staid. 




The terms of truce were scarcely made. 
When they could spy, from Branksoi^e's tow«? 




€lj£ Cas of tlje Cast illinstrd. 


Tlie advancing march of martial powers. 

Thick clouds of dust afar appear'ij.. 

And trampling steeds were faintly heard ; 




CA^P^O FIFTH. 


Bright spears,' above the columns d»in, 
Glanced momentary to the sun ; 




L 


And feudal banners fair display'ii 


Call it not vain : — they do not err. 


The bands that moved to Brankscme'a aid. 


Who say, that when the Poet dies, 




Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 


IV. 


And celebrates his obsequies : 


Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 


W ho say, tall cliif, and cavern lone. 


From the fair Middle Marches cam ■a , 


For the departed Bard make moan ; 


The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, 


That mountains weep in crystal riU ; 


Announcing Douglas, dreaded name !' 


That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 


Vails not to tell what steeds did spiu-n,* 


Tlirough his loved groves that breezes 6igh, 


Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne* 


And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; 


Their men in battle-order set ; 


And rivers teach their rusliing wave 


And Swinton laid the lance in rest. 


To murmur dirges roimd his grave. 


That tamed of yore the sparkling crsst 




Of Clarence's Plantagenet.' 


IL 


Nor Ust I say what hmidreds. more. 


Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 


From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 


Those things inanimate car mourn ; 


And Tweed's fair borders, to the war, 


But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 


Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar, 


Is vocal with the plaintive wail 


And Hepburn's mingled banners coiUv, 


Of those, who, else forgotten long, 


Down the steep mountain gUttermg far. 


Lived in the poet's faithful song, 


And shouting still, " A Home ! a Hou.'e I' * 


And, with the poet's parting breath, 




Whose memory feels a second death. 


V. 


The Maid's pale shade, who wails her lot, 


Now squire and knight, from Branksom«s sent 


Tliat love, true love, should be forgot. 


On many a com-teous message went ; 


From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 


To every chief and lord they paid 


Upon the gentle Minstrel's bier: 


Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; 


The jihantom Knight, his glory fled. 


And told them, — how a truce was made. 


• ( rig. — " Spear-heads above the colamns duo." — Ed. 


« Sir David Home of Wedderburne, who was s'ain in th« 


* See Appendix, Nota 3 Q. 


fatal Sattle of Flodden, left seren soni by his wife, Isabel 


• In the first edition we read — 


daughter of Hoppringle of Galashiels (now Pringle of Whit» 


" Vails not to tell what hur.dreda more 


bank). They were called the Bevtn Spears of Weddep 


From the rich Merse and Lammermore," &o. 


burne. 


The lines on Weddarbume and Swiaton were inserted in 


' See Appendix, Note 3 R. 


M iecond editiin. — Ed. 


6 Ibid. Note 3 » 



fAjrtO T. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTKEL. 



4J 



And how a day of fight was ta'en 


Had fotmd a bloody sheath. 


'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine : 


'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change 


And how the Ladye pray'd them aear, 


Was not infrequent, nor held strange, 


That all would stay the light to see, 


In the old Border-day :^ 


And deign, in love and courtesy, 


But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 


To taste of Branfcsome cheer. 


In peaceful merruuent sunk down 


Nor, while the;7 tade to feast each Scot, 


The sun's declining ray. 


Were England's noble Lords forgot 




Himself, the hoary Seneschal 


VIII. 


Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 


The bhthsome signs of wassel gay 


Those gallant foes to Branksome HalL 


Decay 'd not with the dying day ; 


Accepted Howard, than whom knight 


Soon through the latticed .vindows tall 


"Was never dubb'd, more bold in fight ; 


Of lofty Branksome's lordly haU, 


Nor, when fi'om war and armor fi-ee. 


Divided square by shafts of stone, 


More famed for stately courtesy : 


Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 


But angry Dacre rather chose 


Nor less the gilded rafters rang 


In his pavilion to repose. 


With merry harp and beakers' clang . 




And frequent, on the darkening plain. 


VL 


Loud hollo, whoop, or wliistle ran. 


Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, 


As bands, their stragglers to regain. 


How i.nese two hostile armies met i 


Give the shrUl watchword of their clan ; 


Deeming it were no easy task 


And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 


To keep the truce which here was set ; 


Douglas or Dacre's conquering name. 


W here martial spirits, all on fire, 




Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 


IX, 


By mutual inroads, mutual blows, 


Less frequent heard, and fainter still, 


By habit, and by nation, foes, 


At length the various clamors died : 


They met on Teviot's strand ; 


And you miglit hear, from Branksome hfil. 


They met and sate them mingled down, 


No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 


Without a threat, without a frown, 


Save when the changing sentinel 


As brothers meet in foreign land : 


The challenge of his watch could tell ; 


The hands, the spear that lately grasp'd. 


And save, where, through the dark profound, 


Still ui the maUed gauntlet clasp'd, 


The clanging axe and hammer's sound 


Were interchanged in greeting dear ; 


Rimg from the nether lawn ; 


Visors were raised, and faces shown, 


For many a busy hand toil'd there. 


And many a Mend, to friend made known, 


Strong pales to shape, and beams to square,* 


Partook of social cheer. 


The lists' dread barriers to prepare 


Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 


Against the morrow's dawn. 


With dice and draughts some chased the 




day; 


X. 


And some, with many a merry shout. 


Ma:-garet from hall did soon retreat. 


In riot, revelry, and rout, 


Despite the Dame's reproving eye ; 


Pursued the foot-baU play.' 


Nor mark'd she, as she left her seat. 




Full many a stifled sigh ; 


VII. 


For many a noble warrior strove 


Yet, he it known, had bugles blown. 


To win the Flower of Teviot's love, 


Or sign of war been seen. 


And many a bold ally. — 


Those bands, so fair together ranged, 


With throbbing head and anxioiw boarl 


Tiijee hands, so frankly interchanged. 


AU in her lonely bower apart. 


Had dyed with gore the green : 


In broken sleep she lay : 


Tlie merry shout by Teviot-side 


By tunes, from silken couch sha rose ; 


Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide. 


While yet the baimer'd hosts repose. 


And in the groan of death ; 


She vieVd the dawning day : 


And wliingers," now in friendship bare. 


Of all the htmdreds sunk to*rest, 


rhe social meal to part and share, 


First woke the lovehest and the best 


» See Appendix, Note 3 T. 


i See Appendix, Note 3 (J. 'Ibid. NotalV 


* A sort of knife or poniard. 


< This 'ine is not in the iiist edition. 



42 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAHTO ? 



XL 


< 
The heart of them that loved so welL 


Sne gazed upon the inner court, 


True love's the gift which God has giveo 


Wliich in the tower's tall shado-w lay ; 


To man alone beneath the heaven : 


Where courser's clang, and stamp, and snort, 


It is not fantasy's hot fire. 


Had rung the Kvelong yesterday ; 


Whose wishes, soon as granted fly; 


N'ow still as death ; till stalking slow, — 


It liveth not in fierce desire. 


The jingling spurs announced liis tread, — 


With dead desire it doth not die ; 


A. stately warrior pass'd below ; 


It is the secret sympathy, 


But when he raised his plumed head — 


Tlie silver link,' the silken tie, 


Blessed Mary ! can it be ? — 


Which heart to heart, and mind to mind. 


Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers^ 


Li body and in soul can bind. — 


He walks through Branksome's hostile towers, 


Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 


With fearless step and free. 


To tell you of the approaching fight. 


She dared not sign, she dared not speak — 




Oh ! if one page's slmnbers break, 


XIV. 


His blood the price must pay ! 


Their warning blasts the bugles blew, 


Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, 


The pipe's shrill port* aroused each clan ; 


Not Margaret's yet more precious tears, 


In haste, the deadly strife to view. 


Shall buy his Ufe a day. 


The trooping warriors eager ran : 




Thick round the Usts then lances stocK^ 


XII. 


Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood ; 


Yet was his hazard small ; for well 


To Branksome many a look they threw 


You may betliink you of the spell 


The combatants approach to view. 


Of that sly mchin page ; 


And bandied many a word of boast. 


This to his lord he did impart, 


About the knight each favor'd most. 


And made him seem, by glamour art, 




A knight from Hermitage. 


XV. 


Unchallenged thus, the warder's post, 


Meantime full anxious was the Dame ; 


The court, unchallenged, thus he cross'd. 


For now arose disputed claim. 


For aU the vassalage : 


Of who should fight for Deloraine, 


But 1 what magic's quaint' disguise 


'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine 


Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes 1 


They 'gan to reckon Idn and rent. 


She started from her seat ; 


And frowning brow on brow was bent ; 


While with surprise and fear she strove, 


But yet not long the strife — for, lo 1 


And both could scarcely master love — 


Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 


Lord Henry's at her feet. 


Strong, as it seera'd, and free from pain 




In armor sheath'd from top to toe. 


XIIL 


Appear'd, and craved the combat due 


Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 


The Dame her charm successful knew,* 


That foul malicious urcliin had 


And the fierce chiefs their clauns with jeir 



To bring this meeting round ; 
For happy love's a heavenly sight, 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is foimd ; 
And oft I've deem'd, perchance lie thouerht 
Tieir erring passion might have wrought 

Sorrow, and sin, and shame ; 
AaJ death to Cranstoun's gallant Kmgnt^ 
And to the gentle ladye bright. 

Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could rot tell 

In the first edition, " the silver cord;" — 
" Yea, love, indeed, is light from heaven ; 
A spark of that immortal tire 
With angels shared, by Alia given. 
To lift from earth our low desire," &c. 

The Oiaour. 
A tLMil^ piece of mosic, adapted to the bagpipei. 



XVL 
When for the hsts they sought the plain, 
Tlie stately Ladye's silken rein 

Did noble Howard hold ; 
Unarmed by her side he walk'd, 
And much, in courteous phrase, they talfd 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of bufl^ 

With satin slash'd and lined ; 

• It may be noticed that th* late Lord Napier, thB repress! 
tative of the Scotls of Thirlestane, was Lord Lientenant • 
Selkirkshire (of which the author was sheiiff-depute) at th 
time when the poem was written ; the competitor for the hoa 
or of supplying Deloraine' place was the poet' own asoci 
tor. — Ed. 

* See Canto III. Staut xiii. 



f>%^fO V. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINhTREL. 



41 



Tawny liis boot, aud gold his spur, 
Kp cloak was all of Poland fur, 
zfis hose with silver twined ; 
ii^ Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, 
Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 
Hv,nce, in rude phrase, the Borderers stUl 
Call'd D.jble Howard, Belted WilL 

XVII. 
B;^jiiid Lord Howard and the Dame, 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, 

WTiose foot-cloth swept the ground: 
White was her wimple, and her veU, 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side. 
In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to gmde her broider'd rein. 
He deem'd, she shudder'd at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight ; 
But cause of terror all imguess'd. 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their chau-s of crimson placed, 
The Dame and she the barriers gi-aced. 

XVIIL 
Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
An EngUsh knight led forth to view ; 
Scarce rued the boy his present phght. 
So much he long'd to see the fight, 
Within the lists, in knightly pride. 
High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield. 
As marshals of the mortal field ; 
While to each knight their care assign'd 
Like vantage of the sun and wind.' 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim. 
In King and Queen, and Warden's name, 

That none, while lasts the strife, 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 
Aid to a champion to afibrd. 

On pern of his hfe ; 
And not a breath the silence broke. 
Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke :— 

XIX. 

ENGLISH HERALD. 

• Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 
Good knight and true, and freely born. 

Amends from Deloraine to crave. 
For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 

This coaplet was added in the second edition. 
After this, in the first edition, we read onlv 

" At the last words, with deadly blows, 
The ready waniors fiercely close." — Ed. 

The whole scene of the d'»el, or judicial combat, is coo 



He sayeth, that WUham of Delorame 

Is traitor false by Border laws ; 
This with his sword he wiU maintain, 

So help him God, and his good cause !* 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

" Here standeth WiUiam of Deloraine, 
Good knight and true, of noble strain. 
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain. 
Since he bore arms, ne'er soil'd his coat ; 
And that, so help him God above I 
He wiU on Musgrave's body prove, 
He lies most fouUy in his throat." 

LORD DACRE. 

" Forward, brave champions, to the fight I 
Sound trumpets 1" 

LORD HOME. 

— " God defend the right I"» 
Then, Teviot I how thine echoes rang. 
When bugle-somid and trumpet-clang 

Let loose the martial foes. 
And in mid list, with shield poised high. 
And measured step and wary eye, 

The combatants did close. 

XXL 
lU would it suit your gentle ear. 
Ye lovely listeners, to hear 
How to the axe the helms did sound. 
And blood pom-'d down from many a wouna 
For desperate was the strife and long, 
And either warrior fierce and strong. 
But, were each dame a hstening knight, 
I well could teU how waiTiors fight ! 
For I have seen war's lightning flasliing, 
Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, 
Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing 
And scorn'd amid the reeling strife. 
To yield a step for death or life. — 

XXIL 
'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow' 

Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain ; 
He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no 1 

Thence never shalt thou rise again I 
He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 
Undo the visor's barred band, 
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, 
And give him room for life to gasp I— 
O, bootless aid ! — haste, holy Friar, 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire 1 

ducted according to the strictest ordinances of chival^/ .^m 
delineated with all the minuteness of an ancient romancer 
The modem reader will probably find it rather tedious ; a. 
out the concluding stanzas, which are in a loftier meaaBl*— 
* 'Tis done ! 'tis done 1' " &c. — Jkffrky. 
* First Edition, " In rain — In vain I haste, boiy Friai. 



u 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



C'AAlO V 



Of all Ills guilt let him be shriven, 

And smooth his path from earth to heaven 1 

XXIII. 
Id haste the holy Friar sped ; — 
His naked foot was dyed with red. 

As through the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high, 
That hail'd the conqueror's victory, 

He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair, 
As o'er him he kneel'd down in prayer ; 
And still the crucifix on high 
He holds before his darkening eye; 
And still he bends an anxious ear, 
His faltering penitence to hear ; 

Still props him from the bloody sod, 
Still, even when soul and body part. 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, 

And bids him trust in God 1 
Unheard he prays ; — the death-pang's o'er I' 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 

XXIV. 
As if exhausted in the fight, 
Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands ; 
His beaver did he not "onclasp, 
Mai'k'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; 
And all, amid the throng'd array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
Wlio downward from the castle ran : 
He cross'd the barriers at a bound, 
And wild and haggard look'd aroimd. 

As dizzy, and in pain ; 
And all, upon the armed ground, 

Knew William of Deloraine 1 
Each ladye sprimg from seat with speed ; 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 

" And who art thou," they cried. 
' Who hast thii battle fought and won ?" 
ilis plumed helm was soon imdone — 

" Crane ioun of TeviDt-side I 
/or this iair prize I've foi^ght and won," — 
Vrd to the Ladye led her son. 

XXV 
toll oft the rescued boy she lass d, 
'id often press'd him to her breast; 
ror, under all her dauntless show, 
Her Lbort had throbb'd at every blow ; 

I Orv— " Unheard he prays ;—'ti3 o'er I 'tit 0'trt " 



Yet not Lord Cranstoim deign'd she greet, 
Though low he kneeled at her feet. • 
Me Usts not teU what words were made, 
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said— 

— For Howard was a generous foe— 
And how the clan imited pray'd 

The Ladye would the feud foregt), 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower, 

XXVL 
She look'd to river, look'd to hill, 

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy. 
Then broke her silence stei-n and still, — 

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me ; 
Their influence kindly stars may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, 

For pride is quell'd, and love is free."— 
She took fair Margaret by the hand, 
Wlio, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand 

That hand to Cranstoim's lord gave she.— 
" As I am true to thee and thine, 
Do thou be true to me and mine ! 

Tills clasp of love om* bond shall be ; 
For tliis is your betrotlung day. 
And all these noble lords shall stay. 

To grace it with their company." 

XXVIL 
All aa they left the Usted plain, 
Much of the story she did gain ; 
How Cranstomi fought with Deloraine, 
And of his page, and of the Book 
Wliich from the wounded knight he took ; 
And how he sought her castle liigh. 
That morn, by help of gramarye ; 
How, in Sir WilUam's armor dight, 
Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, 
He took on liim the single fight. 
But half his tale he left imsaid, 
And linger'd till he join'd the maid.^ 
Cared not the Ladye to tetray 
Her mystic arts in view of day ; 
But well she thought, ere midnight .ame. 
Of that strange page the pride to tame, 
From his foul hands the Book to save, 
And send it back to Michaers grave. — 
Needs not to tell each tendsr word 
Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord 
Nor how she told of former woes. 
And how her bosom fell and rose, 
While he and Musgrave bandied blows.— 
Needs not these lovers' joys to tell : 
One day, fair maids, you'll know them welL 

XXVIIL 
William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had waken'd from his deathlike trance ; 



And taught thst, in the listed f lain, 
Another, in bis arras and sliielo; 
gainst fierce Musgrave axe did ■wield. 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarm' d, he ran. 
And hence his presence scared the clan, 
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,' 
And not a man of blood and breath. 

Not much this new ally he loved. 

Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, 
He greeted him right heartilie ; 
He would not waken old debate. 
For he was void of rancorous hate. 

Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood, 
Unless when men-at-arms withstood, 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe : 

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now, 

When on dead Musgrave he look'd down , 

Grief darken'd on his rugged brow, 
Though half disguised with a frown ; 
And thus, wliile sorrow bent his head, 
His foeman's epitaph he made. 

XXIX. 

" Now, Richard Musgrave, liv'st thou here ! 

I ween, my deadly enemy ; 
For, if I slew thy brother dear. 

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me 
And when I lay in dungeon dark. 

Of Nawoi'th Castle, long months three, 
Till ransom'd for a thousand mark. 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried. 

And thou were now ahve, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide. 

Till one, or both of us did die : 
Yet rest thee God 1 for weU I know 
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In aU the northern coimties here, 
Wliose word is Snafile, spur, and spear. 
Thou wert the best to follow gear ! 
'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, 
To see how thou the chase couldst wind, 
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, 
And with the bugle rouse the fray 1' 

The spectral apparition of a living person. 

" The laids that over Onse to Berwick forth do bear, 
Have fot their blazon had, the snaffle, spa <ind spear." 

Poly-Albion, Song 13. 
8e« jlppendix, Note £ W.' 
t " The Btyle of the old romancers has been very snccess- 



rd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive agaia"*— 

XXX. 

So moum'd he, till Lord Dacre's band 
Were bowning back to Cumberland. 
They raised brave Musgrave from the field. 
And laid him on his bloody shield ; 
On levell'd Lances, four and four. 
By turns, the noble burden bore. 
Before, at times, upon the gale. 
Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail ; 
Beliind, foiu" priests, in sable stole, 
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul : 
Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 
And thus the gallant knight they bore. 
Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore ; 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, 
And laid him in his father's grav«> 



The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song; 
The mimic march of death prolong ; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near. 
Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; 
Now seems some mountain side to sweep. 
Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, 
Now the sad reqtiiem, loads the gale ; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave, 
Rung the fuU choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell, 
Why he, who touch'd the harp so well. 
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil. 
Wander a poor and thankless soil. 
When the more generous Southern Land 
Would well requite his skilful hand. 

The Aged Harper, howsoe er 
His only friend, his harp, was dear, 
Liked not to hear it rank'd so high 
Above his flowing poesy : 
Less liked he stUl, that scornful jeer 
Misprised the land he loved so dear ; 
High was the sound, as thus again 
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain, 

fnlly imitated in the whole of this scene ; and the spe««a o 
Deloraine, who, roused from his bed of sickness rashes iaUi 
the lists, and apostrophizes his fallen enemy, brought to ooi 
recollection, as well from the peculiar turn of expression i« 
its commencement, as in the tone of sentiment) which it C0D> 
veys, some of the funebres orationet of the JUert .Arthur.""- 
Critical RevieiB 



I« 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANID V] 



^ll£ Cap of tl)c Cast iHinstrcl. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



I. 

BEKATBEb there the man with soiil so dead, 
^lo never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land I 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd. 
As home his foosteps he hath turn'd, 
From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For liim no Minstrel raptures swell , 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vde dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung. 

IL 

Caledonia I stem and wild,* 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

_jand of brown heath and shaggy wood. 

Land of the mountain and the flood, 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band, 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 

Still, as I vit=w each well-known scene, 

Think what is now, and what hath been. 

Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; 

And thus I love them better still. 

Even in extremity of ill. 

By Yarrow's streams still let me stray, 

Though none sh^aid guide my feeble way ; 

Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, 

Although it cliill my wither'd cheek ;* 

Still lay ray head by Teviot Stone,' 

Th>agh there, forgotten and alone, 

The Baid may draw his parting groan. 

m. 

Not Bcom'd like me ! to Branksome Hall 
The Minstrels came, at festive call ; 
Trooping they came, from near and far, 
The jovial priests of mirth and war ; 
Alike for feast and fight prepared, 
Battle and banquet both they shared. 

• The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the ad- 
"«» to Scotland." — McIntosh. 

•"Hb preceding four lines now form the inscription on the 
/wnraent of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Sel- 
•9>j9 lift vol. X •). 9.57 



Of late, before each martial clan, 

Tliey blew their death-note in the van. 

But now, for every merry mate, 

Rose the portcuUis' iron grate ; 

They soimd the pif/e, they strike the strings 

They dance, they revel, and they sing, 

Till the rude tuiTets shake and ring. 

IV. 

Me lists not at this tide declare 

The splendor of the spousal rite, 
How muster'd in the chapel fair 

Both maid and matron, squire and knight 
Me Hsts not tell of owches rare. 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And Idrtles fm-r'd with miniver ; 
What plumage waved the altar round, 
How spurs and ringing chainlets sound ; 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ; 
That lovely hue wliich comes and flies, 
As awe and shame alternate rise I 



Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace, 
So much she fear'd each holy place. 
False slanders these : — I trust right well 
She wrought not by forbidden spell ;* 
For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in planetary hour : 
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part 
Wlio tamper with such dangerous art. 

But this for faithful truth I say, 
The Ladye by the altar stood, 

Of sable velvet her array. 

And on her head a crimson hood. 
With pearls embroider'd and entwined, 
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined ; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist* 
Held by a leash of silken twist. 

VI. 

The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'Twas now the meny hour of noon, 
And in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and squire, vrith heedful haeto 
Marshall'd the rank of every guest ; 
Pages, with ready blade, were there, 
Tlie mighty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane, 

8 The line " Still lay my head,' &o., was not in til* 
edition. — Ed. 

4 Bee Appendix, Note 3 X. 

t Ibid. Note 3 Y. 



CANTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



47 



And princely peacock's gilded train,' 

And o'er the boar-head, gamish'd brave, 

And cygnet from St. Mary's wave ;' 

O'er ptarmigan and venison, 

The prieat had spoke his benison. 

Then rose the riot and the din, 

Abo 76, beneath, without, within! 

For, fi'om the lofty balcony, 

Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery : 

Tlieir clanging bowls old warriors quaff'd, 

Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd ; 

Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild, 

To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 

Ilie hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam, 

The clamor join'd with whistUng scream, 

And flapp'd their wings, and shook Iheir bells, 

In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 

Round go the flasks of ruddy wine. 

From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ; 

Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 

And all is mirth and revelry. 

VII. 
The Goblin Page, omitting still 
No opportimity of ill. 
Strove now, while blood ran hot and high, 
To rouse debate and jealousy ; 
TiU Conrad, Lord of "Wolfenstein, 
By nature fierce, and warm with wine, 
And now in humor highly cross' d, 
A-bout some steeds his band had lost, 
High words to words succeeding still, 
Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill ;' 
A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
Whom men call Dickon Draw-the-sword. 
He took it on the page's saye, 
Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, 
The kindhng discord to compose : 
Stern Rutherford right httle said. 
But bit his glove,* and shook his head. — 
A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 
Stout Conrade, cold, and drench'd in blood. 
His bosom gored with many a woimd. 
Was ) ly a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 
XTmo'Own the manner of his death, 



' Bee Appendix, Note 3 Z. 

' There are often flights of wild swans npon St. Mary's 
j»ke, at the head of the river Yarrow. See Wordsvorth's 
fnmw I'isited. 

" The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Floats double, swan and shadow." — Ed. 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 A. 

4 Ibid. Note 4 B. 

6 The per?on bparing this redontable nom de giierre was an 
Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale He occars 
■d the li^t 'if Border riders, in 1597. 

• Bee Aopendii, Note 4 C. 

' "^ie ai pea ranee ana d'ess of the coiDpanj eusennbled in 



Gone was his brand, both sword and sneath 
But ever from that time, 'twas said. 
That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 

VIIL 
The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye 
Might liis foul treachery espie. 
Now sought the castle buttery, 
WTiere many a yeoman, bold and frca, 
RevelI'd as mesrrily and well 
As those that sat in lordly selle. 
"Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise 
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ;• 
And he, as by his breeding bound. 
To Howard's merry -men sent it round. 
To quit them, on the English side, 
Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 
" A deep carouse to yon fair bride 1" 
At every pledge, from vat and pail, 
Foam'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale ; 
While shout the riders every one : 
Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan, 
Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 
When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en* 

IX. 

The wily page, with vengeful thought, 

Remember'd him of Tinhnn's yew. 
And swore, it should be dearly bought 

That ever he the arrow drew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest. 
With bitter gibe and taimting jest ; 
Told, how he fled at Solway strife. 
And how Hob Armstrong cheer'd his wife ; 
Tlien, shunning still his powerful arm. 
At unawares he wrought him harm ; 
From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
Dash'd from his lips his can of beer ; 
Then, to his knee sly creeping on. 
With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
The venom'd woimd, and festering joint. 
Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd. 
And board and flagons overturn' d.'' 
Riot and clamor wild began ; 
Back to the hall the Urchin ran ; 



the chapel, and the description of the snbseqneut Teart, b< 
which the hounds and hawks are not the least important ptr 
sonages of the drama, are again happy imitations of those an 
thots from whose rich bnt unpolished ore Mr. Scott has wronghi 
much of his most exquisite imagery and description. A so- 
ciety, such as that assembled in Branxholm Castle, inflameil 
with national prejudices, and heated with wine, seems to hav< 
contained in itself sufficient seeds of spontaneous disorde. 
the goblin page is well miroiluced, as applying a torch a> U4ij 
mass of combustibles, duarrels, highly characteristic of Bo^ 
der manners, both in their cause and the manner in which the? 
are supported, ensue, as well among the lordly guests, u th' 
yeomen assembbd in the buttery."- Critical Revt^» IBO* 



49 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. caioo ti 


Took in a darWino^ nook his post, 


And died for her sake in Palestme, 


And grinn'd and mutter'd, " Lost I lost 1 lost 1" 


So Love wad still the lord of all 


X. 


Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 


By this, the Dame, lest farther fray- 


(The sun shines fair on Carlisle waU,) 


Should mar the concord of the day, 


Pray for their souls who died for love, 


Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 


For Love shall still be lord of aU ! 


And first stepp'd forth old Albert Graeme, 




Tlie Minstrel of that ancient name :* 


XIIL 


Was none who struck the harp so well, 


As ended Albert's simple lay. 


Within the Land Debateable ; 


Arose a bard of loftier port ; 


WeU friended, too, his hardy kin* 


For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, 


Whoever lost, were sure to win ; 


Renown'd m haughty Henry's court : 


They sought the beeves that made their broth, 


Tliere rung thy harp, unrivall'd long. 


In Scotland and in England both. 


Fitztraver of the silver song 1 


In homely guise, as nature bade. 


The gentle Surrey loved his lyre— 


His simple song the Borderer said. 


"Wlio has not heard of Surrey's fame 1* 




His was the hero's soul of fire, 


XL 


And his the bard's immortal name, 


ALBERT GRvEME.* 


And his was love, exalted liigh 


It was an English ladye bright. 


By all the glow of chivalry. 


(The sun shines faij- on Carlisle wall,)* 




And she would marry a Scottish knight, 


XIV. 


For Love will still be lord of all 


They sought, together, climes afar, 




And oft, witliin some ohve grove. 


Blithely they saw the rising sua 


"When even came with twinkling star, 


"Wlien he shone fair on C-irlisle wall ; 


They simg of Surrey's absent love. 


But they were sad ce day was done, 


His step the ftalian peasant stay'd. 


Though Love was still the lord of all. 


And deem'd, thatspirits from on hif^h, 




Round where some hermit saint was laid, 


Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, 


"Were breathing heavenly melody ; 


"When the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; 


So sweet did harp and voice combine,' 


Her brother gave but a flask of wine. 


To praise the name of Gerald ine. 


For ire that Love was lord of all. 






XV. 


For she had lands, both meadow and lea, 


Fitztraver 1 what tongue may eay 


"Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, 


The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, 


And he sworcs her death, ere he would see 


"When Surrey, of the deathless lay, 


A Scottish knight the lord of all 1 


Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew? 




Regardless of the tyrant's frown, 


XIL 


His harp caU'd wrath and vengeance down. 


That wine she had not tasted well. 


He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 


(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 


"Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowera^ 


When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell. 


And faithful to his patron's name. 


For Love was stiU the lord of aU I 


"With Howard stiU Fitztraver came ; 




Lord William's foremost favorite he. 


He pierced her brother to the heart, 


And chief of all his minstrelsy. 


"Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall: 




So perish all would true love part. 


XVL 


That Love may still be lord of all I 


FITZTRAVER.* 




'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart hea.% 


And then he took the cross divine. 


high; 


("Where the sun shines fair on CarlL»ie wall,) 


He heard the midnight bell with anxious start 


' See Appendix, Note 4 D. 


direct and concise narrative of a tragical occorrence." — Jir 


* " It is the anthor's object, in these songs, to exemplify the 


rKET. 


hfierent styles of ballau narrative which prevailed in this isl- 


3 See Appendix, Note 4 E. 


and at different periods, or in different conditions of society. 


* Ibid. Note 4 F. 


The first (Albert's) is conducted npon the rude and simple 


» First Edit. — " So sweet their harp and voieet i»tn.'* 


nivVi of tlie old Border ditties, and produces its effect by the 


• " The second song, that of Fitztraver, the bard >f the •• 



jANTo vi. THE LAY OF THE 


LAST MINSTREL. 4U 


Wliich told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, 


The gory bridal bed, the plunder'd sliriue, 


"Wlien wise Cornelius promised, by his art, 


The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Geral- 


To show to him the ladye of his heart, 


dine ! 


Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim ; 




Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 


XXI. 


That he should see her form in life and hmb. 


Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong 


jid mark, if still she loved, and still she thought 


Applauses of Fitztraver's song ; 


of him. 


These hated Henry's name as death, 




And those still held the ancient faith.- , 


XVII. 


Then, from his seat, with-lofty air. 


Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye. 


Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Claii • 


To which the wizard led the gallant Knight, 


St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home 


Bave that before a mirror, huge and high. 


Had with that lord to battle come. ; 


A hallow'd taper shed a gUmmering hght 


Harold was born where restless seas 


On mystic implements of magic might ; 


Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ;' 


On cross, and character, and talisman. 


"Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway 


And alraagest, and altar, nothing bright : 


O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 


For fitful was the lustre, pale and wa,n, 


Still nods their palace to its fall, 


.\a watchlight by the bed of some departing 


Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — 


man. 


Thence oft he mark'd fierce Pentland rave. 




As if grim Odin rode her wave ; 


XVIII. 


And watch'd, the whilst, with visage palo, 


But soo-i, witliin that mirror huge and high, 


And throbbing heart, the struggling sail ; 


Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 


For all of wonderful and wild 


And forms upon its breast the Tlarl 'gan spy, 


Had rapture for the lonely child. 


Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream ; 




TUl, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 


XXIL 


To form a lordly and a lofty room, 


And much of wild and wonderful 


Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 


In these rude isles might fancy cull ; 


Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 


For tliither came, in times afar. 


*nd part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in 


Stern Lochlin's sons of roving wai. 


ploom. 


The Norsemen, trab'd to spoil and blood, 




Skill'd to prepare the raven's food , 


XIX - 


Kings of the main their leaders brave, 


Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 


Their barks the dragons of the wave.' 


The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind 1 


And there, in many a stormy vale, 


O'er her wliite bosom stray'd her hazel hair, 


The Scald had told his wondrous tale ; 


Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 


And many a Runic column high 


All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, 


Had witness'd grim idolatry. 


And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine. 


And thus had Harold, in his youth, 


Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find ; — 


Learn'd many a Saga's rhyme uncouth,- — 


That favor'd strain was Surrey's raptured line. 


Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curl'd, 


rhat fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine. 


Whose monstrov.s circle girds the world ;* 


# 


Of those dread Maids,' whose hideous yell 


XX. 


Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 


Slow roll'd the clouds upon the lovely form, 


Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 


And swept the goodly vision all away — 


By the pale death-lights of the tomb. 


So royal envy roll'd the murky storm 


Ransack'd the graves of warriors old. 


O'er my beloved Master's g1 irious day. 


Their falcliions wrench'd«from corpses' hold.' 


Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant 1 Heaven repay 


Waked the deaf tor b with war's alanns, 


On thee, and nn thy children's latest line. 


And bade the dea' arise to arms ! 


Tlie wild caprice of thy despotic sway. 


With war and w<juder aU on flame, 


eomplished Surrey, has more of the. richness and polish of the 


snraed the title of ScBkonungr or Sea-kings. Ships, in the i» 


[talian poetry, and is very beautifully written in a stanza ra- 


flated language of the Scalds, are often termeftthe serpents «l 


lembling that of Spenser.'' — Jeffrey. 


the ocean. 


» See Appendix, Note 4 G. 2 Ibid. Note 4 II. 


* See Appendix, Note 4 I. Ibid Note 4 K 


• The chiefs of the Vakingr, ox Scandinavian pirates, a»- 


f Ibid. NotB 4 ». 



50 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rj.n*o VI 



To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, 
Where, by sweet glon and greenwood tree, 
He learn'd a niilder minstrelsy ; 
Yet sometliing of the Northern spell 
J'lix'd with the softer nimabers well 

XXIII. 

HAROLD.' 

Ustet., listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell •, 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.' 

— " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew 1 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay 1 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,^ 
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edsred with white : 
To inch* and rock the sea-mews fly ; 

The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh, 

" Last night the gifted Seer did view 

A wet shroud swathed^ round ladye gay ; 

Tlien stay thee, Fair, in Ravenslieuch : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?" — 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
To-night at Roslin leads tlie ball. 

But that my ladye-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

' 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
And Lmdesay at the ring rides well. 

But that my sire the wine will chide, 
II 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." — 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night, 

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

Twas broader than the watch-fire's hght, 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 



1 The third song is intended to represent that wild style of 
composition which prevailed among the bards of the Northern 
Continent, somewhat softened and adorned by the Jlinstrel's 
leaidenuo in the south. We prefer it, upon the whole, to either 
01 the two former, and shall give it entire to our readers, who 
will probably be struck with the poetical efiect of the dramatic 
forir. into wliich it is thrown, and of the indirect description by 
which tvery thing is most expressively told, without one word 
*f distinct narrative." — Jeffrk^ 

» This was a family name in tli house of St. Clair. Henry 
6t. Clair, the second of the line, marrie-. Rosabeiie, fourth 
danghter of the Earl of Stratherne. 

• nee Appendix, Note 4 M. * Iic'i, isle. 

» FirH Edit.^" A wet shroud roll'd." 

6 First Edit. "It reddened," &c. 

■ Fi'ft F.dit. " Both vaulted crypt," &o. 

' See Appendix, Note 4 N. 

' first Edit ' But\he ke'.pie rvngand the mermaids Bung." 



It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
It ruddied' all the copse-wood glen; 

'Twas seen from Dryden'^^oves of oaV 
And seen from cavern'd Hawthomdef 

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud. 
Where RosUn's chiefs uncoffin'd he, 

Each Biiron, for a sable sliroud. 
Sheathed in liis iron panoply. 

Seem'd aU on fire within, around. 

Deep sacristy' and altar's pale ; 
Shfine every pillar foliage-boimu, 

And ghmmer'd all the dead men's ma? 

Blazed battlement and piimet high, 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair- 
So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly hue of high St. Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 
Lie buried within that jjroud chapells , 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle 1 

And each St. Clair was buried there. 
With candle, with book, and with knell ; 

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds suiu( 
The dh'ge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 

So sw\. .t was Harold's piteous lay,*" 

Scarce mark'd the guests the darken'd hall. 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wondrous shade involved them all : 
It was not eddymg mist or fog, 
Dram'd by the sim from fen or bog ; 

Of no eclipse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it .^ame on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbor's face. 

Could scarce liis own stretch'd hand bohold 
A secret horror check'd the feast. 



10 " I observe a great poetic climax, designed, doubtless, it 
the two last of these sonjjs from the first." — Anna Seward. 

" We (G. Ellis and J. H. Frere) entertain some doubt; 
about the propriety of dwelling so long on the minstrtil song' 
in the last canto. I say we doubt, because we are not, a war 
of your having ancient avtiiurity for such a pracli-.e : bni 
tlioujih the attempt was a bold one, ii;u.sniuch as it is not iisua' 
to add a whtsle canto to a story wh'ch is already finished, wt 
are tar from wishing that you hau left it unattcmpted."- - 
Ellis to Scutt. "The si"'' canto is altogether rcdnndani 
for the poem should cer.n.jly have closed with the unioi. 
of the lovers, when the interest, if any, was at an end. Bui 
what could I do ? I had my book and my [lage still on m* 
hands, and must get rid of them at til events. Mamge their 
as I would, their catastrophe must have been insufficient 1/ 
occupy an entire canto ; so I was fain to eke it out with tht 
songs of the minstrels. " —iScoft to Miss Seward — Life,^Q\.U 
pp. 218, 32S 



3A^T0 VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Fi 



And chill'd the soul of every guast 
Even the high Dame stood half aghast, 
She knew some evil on the blast ; 
'Hie elvish page fell to the ground, 
A.iid. shuddering, mutter'd. " Found ! found I 
V.nnd!" 

XXV. 

Then sudden, through the darken'd air 

i^ flash of lightning came ; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare, 

Tlie castle seem'd on flame. 
Glanced every rafter of the hall, 
Glanced every shield upon the wall ; 
Each troplaied beam, each sculptured stone, 
Were instant seen, and iustant gone ; 
Full tlu-ough the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flash'd the levin-brand, 
And filFd the hall with smouldering smoke, 
As on the elvish page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud, 

Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud, — 
From sea to sea the larmn rung ; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, 
To arms the startled warders sprung. 
When ended was the dreadful roar, 
The elvish dwarf was seen no more I' 

XXVI. 

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some, 
Cry, with loud summons, " Gylbin, come !" 

And on the spot where burst the brand, 
Just where the page had flung him down, 

Some saw an arm, and some a hand. 
And some the waving of a gown. 
Tlie guests in silence pray'd and shook, 
And terror dimm'd each lofty look. 



" The Goblin Page is, in onr opinion, the capital deform- 
iV of the poem. We have already said the whole machinery 
e useless ; hut the magic studies of the lady, and the rifled 
tomb of Michael Scott, give occasion to so much admirable 
poetry, that we can, on no account, consent to part with 
itjfim. The page, on the other hand, is a perpetual burden 
c the poet and to the readers; it is an unt'gnified and im- 
.jroDaile fiction, which excites neither terror, admiration, 
o^r astonisliment, but needlessly debases the strain of the 
whole work, and excites at once our incredulity and con- 
tempt. He Is not a 'tricksy spirit,' like Ariel, with whom 
.he imagination is irresistibly enamored, nor a tiny mciarch, 
like Oberon, disposing of the destinies of mortals ; he rather 
appears to ns to be an awkward sort of a mongrel between 
Puck and Caliban, of a servile^and brutal nature, and limited 
in his powers to the indulgence of petty malignity, and the 
Infliction of despicable injuries. Besides this objection to his 
tharacter, his existence lias no support from any general or 
Mtablished superstition. Fairies and devils, ghosts, angels, 
md witches, are creatures with whom we are all familiar, 
od who excite in all classes of mankind emotions with which 



But none of all the astonish'd (rain 
Was so dismay'd as Deloraine ; 
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 
'Twas fear'd liis mind would ne'er return ; 

For he was speechless, ghastly, wan. 

Like him of whom the story ran, 

Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.* 
At length, by fits, he darkly told, 
With broken hint, and shuddering cold--- 

That he had seen, right certainly, 
Ji shape with amice wrapp'd around, 
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, 

Like pilgrim from, beyond the sea ; 
And knew — but how it matter'd not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 

XXVII. 
The anxious crowd, with horror p.ile, 
All trembling heard the wondrous tale ; 

No sound was made, no word was spoke, 

Till noble Angus sUence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred plight 

Did to St. Bride of Douglas make,* 

That he a pilgrimage would take 

To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 
Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast. 
To some bless'd samt his prayers address'd : 
Some to St. Modan made then vows. 
Some to St. Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to om- Ladye of the Isle ; 
Each chd his patron witness ntake. 
That he such pilgrimage would take, 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were pray 'd 
'Tis said the noble dame, dismay'd. 
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 



we can easily be made to sympathize. But the story of Gilpin 
Horner was never believed out of the village where he is said 
to have made his appearance, and has no claims upon the cre- 
dulity of tliose who were not originally of his acquaintance. 
There is nothing at all interesting or elegant in the scenes o! 
which he is the hero ; and in reading tliese passages we reallj 
could not help suspecting that they did not stand in the H> 
mance when the aged minstrel recited it to the roval Charlm 
and his mighty earls, bnt were inserted afterwards to ssit tlu 
taste of the cottagers among wliom he begged his bread on th» 
border. We entreat Mr. Scott to inquire into tlie grounds (?) 
this suspicion, and to take advantage of any decent pretext h( 
can lay hold of for purging the 'Lay' of this ungraceful 
intruder.' We would also move for a quo warranto agains; 
the Spirits of the River and the Mountain ; for though they 
are come of a very high lineage, we do not know what lawfo' 
business they could have at Branksome Castle in the yeai 
1550." — Jeffrey. 
» See Appendix, Note 4 O. » Ibid. Note 4 P. 

4 Sec Jie Auttior's Introduction to the * Lay,' p. (I 



V2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANro n 



XXVIII. 

N'aught of the bridal will I tell, 
Wluch after in short space befell ; 
Nor iiow brave sons and daught?;rs fair 
Bless'd Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir ; 
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain 
To wake the note of mirth again. 

More meet it were to mark the day 
Of penitence and prayer divine, 

Wien pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array, 
Sought Mekose' holy slu'ine. 

XXIX. 

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, 
And arms enfolded on liis breast, 

Did every pOgrim go ; 
The standers-by might hear uneath. 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, 

Tlirough all the lengtheu'd row : 
No lordly look, no martial stride, 
Gone was their glory, simk their pride. 

Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide 
To the high altar's hallow'd side, 

And there they knelt them down: 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the letter'd stones were laid 
ITae ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garuish'd niche aromid, 
Stem samts and tortured martyrs frown'd 

XXX. 

And slow up the dim aisle afar. 
With sable cowl and scapular, 
And 8now-whi*e stoles, in order due, 
The holy Fathers, two and two. 

In long procession came ; 
Taper and host, and book they bare, 
And hoi J' banner, flom-ish'd fair 

With the Redeemer's name. 
Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
The mitred Abbot stretch'd liis hand. 

And bless'd them as they kneel'd ; 
With holy cross he sign'd them aU, 
And pray'd they might be sage in hall, 

And fortunate in field. 
Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, 

' " the vale unfolds 



Rich groves of lofty stature, 
With Yarrow winding through the pomp 

Of cultivated nature; 
And, rising fronn those lofty groves. 

Behold a ruin hoary, 
The shatter'd front of Newark's toweis, 

Renown'd in Border story. 

• Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom 
#0T sportitre yontb vo stray in ; 



And solemn requiem for tl e dead 
And bells toU'd out their Liighty peal, 
For the departed spirit's weal; 
And ever in the office clfese 
The hymn of intercession i ose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burden of the song, — 
Dies ir^, dies illa, 

SOLVET S^CLUM IN FAVILLa 

Wliile the pealing organ rimg : 
Were it meet with sacred strain 
To close my lay, so light and vain, 

Thus the holy Fathers sung. 

XXXI. 

HYMN FOR THE DEAD. 

That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 
W'hen heaven and earth shall pass away, 
What power shall be the sinner's stay ? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day.? 

"Wlien, shrivelling like a parched scroll 
The flaming heavens together roll ; 
When louder yet, and yet more dread, ' 
Swells the high trump that wakes the deatll 

Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day. 
When man to judgment wakes from cl ay. 
Be Thou the trembhng simier's stay. 
Though heaven and earth shall pass away 1 



Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
And chd he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age, 
To linger out his pilgrimage ? 
No ; close beneath proud Newark's tower,' 
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 
A simple hut ; but there was seen 
The httle garden, hedged with green. 
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 
There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze, 
Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to ope his door. 
And give the aid he begg'd before. 
So pass'd the winter's day ; but still. 
When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill,* 

For manhood to enjoy his strength ; 
And age to wear away in," &c. 

Wordsworth's Varroie Visited. 

* Bowhill is now, as has been mentioned already, a sest o 
the Puke of Buccleuth. It stands immediately below Newaril 
Hill, and above the junction of the Yarrow and the Ettrick 
For the other places named in the text, the reader is referTM 
to various notes on the Minstrelsy of ttie Scottish Border 



lANTO VI. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



5^ 



And July's eve, with balmy breath, 
Waved the blue-beUs on Newark heath ; 
When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, 
Axid corn was green on Carterhaugh ;* 
And flourish' d, broad, Blackandro's oak, 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
Tlien would he sing achievements high, 

1 'M-iff. — " And grain waved green on Carterhaugh." 

' " Tlie arch allusions which run through all these Introduc- 
tions, without in the least interrupting the truth and graceful 
pathos of their main impression, seem to me exquisitely cliai^ 
(icteristic of Scott, whose delight and pride was to play with 
.he genius which nevertheless mastered him at will. For, in 
truth, what is it that gives to all his works their unique and 
marking charm, except the matchless effect which sudden 
effusions of the purest heart-blood of nature derive from their 
being poured out, to all appearance involuntarily, amidst dio- 
tion and sentiment cast equally in the mould of the busy 
world, and the seemingly habitual desire to dwell on nothing 
but what might be likely to excite curiosity, without too much 
disturbing deeper feelings, in the saloons of polished life ? 
Such outbursts come forth dramatically in all his wntings ; 
but in the interludes and passionate parentheses of the Lay 
of the Last Minstrel we have the poet's own inner soul and 
temperament laid bare and throbbing before as. Even here, 
indeed, he has a mask, and he trusts it — but fortunately it is a 
transparent one. 

' Many minor personal allusions have been explained in the 
nutes to the last edition of the ' Lay.' It was hardly neces- 
sary even then to say that the choice of the hero had been 
ilictated by the poet's affection for the living descendants of 
the Baron of Cranstoun ; and now — none who have perused 
the preceding pages can doubt that he had dressed out his 
Margaret of Branksome in the form and features of his own 
first love. This poem may be considered as the ' bright con- 
summate flower' in which all the dearest dreams of his youth- 
ful fancy had at length found expansion for their strength, 
ipirit, tenderness, and beauty. 

" In the closing lines — 

' Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone; 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age. 
To linger out his pilgrimage? 
No ! — close beneath proud Newark's tower 
Arose the Minstrel's humble bower,' &c. — 

— in these charming lines he has embodied what was, at the 
time when he penned them, the chief day-dream of Ashestiel. 
From the moment that his uncle's death placed a considerable 
Bum of ready money at his command, he pleased himself, as 
we have seen, with the idea of buying a mountain farm, and 
becoming not only the 'sheriff' (as he had in former days 
delighted to call .limself ), but ' the laird of the cairn and the 
icaur.' " — LocKHART. I,ife of Scott, vol. ii. p. 212. 

" The large quotations we have made from this singular 
poem must have convinced our readers that it abounds equal- 
ly with poetical description, and with circumstance curious 
to the antiquary. These are farther illustrated in copious and 
••ery entertaining notes : they, as well as the poem, must be 
particularly interesting to those who are connected with Scot- 
tish families, or conversant in their history. The author has 
managed the versification of the poem with great judgment, 
Jid the most happy effect. If he had aimed at the grave 
4d itaSty ca< snce of the epic, or any of oi;r more regular 



And circumstance of chivahy. 
Till the rapt traveller would stay. 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
And Yarrow, as he roU'd along, 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. 

measures, it would have been impossible for him j hnri 
brought in such names as fVatt Tinlinn, Black John, Prtes^ 
haugh, Scrogg, and otiier Scottish names, or to have spokji 
of the lyke-wake, and the slogan, and drilling of caltle. wliicK 
Pope and Gray would have thought as imjiossible to introdnc* 
into serious poetry, as Boileau did the names of towns in thf 
campaigns of Louis IV. Mr. Scott has, therefore, very jmli 
ciously thrown in a great mixture of the familiar, and variec 
the measure; and if it has not the finished harmony, whirh, 
in sucli a subject, it were in vain to have attempted, it has 
great ease and spirit, and never tires tlie reader. Indijed wa 
think we see a tendency in the public taste to go back to tha 
more varied measures and familiar style of our earlier poets ; 
a natural consequence of having been satiated with the regu 
lar harmony of Pojjc and his school, and somewhat weaiiec 
with the stiffness of lofty poetic language. We now know 
what can be done in that way, and v/e seek entertainment am' 
variety, rather than finished modulation and uniform dignitj 
We now take our leave of this very elegant, spirited, and stri 
king poem." — Annual Review, 1804. 

" From the various extracts we have given, our readers wil 
be enabled to form a tolerably correct judgment of the poem 
and, if they are pleased with those portions of it which hav€ 
now been exhibited, we may venture to assure them that they 
will not be disappointed by the perusal of the whole. Tin- 
whole night journey of Deloraine — the opening of the Wizard 
tomb — the march of the English battle^and the parlf_^ befori" 
the walls of the castle, are all executed with the same spirii 
and poetical energy, which we think is conspicuous in thi 
specimens we have already extracted ; anS a gre^it variety ol 
short passages occur in every part of the poem, which are still 
more striking and meritorious, though it is impossible to detach 
them, without injury, in the form of a quotation. It is but 
fair to apprize the reader, on the other hand, that he wili 
meet with very heavy passages, and with a variety of detiiils 
which are not likely to interest any one but a Borderer or an 
antiquary. We like very well to hear of ' the gallant Chief 
of Otterburne,' or ' the Dark Knight of Liddesdale,' and feel 
the elevating power of great names, wlien we read of the 
tribes that mustered to the war, ' beneath the crest of Old 
Dunbar and Hepburn's mingled banners.' But we really can- 
not so far sympathize with the local partialities of the author, 
as to feel any glow of patriotism or ancient virtue in heariiiff ol 
the TodrigOT Johnston clans, or of Elliots, Arm.itrongs, and 
Tin/inns ; still less can we rehsh the introduction of Black 
Jock of Athelstane, Whitslade the Hawk. Arthur Fire-the 
Braes, Red Roland Forster, or any other of those wortfiie* 
who 

' Sought the beeves that made their broth, 
In Scotland and in England both,' 

into a poem which has any pretensions to seriousness or d;» 
nity. The ancient metrical romance might have admitter/ 
these homely personalities; but the present age will not an 
dure them ; and Mr. Scott must either sacrifice his Bordei 
prejudices, or offend all his readers in the other part of titf 
empire." — Jbffrbt. 



!>4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK=* 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

The feast was over in Branhsome tower. — P. 18. 

'n the reigii of James I., Sir William Scott of Bucclench, 
.m;f of the clan bearing that name, exchanged, with Sir 
I'liomas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Murdiestone, in Lanark- 
ihire, for one-half of the barony of Branksome, or Brank- 
liolm,' lying ujion the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. 
He was jirobably indnced to this transaction from the vicinity 
Df Branksome to the extensive domain which he possessed 
in Ettrick Forest and in Teviotdale. In the former district 
'le held by occupancy the estate of Buccleuch,2 and much of 
tlie forest land on the river Ettrick. In Teviotdale, he en- 
joyed the harmony of Eckford, by a grant from Robert II. to 
his ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkijrd, for the apprehending 
of Gilbert Ridderford, confirmed by Robert III., 3d May, 1424. 
Tradition imputes the exchange betwixt Scott and Inglis to s 
conversation, in which the latter— a man, it would appear, 
of a mild and forbearing nature, complained much of the in- 
juries which he was exposed to from the English Borderers, 
who frequently plundered his lands of Branksome. Sir Wil- 
liam Scott instantly offered him the estate of Murdiestone, in 
exchange for that which was subject to such egregious incon- 
venience. When the bargain was completed, he dryly re- 
marked, that the cattle in Cumberland were as good as tliose 
of Teviotdale ; and proceeded to commence a system of repri- 
sals upoi. the English, which was regularly pursued by his suc- 
cessors. In the next reign, James II. granted to Sir Walter 
Scott of Branksome, and to Sir David, his son, the remaining 
half of the barony of Branksome, to be held in blanche for the 
payment of a red rose. The cause assigned for the grant is, 
their brave and faithful exertions in favor of the King against 
the house of Douglas, with whom James had been recently 
lutyging for the throne of Scotland. This charter is dated the 
ad February, 1443; and, in the same month, part of the barony 
of Langholm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were conferred 
upon Sir Walter and his son by the same monarch. 

After the i)eriod of the exchange with Sir Thomas Inglis, 
Branksome became the principal seat of the Buccleuch family. 
The ca«tle was enlarged and strengthened by Sir David Scott, 
liie grandson of Sir William, its first possessor. But, in 
1570-1, the vengeance of Elizabeth, provoked by the inroads 
)i V.uccleuch, and his attachment to the cause of Queen 
y.yiry, destroyed the castle, and laid wa.ste the lands of Brank- 
some. In the same year the castle was repaired and enlarged 
■jy Sir Walter Scott, its brave possessor ; but the work was 
not oompliMed until after his death, in 1574, when the widow 
inisbed the bnildiiig. This appears from the following in- 
v-;riptions. Around a stone, bearing the arms of Scott of 
Ductleich, appears the following legend :— " Sit J55F. 

Srott of Branvteini Bnflt oe of Sfr ffaJtUfam 
Scott of BirkurtJ KnQt bessnii i)e toortt upon 
oe 24 of ifWatclje 1571 ;car qu!)a tiepartft at 

glJoD'S IjIcfSOlir J)C 17 Hpri'l 1574." On a similar 
C(.panm;ut are 8culi)tured the arms of Douglas, with this in- 
icription, " Dame Margaret Douglas his spors complb- 

1 Branxbolm .* the proper name of the barony ; but Branksome has been 
■loj.t.'d. as S'.iitnble tD the pronunciation, and more proper for poetry. 

Ihere are no veiLees of any building at Buccleuch, except the site of 
wVere, ftcf oriinff to i^^adition current in the time of Scott of 



TIT THE FORESAID WORK IN OcTOBKR 1.576. Over an 
arched door is inscribed the following moral verse : — 



Kn barlli. fs. nocljt. nature. })e«. bcouflljt. flat 
sal. lest. ag. , 

SJarcfore. serbc. ffiotj. itefp. bttl. ge. roti. t|)2 
fame. sal. nocl)t, ticftau. 

Sir SJFalter Scott of 33rau):f)olm IStixifllit. 
iWarjiaret iSoufllas. 1571. 

Branksome Castle continued to be the principal seat of th« 
Buccleuch family, while security was any object in theii 
choice of a mansion. It has since been the residence of the 
Commissioners, or Chamberlains, of the family. From the 
various alterations which the building has undergone, it is Dot 
only greatly restricted in its dimensions, but retains little o( 
the castellated form, if we except one square tower of massy 
thickness, the only part of the original building which now 
remains. The whole forms a handsome modern residence, 
lately inhabited by my deceased friend, Adam Ogilvy, Esq., 
of Hartwoodmyres, Commissioner of his Grace the Duke of 
Buccleuch. 

The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by some 
vestiges of its foundation, and its strength is obvious from the 
situation, on a deep bank surrounded by the Teviot, and 
flanked by a deep ravine, formed by a precipitous brook. It 
was anciently surrounded by wood, as appears from the sur- 
vey of Roxburghshire, made for Font's Atlas, and preserved 
in the Advocates' Library. This wood was cut about fifty 
years ago, but is now replaced by the thriving plantations, 
which have been formed by the noble proprietor, for Dulei 
around the ancient mansion of his forefathers. 



Note B. 



JVive-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome-Hall. — P. 19. 

The ancient barons of Bnccleuch, both from feudal splendoj 
and from their frontier situation, retained in their household at 
Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their own name, who 
held lands from their chief, for the miUtary service of watcmnj 
and warding his castle. Satchells tells |3 in his donsi^ 
poetry, 

" No baron was better served in Britain ; 

The barons of Buckleugli they kept their call. 

Four and twenty gentlemen ir Iheir hall 

All being of his name and kin ; 

Each two had a servant to wait upon them 

Before sujiper and dinner, most reno ivned, 

The bells rung and the trumpets sowned ; 

And more than that, I do confess. 

They kept four and twenty pensionea. 

Think not I lie, nor do me blame, 

For the pensioners I can all name : 

SatchellB, many of the ancient barons of Buccleuch lie bnri^i Thet» a 
also said to have been a mill near this solitary spot ; an eitracrJinarj' «1» 
cumstance, ae little or no com grows within several miles of Buccleooa 
Satchells savs it waa iised to irrind com fur the hounds of tna chieftam. 



AirE.^nX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



5t 



Ih»*e'« ir A Flive, eider than I, 
T'leT K' jw -i' I speak truth, or lie 
Ev<;rT pe-.sioier a room' did gain, 
jCoi service done and to be done ; 
r.ii» let the reader understand, 
'["he name both of the men and landj 
V/lucli tliey possessed, it is of truth, 
Aa fronr the Lairds and Lords of Buckleugh." 

A' jordingly, dismounting from his Pegasus, Satchells gives 
I . it prose, tlie names of twenty-four gentlemen, yotinger 
»r"Uiers of ancient families, who were pensioners to the liouse 
.;' Buccleuch, and describes tlie lands which each possessed for 
lis Border service. In time of war witli England, tiie garrison 
vas doubtless augmented. Satchells adds, "These tweiity- 
'hree pensioners, all of his own name of Scott, and Walter 
iladstanesof Wiiitelaw, a near cousin of my lord's, as aforesaid, 
iVere ready on all occasions, when his honor pleased cause to 
idvertise them. It is known to many of the country better 
han it is to me, that the rent of these lar is, which the Lairds 
tnd Lords of Buccleuch did freely bestow upon their friends, 
*ill amount to above twelve or fourteen thousand merks a- 
/rar." — History of the name jf S^ott, p. 45. An immense 
3am in those times. 

1 A'^m, F .tien of land. 



Note C. 

io/'i ^s^oood-axe at saddlebow. — P. 19. 

" Of a *fu'' , ' '^y:. Froissart, "the Scottish cannot boast 
Teat skill With '.he bow, but rather bear axes, with which, in 
irae oi need, they give heavy strokes." The Jed wood-axe 
vas a sort of partisan, used by horsemen, as appears from the 
irms of Jedburgh, which bear a cavalier mounted, and armed 
«ith this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart &\zS. 



Note D, 



rheij watch, against Southern force and guile. 
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers, 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 

From JVa.rkworth, or JVaworth, or merry Carlisle. — P. 19. 

Branlisome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of 
Tie English, both from its situation and the restless military 
Hsposition of its inhabitants, who were seldom on good terms 
.vith their neighbors. The following letter from the Earl of 
Northumberland to Henry VIII. in 1533, gives an account of a 
laccessful inroad of the English, in which the country was 
Blundered up to the gates of the Ceistle, although the invaders 
ailed in their principal object, which was to kill, or make pris- 
»nei, the Laird of Buccleuch. It occurs in the Cotton iVIS. 
Cali^' b. viii. f. 222. 

" I*leasetli yt your most gracious highness to be aduertised, 
that my comptroller, with Raynald Carnaby, desyred licence 
of me to invade the realme of Scotlande, for the annoysaunce 
of your hijhnes enemys, where they thouglit best »»-^ioit by 
theyme might be done, and to haue to concu* --uhe theyme 
ine inhabitants of Northumberland, suche as was towards me 
Mconling to tlieyre assembi y, and as by theyre discretions vpone 
the same they shulde thinke most convenient ; and soo they 
Jyde ini'et vppone Monday, before night, being the iii day of 
Uiir itittAh nijuethe, at Wawhope, upon Nortlie Tyne water, 
W»« T>B mU, where they were >o the numbei of iv o men, 



and soo invadet Scotland at the hour of viii of the clok a' 
nyght, at a place called Whele Causay ; and be.fore xi of tin 
clok dyd send forth a forrey of Tyndaill and Ryddisdail, and 
laide all the resydewe in a bushment. and actyvely did set vpon 
a towne called Branxholme, where the Lord of Buclpugh 
dwellythe, and purjiesed theymeselves with a trayne for liym 
lyke to his accustomed manner, in rysynge to all frayes ; a'beit, 
that knyght he was not at home, and so they brynt the said 
Branxholm, and other townes, as to say Whichestre, Which 
estre-helme, and Whelley, and liaid ordered tlieymself, soo 
that sundry of the said Lord of Buclough's servants, who dyi 
issue fonrtlie of his gates, was takyn prisoners. They dyd i*>t 
leve one house, one stak of corne, nor one shyef, witl-out tha 
gate of the said Lord Buclough vnbrynt ; and thut t.-.Tymagec* 
and frayed, supposing the Lord of Buclough to be witliin iii oi 
iiii rayles to have trayned him to the bushment ; and soo in tha 
breyking of the day dyd the forrey and the bushment mete, 
and recnled homeward, making theyre way westwaii from 
theyre invasion to be over Lyddersdaill, as intending yf the fray 
frome theyre fursl entry by the Scotts waiches, or otherwyse by 
warnying, shuld haue bene gyven to Gedworth and the coun- 
trey of Scotland theyreabouts of tlieyre invasion ; whiche Ged- 
worih is from tlie Wheles Causay vi miles, that thereby tha 
Scotts shulde have coinen further vnto theyme, and more out 
of ordre ; and soo upon sundry good considerations, before they 
entered Lyddersdaill, as well acconipting the inhabitants of th« 
same to be towards your highness, and to enforce theyme the 
more thereby, as alsoo to put an occasion of suspect to tha 
Kinge of Scotts, and his counsaill, to be taken anenst theyme, 
amonges theymeselves, made proclamacions, commanding, 
upon payne of dethe, assurance to be for the said inhabitants ol 
Lyddersdaill, without any prejudice or hurt to be done by any 
Inglysman vnto theyme, and soo in good ordre abowte the 
howre of ten of the clok before none, vppon Tewisday, dyd 
pass through the said Lyddersdad, when dyd come diverse ol 
tlie said inhabitants there to my servauntes, under the said as- 
surance, offerring theymselfs with any service they coutlie 
make ; and thus, thanks be to Godde, your highnes' subjects, 
abowte the howre of xii of the clok at none the same ilaye 
came into this your highnes realme, bringing wt theyme above 
xl Scottsmen prisoners, one of theyme named Scot, of the sur- 
name and kyn of the said Lord of Buclougli, and of his liowse- 
hold ; they brought also ccc nowte, and above Ix horse and 
mares, keping in savetie frome losse or hurte all your said high- 
nes subjects. There was alsoo a towne, called Newbyggiiis, 
by diverse fotraen of Tyndaill and Ryddesdaill, takyn vp ol 
the night, and spoyled, when was slayne ii Scottsmen ol the 
said towne, and many Scotts there hurte ; your highnes sub- 
jects Wcis xiii myles within the grounde of Scotlande, and ia 
from my house at Werkworthe, above Ix miles of the most evi 
passage, where great snawes doth lye ; heretofore the same 
townes now brynt haith not at any tyrae in the mynd of man 
in any warrs been enterjirised uuto nowe ; your subjects wera 
thereto more encouraged for the better advancement of youi 
highnes service, the said Lord of Buclough beyng always a 
mortall enemy to this your Graces realme, and he dyd say 
within xiii days,before, he woulde see who dui-st lye near hym 
wt many other cruell words, the knowledge whereof was ee^ 
tainly haid to my said servaunts, before theyre enteiprice maid 
vpon him ; most humbly beseeching your majesty, tha,„ youra 
highnes thanks may concur vnto theyme, whose names be here 
inclosed, and to have in your most gracious memory, tlie payn- 
full and diligent service of my pore servaunte Wharton, and thus, 
as I am most bounden, shall dispose wt them that be under ma 

f annoysaunce of your highnes enemys." In resent 

ment of this foray, Buccleuch, with other Border chiefs, a* 
sembled an army of 3000 riders, with which they penetrateo' 
into Northumberland, and laid waste the country as far as th« 
banks of Bramish. They baliied, or defeated, the English fo.. 
ces opposed to them, and returned loaded witli prev, — ViNKBfc 
ton's History, vol. ii. p. 319. 



b« 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note E. 

Bards long shall tell, 

How Lord Walter fell.— ?. 19. 

Sir WtJter SjoU of Buccleuch succeeded to hU grandfather, 
Bir D.> .id, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and 
Warded of the West Marches of Scotland. His death was 
Jie consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs, the 
•utoiy of which is necessary, to explain repeated allusions in 
tke romance. 

fiithe year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, " the Earl of 
Aiigus, and the rest of the Douglasses, ruled all which they 
liked, and no man durst say the contrary ; wherefore the Kins: 
(James V. then a minoi) was heavily displeased, and would 
fain have been out of their hands, if he might by any way : 
And, to that effect, wrote a quiet and secret letter with his 
uwn hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buccleuch, beseeching 
him that he would come with his kin and friends, and all the 
force that he might be, and meet him at Melross, at his home 
passing, and there to take him out of tlni Douglasses hands, 
and to put him to liberty, to use himself among the lave (rest) 
of his lords, as he thinks expedient. 

"This letter was quietly directed, and sent by one of the 
King's own secret servants, which was received very thank- 
fully by the Laird of Buccleuch, who was very glad thereof, 
to be put to such charges and familiarity with his prince, and 
did great diligence to j)erform the King's writing, and to bring 
the matter to pass as the King desired : And, to that effect, 
convened all his kin and friends, and all that would do for 
him, to ride with him to Melross, when he knew of the King's 
homecoming. And so he brought with liim six hundred spears, 
of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and countrymen, and clans 
thereabout, and held themselves qaiet while that the King 
returned out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to remain ine»« 
all that night. 

" But when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord, and Fernynerst 
(the chiefs of the clan of Kerr), took their leave of the Kmg, and 
returned home, then appeared the Lord of Buccleuch m signt, 
and his company with him, in an arrayed battle, intending to 
have fulfilled the King's petition, and therefore came stoutly 
forward on the back side of Haliden hill. By that the Earl of 
Angus, with George Douglas, his hrotlier, and sundry other 
of his friends, seeing this army coming, they marvelled what 
the matter meant ; while at the last they knew the Laird of 
Buccleuch, with a certain company of the thieves of Annan- 
dale. With him they were less affeard, and made them man- 
fully to the field contrary them, and said to the King in this 
manner, ' Sir, yon is Buccleuch, and thieves of Annandale 
with him, to unbeset your Grace from the gate' (i. e. interrupt 
your passage). ' I vow to God they shall either fight or flee : 
tnd ye shall tarry here on this know, and my brother George 
with you, with any other company you please ; and I shall 
pas.s, and put yon thieves olTlhe ground, and rid the gate unto 
your Grace, or else die for it.' The King tarried still, as was 
4evised ; a2" George Douglas with him, and sundry other 
erds, svich as the Earl of Lennox, and the Lord Erskine, and 
iome of the King's own servants ; but all the lave (rest) past 
with the Earl of Angus to the field against the Laird of Buc- 
eieu^h, who joyned and countered cruelly both the said parties 
in the field of Darnehnver,' either against other, with uncertain 
viCw3ry. But at the last, the Lord Hume, hearing word of that 
matter how it stood, returned again to the King in all possible 
ddste, with hira the Lairds of Cessfoord and Fernyhirst, to the 
number of fourscore spears, and set freshly on the lap and wing 
of the Laird of Buccleuch's field, and shortly bare them back- 
ward to the ground ; which caused the Laird of Buccleuch, 
tnd tne rest of his frio%.kS, to go back and ttee, whom they fol- 



I Dartjwick, n«8" Melrose, 'riie plnre of conflict is still mlled Slcinner's 
'•Id, from a corruption of SkirmU/i Field. (See the AlinstreUy of the 



lowed and chased ; and -especially the Lairds of Cessfoord and 
Fernyhirst followed furi Kuslie till at the foot of a path »n» 
Laird of Cessfoord was slain iy the strok-' of a spear by ai 
Elliot, who was then servant to the Laird of Buccleuch. Bu 
when the Laird of Cessfoord was slain, the chase ceased. Th» 
Earl of Angus returned again with great merriness and, victory, 
and thanked God that he saved him from that chance, ami 
passed with the King to Melross, where they remained all tha; 
night. On tlie morn they past to Edinburgh with the King 
who was very sad and dolorous of the slaughter of the Laird o' 
Cessfoord, and many other gentlemen and yeomen slain by th' 
Laird of Buccleuch, containing the number of foiitscore am 
fifteen, which died in defence of the King, and at the coinncam 
of his writing." 

I am not the first who has attempted to celebrate in verse thi 
renown of this ancient baron, and his hazardous attempt tf 
procure his sovereign's freedom. In a Scottish Latin poet we 
find the following verses : — 

Valterius Scotus Balcluchius, 

Egregio suscepto facinore, libertate Regis, ac aliis rebus gesUi 
clarus, sub Jacobo V. Ao. Christi, 1526. 

" Intentata aliis, nulliqae audita priorura 

Audet, nee pavidum morsve, metusve quatit, 
Libertatera aliis soliti transcribere Regis : 

Subreptam banc Regi restituisse paras ; 
Si vincis, quanta 6 succedunt pra;mia dextrae I 

Sin victus, falsas spes jace, pone animam. 
Hostica vis nocuit : slant alta' robora mentis 

Atque decus. Vincet, Rege probante, fides 
Insita quels animis virtus, quosque acrior ardor 

Obsidet, obscuris nox premdt an tenebrisi" 

Heroes ex omni Historia Scotica lectissimi, Auctore Jofaac 
uSnstonio Abredonense Scoto, 1603. 

In consequence of the battle of Melrose, there ensued s 
Jeadlv feuil betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which, in 
spite of all means used to bring about an agreement, raged foi 
many years upon the Borders. Buccleuch was imprisoned, and 
his estates forfeited, in the year 1535, for levying war against 
the Kerrs, and restored by act of Parliament, dated 15tli March 
1542, daring the regency of Mary of Lorraine. But the mos* 
signal act of violence to which this quarrel gave rise, was thf 
murder of Sir Walter himself, who was slain by the Kerrs ir. 
the streets of Edinburgh in 1552. This is the event alludec 
to in stanza vii. ; and the poem is supposed to open shortl) 
after it had taken place. 

The feud between these two families was nut reconciled m 
1596, when both chieftains paraded the streets of EdinDurgj 
with their followers, and it was expected their first meeting 
would decide their quarrel. But, on July 14th of the same 
year, Colvil, in a letter to Mr. Bacon, informs him. " Ji.it tl>er» 
was great trouble ui>on the Borders, which would ct)ntmu«r uii 
order should be taken by the Q.ueeu of England and the King, 
by reason of the two young Scots chieftains, Cesford and Bar 
lugh, and of the present necessity and scarcity of corn ainongs 
the Scots Borderers and riders. That there had been a privat* 
quarrel betwixt those two lairds on the Borders, which wai 
like to have turned to blood ; but the fear of the general trouble 
had reconciled them, and the injuries which they thought to 
have committed against each other were now trausferre<i urioii 
England: not unUke that emulation in Frame between the 
Baron de Biron and Mons. Jeverie, who, being both ambitioni 
of honor, undertook more hazardous enterprises agaijjst tht 
enemy than they would have done if they had been at concord 
together." — Birch's Memorials, rol. ii. p. b7 

Scottish Border, vols. i. and li., for farthet »«iiki%"»^ concerning ibrm 
placns, of all which the author of the Lay wa. *^ n» ilw pn>priet.-r. — Ed^ 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTRi^L. 



57 



Note F. 

While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 
While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 

The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar. 

The havoc of the feudal war. 
Shall never, never be forgot ! — P. 19. 
Among other expedients resorted to for stanching the feud 
SetwLiit the Scots and the Kerrs, there was a bond executed 
In 1529, between the heads of each chin, binding themselves 
to perform reciprocally *^e four principal pilgrimages ofScot- 
bnd, for the benefit of the souls of those of the opposite name 
who had fallen in the quarrel. This indenture is printed in 
the Minstrelsy of the Scotti.-ih Border, vol. i. But either 
it never took etfect. or else the feud was renewed shortly 
afterwards. 

Snch pactions were not imcommon in feudal times, and, as 
might be expected, thej^ were often, as in the present case, 
void of the effect desired. When Sir Walter Mauny, the re- 
nowned follower of Edward III., had taken the town of Kyol 
m Gascony, he remembered to have heard that his father lay 
there buried, and oflered a hundred crowns to any who could 
show him his grave. A very old man appeared before Sir 
Walter, and informed him of the manner of his father's death, 
and the place of his sepulture. It seems the Lord of Mauny 
had, at a great tournament, unhorsed, and \vounded to the 
death, a Gascon knight, of the house of Mirepoix, whoso kins- 
man was Bishop of Carabray. For this deed he was held at 
fend by the relations of the knight, until he agreed to under- 
take a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James of Compostella, 
for the benefit of the soul of thr deceased. But as he returned 
through the town of Ryol, after accomplishment of his vow, 
lie was beset and treacherously slain, by the kindred of the 
kniglit whom he had killed. Sir Walter, guided by the old 
man, visited the lowly tomb of his father; and, having read 
the inscription, which was in Latin, he caused the body to be 
raised, and transported to his native city of Valenciennes, 
where masses were, in the dajsof i'roissart, duly said for the 
Boul of the unfortunate pilgrim. — CItronycle of Feoissakt, 
vol. i. p. 128. 



Note G. 
With Carr in arms liad stood.— V. 20. 
The family of Ker, Kerr, or Carr,i was very powerful on 
the Border. Fynes Mon-ison remarks, in his Travels, that 
their iuSuence extended from the village of Preston-Grange, 
in Lothian, to the limits of England. Cessford Castle, the 
ancient baronial residence of the family, is situated near the 
village of Morebattle, within two or three miles of tlie Cheviot 
Hills. It has been a place of great strength and consequence, 
but is now ruinous. Tradition aflirms that it was founded by 
Halbert, or Habby Kerr, a gigantic warrior, concerning whom 
many stories are current in Roxburghshire. The Duke of 
Boxburghe represents Kerr of Cessford. A distinct and power- 
ul branch of the same name own the Marquis of Lothian as 
(heir chief. Hence the distinction betwixt Kerrs of Cessford 
»nd Faimihirst. 



Note H. 
Lord Cranstoun.—V. 20. 
The Cranstouns, Lord Cranstoun, are an ancient Border 
family, whose chief scat was at Crailing. in Teviotdale. They 
were at this time at feud with the clan of Scott; for it ap- 
pears tliat the Lady of Bucqieuch, in 1557, beset the Laird 
of Cranstoun, seeking his life. Xevertheless. the same Cran- 
itoun, or perhaps his son, was married to a daughter of the 
same lady. 

1 The name is spelt differently b^ the various families wbo bear It. Oan Is Beleot- 
4. not as the most oort«ct, but as the must poetical reading. 

s 



Note I. 

Of Bethia^'s lUie of Picardie. — P. 20. 
Tlie Bethunes were of French origin, and derived theii 
name from a small tovn\ in Artois. There were several dis 
tinguished families of the Bethunes in the neigliborini; province 
of Picardy ; they numbered among their descendants the cele- 
brated Uuc de SuUy ; and the name was accounted among thu 
most noble in France, while augh' soble remained in thai 
country .2 The family of Bethune, or y'.itoun, in Fife, pro 
duced three learned and dignified prelate: namely. Cardinal 
Beaton, and two successive Archbishops of Glasgow, ad o< 
whom flourished about the date of tlie romance. Of this- 
family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, 
widow of Sir Walter Scott, of Branksome. She was a woman 
of mascuUne spirit, as appeared from her riding at the head of 
her son's clan, after her hushaud's murder. She also possessed 
the hereditary abilities of her family in such a degree tiiat 
the superstition of the vulgar imputed them to supernatural 
knowledge. With this was mingled by faction, the foul ac- 
cusation of her having infiaenced Queen Mary to the murdel 
of licr husband. One of the placards preser'. ed in Buchanan's 
Detection, accuses of Darnley's murder '• the Erie of Both- 
well, Mr. James Balfour, the persf)un of Fliske, Mr. David 
Chalmers, black Mr. John Spens, who was principal deviser 
of the murder; and the Queue, assenting thai rto, throw the 
persuasion of the Erie Bothwell, and the witchcraft of Lady 
Buckleuch." 



Note K. 



He leam'd the art that none may name. 
In Padua, far beyo?id the sea. — P. 20. 

Padua was long suppo.sed, by the Scottish peasants, to be 
the principal school of necromancy. The Earl of Gowrie, 
slain at Perth in 1600, pretended, during his studies in Italy, 
to have acquired some knowledge of the cabala, by which, he 
said, he could charm snakes, and work other miracles; and, 
in particular, could produce children without the intercotirse 
of the sexes. — See the examination of Wemyss of Bogie before 
the Privj' Council, concerning Cowrie's conspiracy. 



Note L. 



/{is form no darkening shadow traced 
Upon the sunny wall .' — P. 20. 
The shadow of a necromancer is independent of the sen. 
Glycas informs us that Simon Magus caused his shadow to go 
before him, making people believe it was an attendant spirit. 
— IIktw'Ood's Hierarchie, p. 47-5. The vulgar conceived 
that when a class of students have made a certain progress in 
their mystic studies, they arc obliged to run through a subter- 
raneous liall, where the devil literally catches the hindmost 
in the race, unless he crosses the hall so speedily that tt( 
arch-enemy can only apprehend his shadow. In the latter 
case, the person of the sage never after throws any shade 
and those, who have thus lost their shadow, always prove tht 
best magicians. 



Note M. 
The viewless forms of air. — P. 20. 
The Scottish vulgar, without having any very defined no- 
tion of their attributes, believe in the existence of an inter- 
mediate class of spirits, residing in the air, or in the waters; to 
whose agency they ascribe floods, storms, and all such phe 
nomena as their own philosojiliy cannot readily explain. They 
are supposed to interfere in the ailairs of mortals, sometimei 

2 This expression and sentiment were dictated bj tht aHuaticsi of FraaM h Qt 
year 1803, when the poem was crlginally written* 18S1* 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



mta a raalevoient purpose, and sometimes with milder views. 
Itigeaid, for example, that a gallant baron, having returned 
from the Holy Land to his castle of Drunimelziar, found his 
lair lady nureing a healthy child, whose birth did not by any 
»eans correspond to the date of his departure. Such an oc- 
tnrrence, to the credit of the dames of the Crusaders be it 
tpoken, WHS so rare, that it required a miraculous solution, 
yiie lady, therefore, vt as believed, when she averred confidently, 
•iiat tiie Si)irit of the Tweed had issued from the river while 
jte ^^as wa'kiuj upon its bank, and compelled her to submit 
Ms embraces , and the name of Tweedie was bestowed 
en ine child, wlio afterwards became Baron of Drumraelziar, 
and chief of a powerfrl clan. To those spirits are also as- 
uibed, u Scotland, the 

— " Airy tongues, that syllaole men's names, 
On sauds, and shores and desert wildernesses." 

When the workmen were engaged in erecting the ancient 
church of Old Deer, in Aberdeenshire, upon a small hill called 
Bissau, they were surprised to find that the work was impeded 
by supernatural obstacles. At length, the Spirit of the River 
was heard to say, 

" It is not here, it is net here 
That ye shall build the church of Deer ; 
But on TaptiUery, 
Where many a corpse shall lie." 

The site of the edifice was accordingly transferred to Tap- 
tiUery, an eminence at some distance from the place where the 
building had been commenced. — Macfarlane's MSS. 1 
mention tliese popular fables, because the introduction of the 
River and Mountain Spirits may not, at first sight, seem to ac- 
cord with the general tone of the romance, and the supeistitions 
of the country where the scene is laid. 



Note N. 
^ fancied moss-trooper, ^-c. — P. 21. 

This was the usual appellation of the marauders upon the 
Borders : a profession diligently pursued by the inhabitants on 
both sides, and by none more actively and successfully than by 
Buccleuch's clan. Long after the union of the crowns, the 
moss-troopers, although sunk in reputation, and no longer en- 
loying the pretext of national hostility, continued to pursue 
ineir calling. 

Fuller includes, among the wonders of Cumberland, "The 
moss-troopers : so strange in the condition of their living, if 
considered in their Original, Increase, Height, Decay, and 
Riiine. 

" 1. Original. I conceive them the same called Borderers 
in Mr. Camden ; and characterized by hira to be a wild and 
warlike people. They are called moss-troopers, because dwell- 
ing in the mosses, and riding in troops together. They dwell 
in the bounds, or meeting, of the two kingdoms, but obey the 
aws of neither. They come to church as seldom as the 29th 
ef February comes into the kalendar. 

"2. Increase. When England and Scotland were united 
Ib Great Britain, they that formerly lived by hostile incursions, 
>etook themselves to the robbing of their neighbors. Their 
tons are free of the trade by their fathers' copy. They are like 
to Job, not in piety and patience, but in sudden plenty and 
;)overty ; sometimes having flocks and herds in the morning, 
none at night, and perchance many again next day. They 
may give for their motto, vivitor ex rapto, stealing from their 
nimesl neighbors what they sometimes require. They are a 
ni St of hornets ; strike one, and stir all of them about vonr 
eais. Indeed, if they promise safely to conduct a traveller, 
they will perform it with the fidelity of a Turkish janizary ; 
Oloerwise, woe be to him that <alleth into their quarters 1 

*' 3. Ueitrht Amounting, forty years since, to .some thoa- 
Theie compelled the vicinage to purchase their secu- 



rity, by paying a constant rent to them. When ir intt, 
greatest height, they had two great enemies, — the Laws of t)a 
Land, and the Lord IViUiam Hoicard of JVawortk. He sen" 
many of them to Carlisle, to that jjlace where the oflScer dot/i 
always his work by daijiight. Yet tliese moss-troopers, if po» 
sibly they could procure tlie pardon for a condemned person ol 
their company, would advance great sums out of their cor.mor. 
stock, who, in such a case, cast in their lots amongst ikem 
selves, and all have one purse. 

"4. Decay. Caused, by the wisdom, valour, and dillgrei:* 
of the Right Honourable Charles Lord Howard, Earl of Otr- 
lisle, who routed these English Tories with his regiment. El 
severity unto them will not only be excused, but commended 
by the judicious, who consider how our great lawyer doth 
describe such persons, who are solemnly outlawed. Brao* 
TON, lib. viii.,trac. 2, cap. 11.—' Ex tunc gerunt caput lupi 
num, ita quod sine judiciali inquisitione rite pereant, ei 
secum suum judicium portent ; et mcrilo sine lege pereunt, 
qui secundum legem vivere recusdrunt.' — 'Thenceforward 
(after that they are outlawed), they wear a wolf's head, so that 
they lawfully may be destroyed, without any judical inquisi- 
tion, ss who caiTy their own condemnation about them, and 
deservedly die without law, because they refused to Uve ac- 
cording to law.' 

" 5. Ruine. Such was the success of this worthy lord's 
severity, that he made a thorough reformation among them ; 
and the ring-leaders being destroyed, the rest are reduced to 
legal obedience, and so, I trust, will continue." — Fuller's 
Worthies of England, p. 216. 

The last public mention of moss-troopers occurs during the 
civil wars of the 17th century, when many ordinances ot 
Parliament were directed against them. 



Note 0. 



tame the Unicornis pride, 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star. — P. 21. 

The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were, F'ert on a cheveron 
betwixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three mullets sa- 
ble ; crest, a unicorn's head, erased proper. The Scotts ol 
Buccleuch bore. Or, on a bend azure ; a star of six points b^ 
twixt two crescents of the first. 



Note P. 



William of Deloraine. — P. 2] . 

The lands of Deloraine are joined to those of Buccleuch ir 
Ettrick Forest. They were immemorially possessed by the 
Buccleuch family, under the strong title of occupancy, al- 
though no charter was obtained from the crown until 1545. 
Like other possessions, the lands of Deloraine were occasionally 
granted by them to vassals, or kinsmen, for Bordei service 
Satchells mentions, among the twenty-four gentlemen- peusioa 
ers of the family, " William Scott, commonly called Cut-ot 
the-Black, who had the lands of Nether Deloraine f<n h^s ser- 
vice. " And again, "This William of Deloraine, commonl5 
called Cut-at-the- Black, was a brother of the ancieit house ol 
Haining, which house of Haining is descended from the an- 
cient house of Hassendean." The lands of Deloraine ioh 
give an earl's title to the descendant of Henry, the second kur 
viving son of the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. 1 
have endeavored to give William of Deloraine the attriu'toj 
which characterized the Borderers of his day; for whi.h i 
can only piead Froissart's apology, that, ''it behoveth, iu 8 
lynage, some to be folyshe and outrageous, to mayntcyne ltd 
sustayne the peasable." As a contr,-ist to my Marchman, i 
beg leave to transcribe, from the same author, the speech o, 
Amergot Marcel!, a cantain of the Advep»'-<ous Companion* 



APPENDIX 20 THE LAY OF THE La:5T MINSTREL. 



t ioboer, and a pillager of the country of Auvergene, who had 
heen bribed to sell his strong;hold3, and to assume a more hon- 
orable military liie under the banners of the Earl of Arniagnao. 
But "when he remembered alle this, he was sorrowful; his 
Irescar he thought he wolde not mynysshe ; he wonte dayly 
io serche for uewe pyllages, wherebj e encresed his profyte, and 
then he sawe that alle was closed fro' hym. Then he sayde 
ODil imafiyned, that to pyll and to robbe (all things considered) 
wa» a gooa lyle, and so repented hym of his good doing. On a 
tilM, lis i?id to his old companyons, ' Sirs, there is no sporte nor 
plorr iJ this workle imonge men of warre, but to use siiche 
l/f» as wp hare done in fyme pw.t. What a joy was it to us 
wMa w? yde forth at adventure, and somtyme found by the way 
a ricn pnoiir nr merchaunt, or ? route of mulettes of Mount- 
peUyer, of Narbonne, of Lymcne, r 1 1 ongans, of Besyers, of Tholous, 
or of Ciircasonne, laden v/ith oljlh of Brussels or p^'f™ wo"-^ 
comyiige fro the favres, or /aden with spyc* iro B ^tsb, .to 
Damas. or fro Alysaundrc ; whatsoever we m c, all was ours, or 
els ransoumed at our pleasures ; dayly we gate new money, and 
the vyllaynes of Auver^i's and tf Lymosyn dayly provyded and 
brought to our castell whete niele, good wynes, beffes, and fatte 
motions, pullayne, and wylde foule : We were ever furnyshed as 
"ho we had been kings. Wnen we rode forthe, all the countery 
'rymhled for feare : al) w.,s ours goyng and comynge. How tok 
■*e Carlast. I and the liourge of Compajme, and I and Perot of 
Bernoys took Caluset , how dyd we seals, with lytell ayde, the 
ttrong easttll of Ma' quell, pertaynmg to the Erl Dolphyn : I kept 
it nat past fyve days, but I received for it, on a feyre table, fyve 
thousanJe frank'S, and forgave one thousande for the love of the 
Erl Dolphin's cnildren By my fayth, this was a fayre and a good 
iyfe ! whorefjre 1 repute myselfe sore deceyved, in that I have 
rende-r<;d up the lor'.ress of Aloys ; for it wolde have kept fro 
til the -vorlde, and the daye that I gave it up, it was foumyshed 
with vyt^ylles, to have been kept seven yere without any re- 
vyttivllinge. T'js Erl of Armynake hath deceived me: Olyve 
Barbe, and Ptrct 'e Bernoys, showed to me how I shulde repente 
oygelfe : c-.Ttnyne I sore repente myselfe of what I have done.' " 
Frois'jAP*, vol. ii. p. 105. 



Note Q. 

By wily ^urns, by desperate bounds. 

Had baWfi Percy's best blood-hounas.—P. 21. 

Til Kings and he-oes of Scotland, as well as the Bordei^ 
riders, were sometimes obliged to study how to eva.de the pur- 
suit of blood-hounds. Barbour informs us, that Robert Bruce 
was repeatedly tracked by sleuth-dogs. On one occasion, he 
escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and ascending 
into a. tree by a branch which overhung the water ; thus, leav- 
mg no trace on land of his footsteps, he baffled the scent. The 
pinners came up : 

ftycht to the burn thai passyt ware, 
Hot the sleuth-hund made stinting thar, 
Anc wau*yt lang tyme ta and fra, 
That he na certain gate coutli ga ; 
Till at the last that John of Lome 
Perseuvit the hund the sleuth had lome." 

The Bruce, Book vii. 

A §nre way of stopping thf dog was to spill blood upon the 
track, which destroyed the diw^riminating fineness of his scent. 
A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Henry 
the Minstrel tells a romantic stqry of Wallace, founded on this 
circumstance :— The hero's little band had been joined by an 
frishman, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and 
iTispicions character. After a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne 
Side, Wallace was forced to retreat with only sixteen follow- 
«n. The English pursued with a Border sleuth-bratch, or 
nlood-hoond. 



" In Gelderland there was th&t bratchet bred, 
Siker of scent, to follow them that fled ; 
So was he used in Eske and Liddesdail, 
While (i. e. till) she gat blood no fleeing might avail." 

In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or afllecting to be so, would go at 
farther. Wallace, having in vain argued with him, in hasty mger 
struck off his head, and continued llie retreat. When the Englj»!i 
came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body : — 

"The sleuth stopped at Fawdon. still she stood. 
No farther would fra time she fund the bl od." 

The story concludes with a fine Gotnic scene of terror. Wal'.ar* 
took refuge in the solitary tower of Ga.sk. Here hu was disturbed 
at midnight by the blast of a horn. He sent out his attendants by 
two and two. but no one returned with tidings At leijgth, wheo 
'..J 5vas left alone, the sound was heard still louder. The cham- 
pion descended, sword in hand ; and, at the gate of the tower, wai 
encountered by the headless spectre of Fawdoun, whom he had 
slain so rashly. Wallace, in great terror, fled up into the tower, 
tore open the hoards of a windovv-, leapt down fifteen feet in height, 
and continued his flight up the river. Looking back to Cask, h« 
discovered the tower on fire, ami the form of Fawdoun upon tht 
battlements, dilated to an immense size, and holding in his baud « 
blazing rafter. The Minstrel concludes, 

" Trust ryght wele, that all this be sooth indeed. 
Supposing it to be no point of the creed." 

The Wallace, Bo<* ▼. 

Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of Henry's poeUR.- 
Spedmens of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 351. 



Note R. 



• the Moat-hill's mound, 



Where Ihruid shades still flitted round.— P. 22 

This is a round artificial mount near Hawick, which, from tfet 
name (^tlot. Ang. Sox. Concilium, Coiiventus). was probshlj 
anciently used as a plnce for assembling a national council of tbd 
adjacent tribes. There are many such mounds in ScA.and, a&j 
they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square form. 



Note S. 
• the tower of Hazeldean. — P. 22. 



The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, belonged 
formerly to a family of Scotts, thus commemorated by Satob 
ells;— 

" Hassendean came without a call, 
, The ancientest house among thera all.'" 



Note T. 



On Minto-crags the vuonbeams glint. — P. 22. 
A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above 
the vale of Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family-seat, 
from which Lord Minto takes his title. A small platform, OB 
a projecting crag, commanding a most beautiful prospect, if 
t-ermed Barnhills' Bed. This Barnhills is said to have been a 
robber, or outlaw. There are remains of a strong tower be- 
neath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from 
which he derived his name. On the summit of the crags an 
the fragments of another ancient tower, in a picturesaue sitnv 



80 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



don. Among the hocBes cast down by the Eail of Hartford^ 
tn 1545, occur the towers of Easter Barnhills, and of Minto- 
er»g, Willi Minto town and place. Sir Gilbert Elliot, fatlierto 
the present Lord Miato,i was the author of a beautiful pasto- 
ral song, of which the following is a more correct copy than is 
iscallv pnbUshed. The poetica' mantle of Sir Gilbert Elliot 
■s descended to his family. 

"My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, 
Ajid all the gaj haunts of my youth I foraook I 
Ho more for Amynta fresh garlands 1 wove : 
Aiabition, I said, would soou cure me of io7S. 
But what had my youth with ambition to dot 
Why left I Amynta I why broke I my vow ! 

" Through legions remote in vain do I rove, 
And bid the wide world secure ma from love. 
Ah, fool, to imagine, that aught could subdna 
A love so well founded, a passion so true I 
AEi, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook reelJKS 1 
iLad I'll wander from love and Amynta no mfissl 



" Alas I 'tis too late at thy fate to repine I 
Faw shepherd, Amynta, no more can be thmal 
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vaic, 
The moments neglected return not again. 
Ah t what had my youth with ambition to do! 
^T^,? bft I Amynta ! why broke I my vow S" 



NOTB U. 

■jfi^sisnt RiddelVs fair domain.— 9. ^ 

•Jiic faaaily of Riddell have been very long in poasesekKi of 
the barony called Riddell, or Ryedale, part of which stUl bears 
the latter name. Tradition carries their antiquity to a point 
extremely remote ; and is, in some degree, sanctioned by the 
discovery of two stone coffins, one conteiining an earthen pot 
filled with ashes and arms, bearing a legible date, A. D. 727 ; 
the other dated 936, and filled with the bones of a man of gi- 
gantic size. These coffins were discovered in the foundations 
of what was, but has long ceased to be, the chapel of Riddell ; 
and £13 it was argued wilh plausibility, that they coritained the 
remains of some ancestors of the family, they were deposited 
in the modem place of sepulture, comparatively so termed, 
though bnilt in 1110. But the following curious and authen- 
tic documents warrant most conclusively the epithet of ' ' n- 
cient Riddell :" 1st, A charter by David I. to Walter Ryda' , 
SherifiF of Roxburgh, confirming all the estates of Liliesciive, 
Sc, of which his father, Gervasius de Rydale, died possessed. 
2dly, A bull of Pope Adrian IV., confirming the will of Wal- 
ter de Ridale, knight, in favor of liis brother Anschittil de Ri- 
dale, dated 8th April, 1155. 3dly, A bull of Pope Alexan- 
der III., confirming the said will of Walter de Eidale, be- 
qneatiiing to his brother Anschittil the lands of Liliesciive, 
Whettnne«, &c., and ratifying the bargain betwixt Anschittil 
eod Hnctrec us, concerning the church of Liliesciive. in conse- 
!{«ence of t.ie medijition of Malcolm II., and confirmed by a 
«bartei from that monarch. This bull is dated 17tli June, 1160. 
Evilly, A bull of the same Pope, confirming the will of Sir 
4nsciiittil de Rida'e, in favor of his son Walter, conveying the 
laid land) of Liliesciive and others, dated 10th March, 1120. 
ItiBryaHkible, that Liliesciive, otherwise Rydale, or Riddell, 
and t» Whittoaes, have descended, through a long train of 
BnoaslQtB, without ever passing into a collateral line, to the 
oergon of Sir John Bnchanan Riddell, Bart, of Riddell, the 
bieal descendant and repicsentative of Sir Ansohittii. — These 
^^oniostances appeand worthy of notice iu a fiunkr wGEk.> 



Note V. 

But when Melrose he reach' d 'twas silence all ; 

He meetly stabled his steed in stall, 

And sought the convent's lonely wall. — P. 22. 

The ancient and beautiful monastery of Meli*se was foandet 
by King David I. Its ruins afford the finest specimen cf Gothii 
architecture and Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boEist 
The stone of which it is built, though it has resisted the weather 
for so many ages, retains perfect sharpness, so that even t«a 
most minute ornaments seem as entire as when newly wrough 
In some of the cloisters, as is hinted in the next Canto, th'it' 
are representations of flowers, vegetables, Stc, car'-^d *i stone 
with accuracy and precision so delicate, that we almost distrus 
our senses, when we consider the difficulty of subjecting s« 
hard a substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation. 
This superb convent was dedicated to St. Mary, and the monki 
were of the Cistertian order. At the time of the Reforraatioc 
they shared the general reproach of sensuality and irregularity 
thrown upon the Roman churchmen. The old words of Oala 
shiels, a favorite Scotch air, ran thus : — 

O the monks of Melrose made gude kale,' 

On Friday3 when they fasted. 
They wanted neither beef nor ale. 

As long as their neighbors' lasted 



Note W. 



fVhen buttress and buttress, altemalelji, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 

When silver edges the imagery. 

And the scrolls that teach thm to live and die. 

• ♦•••• 

Then view St. David's ruin'd pile. — P. 23. 

The buttresses ranged along the sides of the ruins of Melroea 
Abbey, are, according to the Gothic style, richly carved and 
fretted, containing niches for the statues of saints, and labelled 
with scrolls, bearing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most o. 
these statues have been demolished. 

David I. of Scotland purchased the reputation of sanctity 
by founding, and liberally endowing, not only ihe monastery 
of Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others , 
which led to the well-known observation of his successor, thai 
he was a sore saint for the crown. 



1 unaid&tfacT to tke present 'BeA 1819>- 
9 Sinee tbe above note wa< written, the aaeiaot 
«tA4 with al) th«ir Scat«h eatalet.— En. 



fiaO^Of &aaueu nave 



Note X. 

For mas.i or prayer can I rarely tarry, 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When I ride on a Border foray. — P. 24. 

The Borderers were, as may be supposed, very igncran at o* 
religious matters. Colville, in his Paranesis, or Admonition 
[tales, that the reformed divines were so far from undertakin{ 
■ listant journeys to convert the Heathen, "as I wold wis at 
'iod that ye wold ordy go bot to the Hielands and Borders ol 
mr own realm, to gain our awin countreymen, who, for lack 
of prechingand ministration of the sacraments, must, Trith tyme, 
liecum either iHfidells, or atheists." But we learn, from Lc 
li'.y, tliat, however deficient in real religion, they regularly toiJ 
ttieir beads, and never with more zeal than when going on • 
f indei Dg expedition. 



8 Kmle, Brolk. 



Note Y. 

So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start ; 

Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
And htirl the unexpected dart. — P. 24. 

"By my faith," sayd the Duke of Lancaster (to a Porta- 
juese squire), " of all the feates of armes that the Castellyans, 
and they of your countrey doth use, the castynge of their dertea 
best pleaseth me, and gladly I wolde se it : for, as I hear say, 
f t >ey af'ilve one nryghte, without he be well armed, the dart 
will pien-a him thrughe." — "By my fayth, sir," sayd the 
jquyer, " ^e say troutli ; for I have seen many a grete stroke 
jiven with ihem, whiuh at one time cost us derely, and was 
:o us great displeasure ; for, at the said skyrmishe, Sir John 
Lawrence of Coygne was striken with a dart in such wise, that 
the head perced all the plates of his cote of mayle, and a sacke 
stopped with sylke, and passed thrughe his body, so that he 
fell down dead."— Froissart, vol. ii. ch. 44.— This mode of 
fighting with darts was imitated in the military game called 
Jeugo dc las canas, which the Spaniards borrowed from their 
Moorish invaders. A Saracen champion is thus described by 
Froissart : " Among the Sarazyns, there was a yonge knight 
called Agadinger Dolyferne ; he was always wel mounted on 
a redy and a lyght horse ; it seemed, wlien the horse ranne, 
that he did fly in the ayre. The knighte seemed to be a good 
man of armes by his dedes ; he bare always of usage three 
fethered dartes, and rychte well he could ^andle them ; and, 
iccording to their custome, he was clene armed, with a long 
white towell about his head. His ajjparell was blacke, and 
his own colour browne, and a good horseman. The Crysten 
men say, they thoughte he dyd such deeds of armes for the 
love of some yonge ladye of his countrey. And true it was, 
that he loved entirely the King of Thune's daughter, named 
the Lady Azaia ; she was inherytor to the realme of Thune, 
ifter the discease of the kyng, her father. This Agadinger 
was sone to the Duke of Olyferne. I can nat telle if they were 
married together after or nat ; but it was shewed me, that 
this knyght, for love of the sayd ladye, during the siege, did 
many featep of armes. The knyghtes of France wold fayne 
have taken hym ; but they colde never attrape nor inclose 
bim ; his horse was so swyft, and so redy to his hand, that 
'waies he escaped." — Vol. ii. ch. 7L 



Note Z. 



Jind there the dying lamps did bum, 

Before thy low and lonely urn, 

gallant Chief of Otterburne /—P. 24. 

The famous and desperate battle of Otterburne was fought 
I5lh August, 1388, betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and 
James, Earl of Douglas. Both these renowned champions were 
at the head of a chosen body of troops, and they were rivals 
in military fame; so that Froissart affirms, "Of all the bat- 
lajles and encounteryngs that 1 have made mencion of here 
before in all this hystory, great or smalle, this battayle that 
i treat of nowe was one of the sorest and best foughten, with- 
jDt cowardes or faynte hertes : for there was neyther knyghte 
nor isquyer but that dyde his devoyre, and foughte hande to 
hani'.e. This batayle was lyke the batayle of Becherell, the 
which was vahauntly fought and endured." The issue of the 

1 Tha -e ia aomethiiig affecting in the manner In wnich the old Prior of 
Lochlev m tunu from describing the death of the gallant Ramsay, to the 
feneral Borrow which it excited ; — ' 

" To tell yon there of the manere. 
It ia hot sorrow for til here ; 
He wes the grettaat menyd man 
That ony cowth have thowcht of than« 
Of his BtAte, or of mare be fare : 
411 menyt him, bath bettyr and war; 



conflict is well known : Percy was made pnsoner, and th« 
Scots won the day, dearly purchased ly the death of their j&i- 
lant general, the Earl of Douglas, who was slain in the action 
He was buried at Melrose, beneath the high altar. " Hii 
obsequye was done reverently, and on his bodye layde a tombs 
of stone, and his baner hangyng over hym." — Froissart 
vol. ii. p. 1S5 



Note 2 A. 



■ Dark Knight of Liddesdale. — P. 24 



William Douglas, called the Knight of Liddesdale, flon* 
ished during the reign of David II., and was so distinguished 
by his valor, that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. 
Nevertheless, he tarnished his renown by the cruel murder ol 
Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, originally his friend and 
brother in arms. The King had conferred upon Ramsay tlie 
sherifldom of Teviotdale, to which Douglas pretended soma 
claim. In revenge of this preference, the Knight of Iiiddes- 
dale came down upon Ramsay, while he was administering 
justice at Hawick, seized and carried him off" to his remote 
and inaccessible castle of Hermitage, where he threw his un* 
fortunate prisoner, horse and man, into a dungeon, and left 
him to perish of hunger. It is said, the miserable captive pro- 
longed his existence for several days by the corn which fell 
from a granary above the vault in which he was confined.! 
So weak was the royal authority, that David, although highly 
incensed at this atrocious murder, found himself obliged to 
appoint the Knight of Liddesdale successor to his victim, as 
Sheriff" of Teviotdale. But he was soon after slain, while hunt- 
in" in Ettrick Forest, by his own godson and chieftain, Wil- 
liam, Earl of Douglas, in revenge, according to some authors, 
of Ramsay's murder ; although a popular tradition, preserved 
in a ballad quoted by Godscroft, and some parts of which are 
still preserved, ascribes the resentment of the Earl to jealousy. 
The place where the Knight of Liddesdale was killed is called, 
from his name, William-Cross, upon the ridge of a hill called 
WiUiam-hope, betwixt Tweed and Yarrow. His body, ac- 
cording to Godscrolt, was carried to Lindean church the first 
night after his death, and thence to Melrose, where he vru 
interred with great pomp, and where his tomb is still showa. 



Note 2 B. 



The moon on the east oriel shone. — P. 24. 

It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen of th« 
lightness and elegance of Gotliio architecture, when in its 
purity, than the eastern window of Melrose Abbey. Sir James 
Hall of Dunglas, Bart., has, with great ingenuity and plausi- 
bility, traced the Gothic order through its various forms and 
seemingly eccentric ornaments, to an architectural imitation a' 
wicker work ; of which, as we learn from someof ihe JItfehie 
the earliest Christian churches were constructec. In each &a 
edifice, the original of the clustered pillars is traced to a set •( 
round posts, begirt with slender rods of willow, whose looM 
summits were brought to meet from all quarters, and bound 
together artificially, so as to produce the fmme-work of th« 
roof: and the tracery of our Gothic windows is displayed in thi 

The ryche and pnre him menyde bait. 

For of his dede wes mekii skath." 

Some years ago, a person digging for stones, aWr< the old castle ol 
Hermitage, broke into a vault, containing a quantity of chaff, some bones, 
rtnd pieces of iron ; amongst others, the curb of an ancient bridle which ths 
author has eince given to the Earl "I Dalhousie, under the impression thai 
it possibly may be a relic of his brave ancestor. The worthy clergyman a 
the parish has mentioned this discov i his Statistical Account n 

Castletown. 



?52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



nceting and interlacing of rods and hoops, affording an inez* 
•austible variety of beautiful foftns of open work. Tiiis inge- 
luons system is alluded to in the romance. Sir Jamjs Hall's 
Essny on Gothic Architecture is published in The Edinburgh 
Philosophical Tranxactiona. 



Note 2 C. 



— — 7\h vondrous Michael Scott. — P. 24. 

Sit M:cnde\ Scot' of Balwearie flonrished during the 13th 
»ectniy, and was one of the ambassadors sent to bring the 
Mivid of Norway to Scotland upon the death of Alexander III. 
By a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later era. 
He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in fijreign 
countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at 
Venice in 1196 ; und several treatises upon natural philosophy, 
from which he appears to have been addicted to the abstruse 
studies of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, and chi- 
romancy. Hence he passed among his contemporaries for a 
•kilful magician. Dempster informs us, that he remembers to 
lave h.eard in Ids youth, that the magic books of Michael 
Scott were still in existence, but could not be opened without 
danger, on account of the malignant fiends who were thereby 
invoked. Dcmpstsri Historia Kcclcsiastica, 1027, lib. xii. 
p. 495. Lesly characterizes Michael Scott as " singularie 
philosophim, astronomice, ac mcdicincB laude prestans ; dice- 
batar penitissimos magiue recessus indagdsse." Dante also 
mentions hira as a renowned wizard : — 

" duell altro che ne' fianchi e cosi poco, 
Michele Scotto fu, che veramente 
Delle magiche frode seppe il giuoco." 

Inferno, Canto xxmo. 

A personage, thus spoken of by biographers and historians, 
lOies little of his mystical fame in vulgar tradition. Accord- 
ing'y, the memory of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a 
legend ; and in the south of Si;otland, any work of great labor 
»nd antiquity is ascribed, either to the agency ot Auld Michael, 
t( Sir William Wallace, or of the devil. Tradition varies con- 
j*ming the place of his burial ; some contend for Home Col- 
trame, in Cumberland ; others for Melrose Abbey. But all 
igree, that his books of magic were interred in his grave, or 
preserved in the convent where he died. Satchells, wishing to 
jive some authority for his account of the origin of the name 
»f Scott, pretends, that, in 1629, he chanced to be at Burgh 
ander Bowness, in Cumberland, where a person, named Lance- 
lot Scott, showed hira an extract from Michael Scott's works, 
K>nt lining that story : — 

' ' He said the book which he gave me 
Was of Sir Michael Scott's historie ; 
Which history was never yet read through, 
Nur never will, for no man dare it do. 
Young scl.olars have pick'd out something 
From the contents, that dare not read within. 
He carried me along the castle then, 
.And shew'd his written book hanging on an iron pin. 
His writing jien did "eem to me to be 
Df hardened meta', like steel, or accumie; 
The volume of it did seem so large to me. 
As the Book of Martyrs and Turks historie. 
Then in the church he let me see 
A stone where Mr. Michael Scott did lie ; 
I a.sked at him how that could appear, 
Mr. Michael had been dead above five hundred year? 
He shew'd me none durst bury under that stone, 
More than he had been dead a few years agone ; 
For Ml. Mioiael's name does terrifie each one." 

Hiitory i/ the Right Honorable JVame of ScoTi 



Note 2 D. 
Salamanca's cave. — P. 25. 

Spain, from the relics, doubtless, of Arabian learEing am 
superstition, was accounted a favorite residence of magicians 
Pojie Sylvester, who actually imported from Spain the use o 
the Arabian numerals, was supposed to have learned thert 
the magic, for which he was stigmatized by tho ignorance ol 
his age. — Wii,LiJi.!,i of Malmsbiiry, lit. ii. cap. 10. Tharf 
were public schools, where magic, ot rathet the sciences enp 
posed to involve its mysteries, were regularly taught, at Toledo, 
Seville, and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were he'd <! 
a deep cavern ; the mouth of which was walled up by Q,ueei 
Isabella, wife of King Ferdinand. — D' Auto.n on Learned In 
credulity, p. 45. These Spanish schools of magic are celebi* 
ted also by the Italian poets of romance : — 

" Questo citta di Tolleto solea 
Tenere studio di negromanzia, 
Cluivi di magica arte si leggea 
Pubblicamente, e di peromanzia ; 
E inolti geomanti sempre avea, 
Esperimenti assai d' idromanzia 
E d' altre false opinion' di sciocchi 
Come e fatture, o spesso baf.er gli occhi." 

II Morgante Maggiore, Canto xxv. St. 25£ 

The celebrated magician Maugis, cousin to Rinaldo of Mont- 
alban, called, by Ariosto, Malagigi, studied the black art al 
Toledo, as we learn from L' Histoire de Maugis D'Aygre- 
mont. He even held a professor's chair in the necromantic 
university; for so I interpret the passage, "yii'on tous lea 
sept ars d'enchantement, des charmes et conjurations, il n'j 
avoit meilleur maistre que lui ; et en tel renom qu'on le lais- 
soit en chaise, et I'appelloit on maistre Maguis." This 
Salamancan Domdaniel is said to have been founded by Hei^ 
cules. If the classic reader inquires where Hercules himself 
learned magic, he may consult " Les faicts et processes du 
noble et vaillant Hercules," wh^re he will learn, that the 
fable of his aiding Atlas to support the heavens, arose from 
the said Atlas having taugi:t Hercules, the noble knight-crrnnt 
the seven liberal sciences, and in particular, that ofjudicia 
astrology. Such, according to the idea of the middle ages, 
were the studies, " mozimus qum docuit Atlas." — In a ro- 
mantic hii.tory of Roderic, the last Gothic King of Spain, he 
is said to have entered one of those enchanted caverns. It was 
situated beneath an ancient tower near Toledo ; and when the 
iron gates, which secured the entrance, were unfolded, there 
rushed forth so dreadful a whirlwind, that hitherto no one had 
dared to penetrate into its recesses. But Roderic, threatened 
with an invasion of the Moors, resolved to enter the cavern 
where he exjiected to find some prophetic intimation of the 
event of the war. Accordingly, his train being furnished with 
torches, so artificially composed that the tempest could not ex- 
tinguish them, the King, with great difficulty, penetrated into 
a square hall, inscribed all over with Arabian characters. In 
the midst stood a colossal statue of brass, representing a Ssfli- 
cen wielding a Moorish mace, with which it discharged furiooa 
blows on all sides, and seemed thus to excite the tempest Wiii' h 
raged around. Being conjured by Roderic, it ceased front 
striking, until he read, inscribed on the right hand, " IVretch;n 
Monarch, for thy evil hast thou come hither;" on the left 
hand, " Thou shnlt be di.':possessed by a strange people;" 
on one shoulder, "linvoke the sons of Ungnr;" ontheotht" 
" I do mine office." When the King had deciphered the* 
ominous inscriptions, the statue returned to its exercise, th« 
tempest commenced anew, and Roderic retired, fo mourn ova 
the predicted evils which approached his throne. He caused 
the gates of the cavern to be locked and barricaded ; but, in 
the course of the night, the tower fell with a tremendous noise, 
and nnder its mms concealed forever the entrance to the my»- 
tie cavern. The conquest of Spain \>- tho Saracens and th« 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



6.1 



riesth of the unfortunate Don Roderic, fulfilled the prophecy 
•f the brazen statue. Historia verdndera del Key Don Rod- 
rigo por el Sabio Alcayde Abulcaciiii, traduzcda de la lengua 
Arabiga, pnr Miguel de Luna, 1654, caji. \ i. 



Note 2 E. 



The Mils would ring in J^otre Dame. — P. 25. 

' Tantamne rem tam neg/igenter 7" says Tyrwhitt, of his 
awlecessor, Speight ; who, in his commett*aiy on Chaucer, 
iiaJ omitted, as trivial and fabulous, the story of Wade and 
hiB boat Guiiigelot, to the great prejudice of posterity, the 
oionic.ry of the hero and the boat being now entirely lost. That 
fiitur; antiiiuaries may lay no ^ch omission to my charge, I 
t ave noted one or two of the most current traditions concern- 
ing Michael Scott. He was chosen, it is said, to go upon an 
embassy, to obtam from the King of France satisfaction for 
seitain pirac'ss committed by his subjects upon those of Scot- 
^Uid. Instead of preparing a new equipage and splendid 
retinue, the ambassador retreated to his study, opened his book, 
and evoked a fiend in the shape of a huge black horse, mount- 
id upon his back, and forced him to fiy through the air to- 
wards France. As they crossed the sea, the devil insidiously 
■jked his rider, What it was that the old women of Scotland 
muttered at bedtime t A less experienced wizard might have 
tnswered that it was the Pater Noster, which would have 
hcensed the devil to precipitate him from his back. But 
Michael sternly replied, " What is tiiat to thee 1 — Mount, 
Diabolus, and fly!" When he atrived at Paris, he tied his 
fionse to the gate of the palace, entered, and boldly delivered 
his message. An ambassador, with so little of the pomp and 
circumstance of diplomacy, iv^s not received with much re- 
spect, and the King was abort to return a contemptuous refusal 
to his demand, when Michael besought him to suspend his 
resolution till he had seen his horse stamp three times. The 
first stamp shook every steeple in Paris, and caused all the 
hells to ring ; the second threw down three of the towers of 
the palace ; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof to give 
(he third stamp, when the King rather chose to dismiss Michael, 
with the most amjile concessions, than to stand to the probable 
consequences. Another time, it is said, that, when residing at 
the Tower of Oak wood, upon the Ettrick, about three miles 
above Selkirk, he heard of the fame of a sorceress, called the 
Witch of Falsehope, who lived on the opposite side of the 
river. 3Iicliael went one morning to put her skill to the test, 
l)ut was disappointed, by her denying positively any know- 
ledge of the necromantic art. In his discourse with her, he 
laid his wand inadvertently on the table, which the hag of>- 
Berving, suddenly snatched it up, and struck him with it. 
Feeling the force of the charm, he rushed out of the house ; 
out, as it had conferred on him the external appearance of a 
harn, his servant, who waited without, halloo'd upon the dis- 
somf jd wizard his own greyhounds, and pursued him so 
cloiie '..lat, in order to obtain a moment's breathing to reverse 
ite charn , Michael, after a very fatiguing course, was fain to 
lake rcfone in K'a own jatefiolc (Jlnglice, common sewer). In 
oriel to revenue himself of the witch of Falsehope, Michael, 
one morning m the ensuing harvest, went to the hill above the 
house with h 3 dogp, and sent down his servant to ask a bit of 
bread from th; ^oodwife for liis greyhounds, with instructions 
what to do if he met with a denial. Acconlingly, when the 
witch had refused the boon with contumely, the servant, as his 
onadter had directed, laid above the door a paper which he had 
|i\en him, containing, amongst many cabalistical words, the 
well-known rhyme, — 

" JMaister Michael Scott's man 
Sought meat, and gat nane." 

fj imediate'' the good old woman, instead of pnrsning her 



domestic oceajxition, which was baking bread for thi; reap 
erg. began to dance round the fire, repeating the rhyme, an<l 
continneu this exercise till her husband sent the reapers t« 
the house, one after another, to see what had delayed theii 
provision ; but the charm caught each as they entered, and 
losing all idea of returning, they joined in the dance anc 
chorus. At length the old man himself went to the Wase 
but as his wife's frolic with Mr. Michael, whom he had esoi 
on the hill, male him a little cautious, he contented himsel, 
with looking in at the window, and saw the reapers at !hei; 
involuntary exercise, dragging his wife, now completely e« 
hausted, sometimes round, and sometimes through, the fire 
which was, as usual, in the midst of the house. Instead o 
entering, he saddled a horse, and rode up the hill, to humbl« 
himself before Michael, and beg a cessation of the spel. 
which the good-natured warlock immediately granted, direci 
ing him to enter the house backwards, and, with his left hand, 
take the spell from above the door ; which accordingly ended 
the supernatural dance. — This tale was told less particularly 
in former editions, and I have been censured for inaccurac) 
in doing so. — A similar charm occurs in Hiion de Bourdcaax. 
and in the ingenious Oriental tale, called the Caliph Vathek. 
Notwithstanding his victory over the witch of Falsehope 
Michael Scott, like his predecessor. Merlin, fell at last a vie 
tim to female art His wife, or concubine, eUcited from bin' 
the secret, that his art could ward off any danger except thf 
poisonous qualities of broth, made of the flesh of a breme sow 
Such a mess she accordingly administered to the wizard, who 
died in consequence of eating it ; surviving, however, lonj 
enough to put to death his treacherous confidant 



Note 2 F. 



The words that cleft Eildon hills in three. — ^ 25. 

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed 
by a spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding 
constant employment. He commanded liim to build a cauld 
or dam-head, across the Tweed at Kelso ; it was accomplishet 
in one night, and still does honor to the infernal architect 
Michael next ordered that Eildon hill, which was then a uni 
form cone, should be divided into three. Another night wa* 
sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaki 
which it now bears. At length the enchanter conquered t ii» 
indefatigable demon, by employing him in the hopeless and 
endless task of makinj; ropes out of sea-sand. 



Note 2 G. 



~ That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 
Until the eternal doom shall be. — P 25. 

Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natw» 
magic, talk much of eternal lamps, pretended to have beer | 
found burning in ancient sepulchres. Fortuning Licetuo ii»- ( 
vestigates the subject in a treatise, De Lucernis Antiquoruw 
Reconditis, published at Venice, 1C21. One of these perpet- 
ual lamps is said to have been discovered in the tomb of Ta) 
liola, the daughter of Cicero. The wick was supposed to t)t 
composed of asbestos. Kircher enumerates three differen'. 
recipes for constructing such lamps ; and wisely concludes 
that the thing is nevertheless impossible. — Mmidtis Subter 
ranneus, p. 72. Delrio imputes the fabrication of such light 
to magical skill. — Disquisilione.<! Magiccn, p. 58. In a very 
rare romance, which " treateth of the life of Virgilius, and ol 
his deth, and many marvayles that he dyd in his lyfe-nme, b' 
wychecrafte and nygiamancye, throughe the helpe of th» 
devyls of hell," mention is made of a very extraordinary pnr 
cess, in which one of these mystical lamps wan erapIov<;d. I' 



64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



teens that Virgil, as he advanced in years, became desirons of 
renovating his youth by magical art. For this purpose he 
constrncted a solitary tower, having only one narrow portal, in 
which he placed twenty-tour copper tigures, armed with iron 
flnils, twelve on each side of the porch. These enchanted 
statues struck with their flails incessantly, and rendered all en- 
trance impossible unless when Virgil touched the spring, which 
rtopped their motion. To this »iwer he repaired privately, at- 
tended by one trusty servant, to whom he coramunicated th; 
lecret of the entrance, and hither they conveyed all the ma- 
gician's treasure. " Then sayde Virgilias, my dere beloved 
trende. and that I above alle men truste and knowe mooste of 
.ny secret ;" and then he led the man into a cellar, where he 
made a foyer lamp at all seasons burnynge. " And then 
*ayd Virgilijs to the man, ' Se you the barrel that standeth 
liere ?' and he sayd, yea : ' Therein must thou put me : fyrst 
ye mus» slee me, and hewe me smalle to piec-es, and cut my 
hed in iiii pieces, and salte the heed under in the bottom, and 
I ben the pieces there after, and my herte in the myddel, and 
'hen set the barrel under the lampe, tAat nyghte and day the 
.'at therein may droppe and leake ; and ye shall ix dayes long, 
ones in the day, fyll the lampe, and fayle nat. And when this 
is all done, then shall I be reneued, and made yonge agen." 
At this extraordinary proposal, the confidant was sore abashed, 
and made some scruple of obeying his master's commands. 
At length, however, he complied, and Virgil was slain, pick- 
led, and barrelled up, in all respects according to his own 
airection. The servant then left the tower, taking care to put 
me copper thrashers in motion at his departure. He continued 
daily to visit the tower with the same precaution. Meanwhile, 
the emperor, with whom Virgil was a great favorite, missed 
him from the court, and demanded of his servant where he 
was. The domestic pretended ignorance, till the emperor 
threatened him with death, when at length he conveyed him 
to the enchanted tower. The same threat exU.>rted a discovery 
ol the mode of stopping the statues from wi-ilding iheir flails. 
" And then the emperour entered into the castle vith all his 
Iblke, and sought all aboute in every corner after Virgilins, 
and at the iaste they sought so longe, that they cr.me into the- 
seller, where they sawe the lampe hang over tlie barreU, 
where Virgilius lay in deed. Then asked the emperour the 
man, who had made hym so herdy to put his mayster Virgi- 
ins so to dethe ; and the man answered no worde to the em- 
perour. And then the emperour, with great anger, drewe out 
his sworde, and slewe he there Virgilius' man. And when all 
this was done, then sawe the emperour, and all his folke, a 
naked child iii tymes rennynge about the barrell, saynge these 
wordes, ' Cursed be the tyrae that ye ever came here.' And 
with those words vanyshed the chylde awaye, and was never 
Bene ageyn ; and thus abyd Virgilius in the barrell deed." — 
f^inrilius, bl. let., printed at Antwerpe by John Boi^sborcke. 
This curions volume is in the valuable library of Mr. Douce ; 
ind is supposed to be a translation from the Fre.nch, printed 
in Flanders for the English market. S.-e Goi.Jet Bihlioth. 
Franc, ix. 225. Catalogue, de la Dibliothiquc JW'tiuHale, torn. 
t. p. 5. De Bure, No. 3857. 



Note 2 H. 



Tfien Deloraine, in terror, toek 
From the cold hand the Mighty Booh, 

Ue thought, as he took it, the dead man frown' d. — P. 2rt. 

William of Deloraine might be strengthened in this belief by 
he well-known story of the Cid Rny Diaz. When the body 
»f that famous Christian champion was sitting in state by the 
tiigh altar of the cathedral church of Toledo, where it remained 
far ten years, a certain malicioas Jew attempted to poll him 



by the beard ; but he had no sooner touched the formidabk 
whiskers, than the corpse started up, and half unsheathed his 
sword. The Israelite fled ; and so permanent was the effect o. 
his terror, that he became Christian. — Hkywood's Hierarchie 
p. 480, quoted from Sebaa'tan Cobarruvias Crozee 



TVoTK 2 L 



Tk s Baron's Dwarf his courser held. — P. 27. 

The idea of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page is taken frt.n a 
being called Gilpin Horner, who appeared, and made some 
stay, at a farm-house among the Border mountains. A gentle- 
man of that country has noted down the following particulan 
concerning his appearance : — 

" The only certain, at least most probable account, that evei 
I heard of Gilpin Horner, was from an old man, of the name 
of Anderson, who was bom, and lived all his life at Todshaw- 
hill, in Eskedale-muir, the place where Gilpin appeared and 
staid for some time. He said there were two men, late in the 
evening, when it was growing dark, empiloyed in fastening the 
horses npon the uttermost part of their ground (that is, tying 
their forefeet together, to hinder them from, travelling far in 
the night), when they heard a voice at some distance, crying 
' Tint ! Tint I Tint .''■ One of tlie men, named Moffat 
called out, ' What diel has tint you? Come here.' Imm& 
diately a creature, of something like a human form, appeared, 
It was surprisingly little, distorted in features, and misshapen 
in limbs. As soon as the two men could see it plainly, they 
ran home in a great fright, imagining they had met with some 
goblin. By the way, Moffat fell, and it ran over him, and waj 
home It the house as soon as either of them, and staid there a 
long time ; but I cannot say how long. It was real flesh and 
blood, and ate and drank, was fond of cream, and, when 
it could get at it, would destroy a great deal. It seemed a 
mischievous creature ; and any of the children whom it could 
master, it would beat and scratch without mercy. It was once 
abusing a child belonging to the same Mofl'at, who had been 
so frightened by its first appearance ; and he, in a passion 
struck it so violent a blow npon the side of the head, that il 
tumbled up<'n the ground ; but it was not stunned ; for it sei 
up its h;?ad directly, and exclaimed, ' Ah, hah, Will o' Moffat, 
you strike sair I' (viz. sore). After it bad^taid there long, on« 
evening, r'hen the women were milking the cows in the loan, 
it was playing among the children near by them, when suddenlji 
they heard a loud shrill voice cry three times, ' Oilpin Hor- 
ner !' It started, and said, 'That is me, I must awny,^ and 
instantly disappeared, and was never heard of more. Old An- 
derson did not remember it. but said he had often heard hia 
father, and other old men in the place, who were there at the 
time, speak about it ; and in my younger years I have often 
heard it mentioned, and never met with any who had the re- 
motest doubt as to the truth of the story ; although, I must 
own, I cannot help thinking there must be some misrepresenta- 
tion in it." — To this account, I have to add the following f a» 
ticulars from the most respectable authority. Besides constan*. 
ly repeating the word tint', tint! Gilpin Horner was often 
heard to call upon Peter Bertram, or Be-te-ram, as he pronoun- 
ced the worti ; and when the shrill voice called Gilpin Horner 
he immediately acknowledged it was the summons of the said 
Peter Bertram : who seems therefore to have been the devil 
who had tint, or lost, the little imp. As much has been ob 
jected to Gilpin Homer, on account of his being supposed 
rather a device of the author than a popular superstition, I can 
only say, that no legend which 1 ever heard seemed to be 
more universally credited ; and that many persons of very good 
rank, and considerable information, are well known to reposa 
absolute faith in the tradition. 

1 Tint sisnifiei lotL 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



60 



Note 2 K 

But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band 

Of the best that would ride at her command. — P. 27. 

' Ifpon 25th Jnae, 1557, Dame Janet Beatoune Lady Buc- 
«leach, and a great number of the name of Scott, delaitit (ac- 
jused; tor coming to the kirk of St. Mary of the Lowes, to the 
au • ber of two liundred persons bodin in feire of vveire (arrayed 
7. armor), and breaking open the door of the said kirk, in or- 
'er to apprehend the Laird of Cranstoune for his destruction." 
'>n the 20tii July, a warrant from the dueen is presented, dis- 
aarging tlie justice to proceed against the Lady Buccleuch 
Ahile new caiUng — Abridgment of Books of Adjournal, in 
.idoucatcs' Library. — The ibllowin/; proceedings upon this 
case appear on the record of the Court of Justiciary : On the 
•iothof June, 1557, Robert Scott, in Bowliill parish, priest o'" 
the kirk of St. Mary's, accused of the convocation of the 
dueen's lieges, to the number of two hundred persons, in war- 
like array, with jacks, helmets, and other weapons, and march- 
ing to the chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes, for the slaughter 
)f Sir Peter Cranstoun, out of ancient feud and malice pre- 
ense, and of breaking the doors of the said kirk, is repledged 
ly the Archbishop of Glasgow. The bail given by Robert 
Scott of AUanhaugh, Adam Scott of Burnfute, Robert Scott 
in Howfurde, Walter Scott in Todshawhaugh, Walter Scott 
younger of Synton, Thomas Scott of Hayning, Robert 
ftcott, William Scott, and James Scott, brothers of the said 
Waller Scott, Walter Scott in the WoU, and Walter Scott, 
ion of William Scott of Harden, and James Werayss in Eck- 
Ibrd, all accused of the same crime, is declared to be forfeited. 
On tbe same day, Walter Scott of Synton, and Walter Chis- 
lolme of Chisholme, and William Scott of Harden, became 
lound, jointly and severally, that Sir Peter Cranstoun, and his 
kindred and servants, should receive no injury from them in 
future. At the same time, Patrick Murray of Fallohill, Alex- 
dnder Stuart, uncle to the Laird of Trakwhare, John Murray 
Df Newhall, John Fairlye, residing in Selkirk, George Tail, 
/oungei of P in, John Pennycuke of Pennycuke, James Ram- 
say of Cokpen, the Laird of Fassyde, and the Laird of Henders- 
oune, were all severally fined for not attending as jurors; 
'jeing probably either in alliance with the accused parties, or 
Ireauing their vengeance. Upon the 20th of July following, 
Scott of Synton, Chisholme of Chisholme, Scott of Harden, 
Scott of Howpaslie, Scott of Burnfute, with many others, are 
ordered to appear at next calling, under the pains of treason. 
But no farther procedure seems to have taken place. It is 
»aid, that, upon this rising, the kirk of St. Mary was burnt by 
ihe Bcotts. 



Note 2 L. 



Like a book-bosom' d priest. — P. 29. 

"At Unthank, two miles N. E. from the church (of Ewes), 
aers are the ruins of a chapel for divine service, in time of Po- 
pery. There is a tradition, that friars were wont to come from 
MelKise or Jedburgh, to baptize and marry in this parish ; and 
from being in use to cany the mass-book in their bosoms, they 
were called by the inhabitants, Book-a-bosomcs. There is a 
man yet alive, who knew old men who had been baptized by 
these Book-a-bosomes, and who says one of them, called Hair, 
Used this parish for a very long time." — Account of Parish of 
Eiccs, apud J\Iacfar/ane's MSS. 



Note 2 M. 

Al! vias delusion, naught was truth. — P. 29 

ttiOmour, in the legends of Scottish superstition, means the 
vagio ^oweJ of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators, so 
9 



that the appearance of an object shall be totally difTerent from 
the reality. The transformation of Michael Scott by the witch 
of Falsehope, already mentioned, was a genuine operation ol 
glamour. To a similar charm the ballad of Johnny Fa' im 
putes the fascination of the lovely Countess, who eloped wit>. 
that gipsy leader : — 

" Sae soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, 
They cast the glamour o'er her." 

It was formerly used even in war. In 1381, when the Duhf 
of Anjou lay before a strong castle, upon the coast of Nanlea, 
a necromancer offered to " make the ayre so thycke, tha-. nie- 
within shall thynke that there is a great bridge on the see (by 
which the castle was surrounded) for ten men to go a front ; 
and whan they within the castle se this bridge, they will be sr 
afrayde, that they shall yelile them to your mercy. Tlip 
Duke demanded, — ' Fayre Master, on this bridge that ye speke 
of, may our people assuredly go thereon to the castell, to as- 
sayle it Y — ' Syr,' quod the enchantour, ' I dare not assure yon 
that ; for if any that passeth on the bridge make the signe of tha 
crosse on hyra, all shall go to noughte, and they that he on the 
bridge shall fall into the see.' Then the Duke began to laugh ; 
and a certain of young knightes, that were there present, said 
' Syr, for godsake, let the mayster assey his cunning : we shall 
leve making of any signe of the crosse on us for that tyme.' " 
The Earl of Savoy, shortly after, entered the tent, and recog 
nized in the enchanter the same person who had put the castl 
into the power of Sir Charles de la Payx, who then held it, hi 
persuading the garrison of the Q,ueen of Naples, through magit^ 
al deception, that the sea was coming over the walls. The 
sage avowed the feat, and added, that he was the man in the 
world most dreaded by Sir Charles de la Payx. " ' By mj 
fayth,' quod the Earl of Savoy, ' ye say well ; and R'ill thai 
Syr Charles de la Payx shall know that he hath gret wronge 
to fear you. But I shall assure hym of you ; for ye shal 
never do enchantment to deceyve hym, nor yet none other. I 
wolde nat that in tyme to come we shulde be reproached that 
in so high an enterprise as we be in, wherein there be so many 
noble knyghtes and squyres assembled, tha.* vf shulde do any 
thyng be enchantment, nor that we shulde wyn our enemys be 
suche crafte.' Then he called to him a servaunt, and said, ' Go, 
and get me a hangman, and let him stryke off this mayster's 
heed without delay ;' and as soone as the Erie had command- 
ed it, incontynent it was done, for his heed was stryken ol 
before the Erie's tent."— Froissart, vol. i. ch. 391, 392. 

The art of glamour, or other fascination, was anciently a 
principal part of the skill of the jongleur, or juggler, whose 
tricks formed much of the amusement of a Gothic castlt 
Some instances of this irt may be found in the MinstreUy oj 
the Scottish Border, vol. iv. p. 106. In a strange allejorica 
poem, called the Houlat, written by a dependent of the honsi 
of Douglas, about 1452-3, the jay, ip an assembly of birds 
plays the part of the juggler. His feats of glamour are th* i 
described : — 

" He gart them see, as it semyt in sarayn houre. 

Hunting at herdis in holtis so hair ; 
Some sailand on the see schippis of toure, 
Bemis battalland on burd brim as a bare ; 
He coulde carye the coop of the kingis dea, 
Syne leve in the stede, 
Bot a black bunwede ; 
He could of a henis hede 
Make a man mes. 

" He gart the Emproure trow, and trewlye beoaiOl, 
That the corncraik, the pundere at hand. 

Had poyndit all his pris hors in a poynd fald 
Because thai ete of the com in the kirkland. 

He could wirk windaris, qnhat way that he wald 
Mak a gray gns a gold garland, 

A tang spere of a bittile, for a beme bali 



A6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Nobilis of nntschelles, and silver of sand, 
rhcs joukit with juxtere the jai-'iane ja. 

Fair ladyes in ringis, 

Knychtis in caralyngis, 

Bayth dansis and singi& 
It serayt 6S sa." 



Note 2 N. 

JVow ij you ask who gave the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 

It was not given by man alive. — P. S2S. 

th. Henry More, in a letter prefixed to Glanville's Saducis- 
mus Triumphatus , mentions a similar phenomenon. 

" I remember an old gentleman in the country, of my ac- 
^lai stance, an excellent justice of peace, and a piece of a 
Biathematician ; but what kind of a philosopher he was, you 
may understand from a rhyme of his own making, which he 
iom iiended to me at my taking horse in his yard, which rhyme 
is this : — 

' Ens is nothing till sense finds out : 
Sense ends in nothing, so naught goes about,' 

Which rhyme of his was so rapturous to himself, that, on the 
reciting of the second verse, the old man turned himself about 
upon Ilia toe as nimbly as one may observe a dry leaf whisked 
ouiid the corner of an orchard-walk by some little whirlwind. 
With this philosopher I have had many discourses concerning 
the immortality of the soul and its distinction ; when I have 
nin him quite down by reason, he would but laugh at me, and 
.ay tliis is logic, H. (caUing me by my Christian name) ; to 
which I replied, this is reason, father L. (for so I used and 
"ome others to c.^ll him) ; but it seems you are for the new 
ights, and immediate inspiration, which I confess he was as 
ittle for as for the other ; but I said so only in the way of 
Jrollcry to him in those times, but truth is, nothing but palpa- 
ole experience would move him ; and being a bold man, and 
fuaring nothing, he told me he had used all the magical cere- 
monies of conjuration he could, to raise the devil or a spirit, 
and had a most earnest desire to meet with one, but never could 
do it. But this he told me, when he did njt so much as think 
fff it, wliile his servant was pulling off his boots in the hall, 
tomi' mvisible hand gave him such a clap upon the back, that 
it made all ring again ; ' so,' thought he now, ' I am invited 
to the conversie of my spirit,' and therefore, so soon as his boots 
•T»v off, and his shoes on, out he goes into the yard and next 
field, to find out the spirit that had given him this familiar clap 
on the back, but found none neither in the yard nor field next 
to it. 

" But thodgh he did not feel this stroke, albeit he thought 
it afterwards (finding nothing came of it) a mere delusion; 
yet not long before his death, it had more force with him than 
lU 'he philosophical arguments I could use to him, though I 
conld wind him and nonplus him as I pleased ; but yet all my 
nrfuments, how solid soever, made no impression upon him ; 
(Therefore, after severa. reasonings of this nature, whereby I 
wonid prove to h'm the soul's distinction from the body, and 
U immortality, when nothing of such subtile consideration did 
iuy more execution on his mind than some lightning is said to 
do, though it melts the sword, on the fuzzy consistensy of the 
ic»bbaid, — 'Well,' said [, 'father L., though none of these 
things move you, I have something still behind, and what 
yourself has acknowledged to be true, that may do the busi- 
ness : — Do you remember the clap on your back when your 
lervant was pulling off your boots in the hall % Assure your- 
telf,' says I, ' father L., that goblin will be the first to bid yon 
welcome into the other world.' Upon that his countenance 
ohanged most sensibly, and lie was more confounded with this 
rmbbing up his memory, than with all the rational or philoso- 
tbiol argomentatiins that I covld proifuce." 



Note 2 0. 
The -unning stream dissolved i ke spell. — P. 30 

It is a firm article of popular faith, that no enchantment C4i 

subsist in a living stream Nay, if you can interpose a brook 
betwixt you and witches, spectres, or ever, fiends, y>o are T 
perfect safety. Burns's inimitable Turn «' Shanter lums <<r 
tirely upon such a circumstance. The belief seems vo be » 
anti<|uity. Brompton informs us, that certain Irish vr'.z»r. 
could, by spells, convert earthen clods, or stones, into lat ;iigf 
which they sold in the market, but which always reasssmw 
their proper form when driven by the deceived purchaser acrmi 
a running stream. But Brompton is severe on the Irish, for t 
very good reason. " Gens ista spurcissima .on solvunt dec! 
mas." — Clironiio-n Johannis Brovipton afud decern Scrip 
tores, p. 1076. 



Note 2 P. 

He never counted him a man. 

Would strike below the knee. — P. 30. 

Imitated from Drayton's account of Robin Hood and U 
followers : — 

" A hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, 
Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good : 
All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue 
His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew. 
When setting to their lips their bugles shrill. 
The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill ; 
Their bauldrics set with studs athwart their shoulders cast 
To which under their arms their sheafs v.-ere buckled fast, 
A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span, 
Wlio struck below the knee not counted then a man. 
All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong 
They not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long. 
Of archery they had the very perfect craft. 
With broad arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft." 

Pu.'y-.ilbion. Song 26. 

To wound an antagonist in the thigh, or leg, was reckoned 
contrary to the law of arms. In a tilt between Gawain Mi- 
chael, an English squire, and Joachim Cathore, a Frenchman 
"they met at the spoare poyntes rudely; the French ^quyei 
justed right pleasantly ; the Englishman ran too lowe, for he 
strak the Frenchman depe into the thigh. Wherewiih the 
Erie of Buckingham was right sore displeased, and so wen: all 
the other lords, and sayde how it was shamefully done. "— 
Froissart, vol. i. chap. 366. Upon a similar occasion, '' the 
two knyghts came a fote eche against other rudely, with iheii 
speares low couched, to stryke eche other within the fours 
quarters. Johan of Castell-Morant strake the English sqnyo 
on the brest in such wyse, that Syr Wyllyam Fermeton 
stombled and bowed, for his fotf? a lyttel fayled him. H« 
helde his spere lowe with both his handes, and coude nal 
amende it, and strake Syr .Tohan of the Castell-Morant in the 
thighe, so that the speare went clene throughe, that the heed 
was sene a handfull on the other syde. And S). Johan with 
the stroke reled, but he fell nat. Than the Englyshe knygnies 
and squyers were ryghte sore displeased, and sayde how it vraa 
a foule stroke. Syr Wyllam Fermeton excused himselfe, and 
sayde how he was sorrie of that adventure, and howp that yl 
he had knowen that it shulde have bene so, he woUle nevei 
have b' 2one it ; sayenge how he could nat amende it, by caas« 
of glaunsing of his fote by cons'raynt of the great stroke that 
Syr Johan of the Jastell-Moranr, I'id given him." — Froisija«t, 
vol i. chap. 373 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



e-i 



Note 2 Q. 

Sk^ irew the splinter from the wound, 
Jlnd with a charm she stanched the bh>i. — P. 31. 

See several charms for this purpose in Reginald Scott's 
Uiscevery of fViichcraft, p. 273. 

Tom Potts was but a serving man, 
3 Jt yet he was a doctor good ; 
lie bouriL his handkerchief on the wound, 
Abd wil*! sonae kinds of words he stanched the blood." 
Pieces if Ancient FopiUar Poetry, Lond. 1791, p. 131. 



Note 2 R, 



ftvl s*e has ta'en the broken lance, 
Jlna wash'd it from the clotted, gore. 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. — P. 31. 

S'li Kenelm Digby, in a discourse upon the cure by syrapa- 
Lhy, pronounced at Montpelier, before an assembly of nobles 
tti learned men, translated into English by R. White, gen- 
t'.eman, and published in 1658, gives us the following curious 
inrg'cal oise : — 

" Mr James Howe! (well known in France for his public 
works, and purtiuularly for his Dendrologie, translated into 
French by Mons Baudouin) coming by chance, as two of his 
uest friends were Ighting in duel, he did his endeavor to 
part them ; and j,utt:ng himselfe between them, seized, with 
his left hand, upon the hilt of the sword of one of the com- 
batants, while with his right hand he laid hold of the blade of 
the other. They, being 'ransported with fury one against the 
other, struggled to rid themselves of the hinderance their friend 
made, that they should not kill one another ; and one of them 
roughly drawing the blade of his sword, cuts to the very bone 
the nerves aiu\ muscles of Mr. HoMfel's hand ; and tJien the 
other disenga^fd his hilts, and ^ve a cross blow on his adver- 
larie's head, which glanced towards his friend, who heaving up 
his sore hand to save the blow, he was wounded on the back 
of his hand as he had been before within. It seems some 
strange constellation reigned then against him, that he should 
ose so much bloud by parting two such dear friends, who, had 
they been themselves, would have hazarded both their lives to 
have preserved his ; but this involuntary effusion of bloud by 
them, prevented that which they sholde have drawn one from 
■le othe- For they, seeing Mr. Howel's face besmeared with 
jloud, by heaving up his wounded hand, they both ran to em- 
brace him ; and, having searched his hurts, they bound up his 
naads with one of his gartei-s, to close the veins which were 
cat, and bled ibundantly. They brought him home, and sent 
for a surgeon. But this being heard at court, the King sent 
on? of his own surgeons; for his Majesty much affected the 
laid Mr. Howei. 

" It was my chance to be lodged hard by him ; and four or 
6ve days after, as t was making myself ready, he came to my 
oouse, BT.d prayed me to view his wounds ; ' for I understand,' 
idul he, ' that you have extraordinary remedies on such occa- 
vons, and my surgeons apprehend some fear that it may grow 
'JO a gangrene, and so the hand must be cut off.' In effect, his 
countenance discovered that he was in much pain, which he 
naid was insupportable, in regard cf the extreme intlamrai- 
tion. I told him 1 would willingly serve him : but if haply 
he knew the manner how I would cure him, without touching 
jr seeing him, it may be he would not expose himself to my 
manner of curing, because he would think it, perad venture, 
either ineffectual or superstitious. He replied, ' The wonderful 
■hings which many have related unto me of your way of 
«j«dicament, makes me nothing doubt at all of its efficacy ; 
tnd all that I have to say nnto you is comprehended in the 
Spanish proverb, Hagase el milagro y hagalo JUahoma — Let 
4ie Piiraole bj done, though Mahomet do it. 



" I asked him then for anything that had the blood upon it 
so he presently sent for his garter wherewith his hand was first 
bound ; and as I called for a basin of water, as if 1 would wash 
my hands, I took a handful of powder of vitriol, which I hail 
in my study, and presently dissolved it. As soon as the bloud 
garter was brought me, I put it within the basin, observing 
in the interim, what Mr. Howel did, who stood talking with .' 
gentleman in a corner of my chamber, not regarding at a> 
what I was doing ; but he started suddenly, as if he had founa 
some strange alteration in himself. I a-s^^'d him wna; n» 
ailed ■? ' 1 know not wliat ailes me ; but I finde that I fee-' 
more pain. Methinks that a pKasing kinde of freshness^, 
it were a wet cold napkin, did spread over my hand, whif l« 
hath taken away the inflammation 'hut tormented me before.' 
— I replied, ' Since then that you feel already so good etiect 
of my medicament, I advise you to cast away all your plays- 
ters ; only keep the wound clean, and in a modera'.e tempei 
betwixt heat and cold.' This was presently reported to the 
Duke of Buckingham, and a little after to the King, who were 
both very curious to know the circumstance of the businesse. 
which was, that after dinner I took the garter out of the water, 
and put it to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, bui 
Mr. Howel's servant came running, that his master felt ai 
much bnrning as ever he had done, if not more ; for the heat 
was such as if his hand were 'twixt coles of fire. I answered, 
although that had happened at present, yet he should find eaan 
in a short time ; for I knew the rea.«on of this new accident 
and would provide accordingly ; for his master should be frc 
from that inflammation, it may be before he could possibl' 
return to him ; but in case he found no ease, I wished him to 
come presently back again ; if not, he might forbear coming 
Thereupon he went ; and at the instant I did put again tb" 
garter into the water, thereupon he found his master withou' 
any pain at all. To be brief, there was no sense of pain alter 
ward ; but within five or six dayes the wounds were cicatrized 
and entirely healed." — Page 6. 

The King (James VI.) obtained from Sir Kenelm the du 
covery of his secret, which he pretended had been taught 
him by a Carmelite friar, who had learned it in Armenia, or 
Persia. Let not the age of animal magnetism and raetalli 
tractors smile at the sympatlietic powder of Sir Kenelm D.gby 
Reginald Scott mentions the same mode of cure in thes« 
terms : — " And that which is more strange . . . they can 
remedie anie stranger with that verie sword wherewith tho» 
are wounded. Yea, and that which is beyond all admiraiion, 
if they stroke the swonl upward with their fingers, the parti« 
shall feele no pain ; whereas, if they draw their fingers down- 
wards, thereupon the partie wounded shall feele intolerabW 
pain." I presume that the success ascribed to thesympathetii 
mode of treatment might arise from the pains bestowed ir 
washing the wound, and excluding the air, thus bringing on a 
cure by the first intention. It is introduced by Dryden in tb« 
Enchanted Island, a (very unnecessary) alteration of ••>• 
Tempest : — 

" Ariel. Anoint the sword which pierced him with thk 
Weapon-salve, and wrap it close trom air, 
Till I have time to visit him again. — Act v. sc. 2. 



Again, in scene 4th, Miranda enters with Hippolius'f 
wrapt up : — 



" Hip. O my wound pains mr< . 

Mir. I am come to ease you. [She unwraps tie twori J 

Hip. Alas, I feel the cold air come to me ; 
My wound shoots worse than ever. 

Mir. Does it still grieve you t [SAe wipes and arn,mta 'i^ 
sword. 

Hip. Now, methinks there's something laid just nnon •• 

Mir. Do you find no case 1 

Hip. Yes, yes • upon the sudden all this pain 
Is leaving me. Swee'; heaven, low I am eased I" 



68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 2 S. 

On Penchryst glows a bale of fire. — P. 32. 

Bale, beacon-fagot. Tlie Bonier beacons, from their num- 
^r iml position, formed a sort of telegraphic cunimunication 
■^itli Kdinbiirgh. — The act of i'arhanienl, 14.55, c. 48, directs, 
ihai one bale or fagot .siiall be warning of the approach of 
the Eu^ii.<h in any manner; two bales that they are c«m?7'^ 
indeed ; four bales, blazing beside each other, that the enemy 
WW in great force. " The same taikenings to be watched and 
maid at Eggerhope (Eggerstand; Castell, fra they se the fire of 
H(iiue, that lliey tire right swa. And in like manner on Sow- 
tra Edge, sail se tiie tire of Eggerhope Castell, and mak 
taikeiuiig m like manner: And then may all Louthaine be 
•'.\rned, and in special the Castell of Edinburgh ; and their 
Tour tires to be made in like manner, that they in Fife, and fra 
Stfiveling east, and the east part of Louthaine, and to Dunbar, 
»1! may see them, and come to the defence of the realme." 
These beacons (at least in latter times) were a " long and 
strong tree set up, with a long iron pole across the liead of it, 
and an iron brander fixed on a stalk in the middle of it, for 
W.diug a tar-barrel."— Stevenson's History, vol. ii. p. 701. 



Note 2 T. 



Out kin, and clan, and friends to raise. — P. 32. 

The speed with which the Borderers collected great bodies 
of horse, may be judged of from the following extract, when 
ihe subject of the rising was much less important than that sup- 
po%e<i in the romance. It is taken from Carey's Memoirs : — 

" Upon the death of the old Lord Scrooj), the Q,ueen gave 
'.he west wardenry to his son, that had m.arried my sister. He 
.laving received that office, came to me with great earnestness, 
and desired me to be his depnty, otfering me that I should live 
with him in his house ; that he would allow me half a dozen 
rjen, and as many liorses, to be kept at his cliarge ; and his fee 
'>eing 1000 merks yearly, he would part it with me, and I 
should have the half. This his noble otTer I accepted of, and 
went with him to Carlisle ; where I was no sooner come, but 
( entered into my office. We had a stirring time of it : and 
I'ew days past over my liead bnt I was on horseback, either to 
prevent mischief, or take malefactors, and to bring tlie Border 
in better c|uiet than it had been in times past. One memorable 
thing of God's mercy shewed unto me, was such as I have 
good cause still to remember it. 

" I had private intelligence given me, that there were two 
Scottishmen that had killed a churchman in Scotland, and 
were by one of the Grai'mes relieved. This Gneme dwelt 
witnin five miles of Carlisle. He had a pretty house, and 
«!ose by it a strong tower, for his own defence, in time of 
need. — About two o'clock in the morning, I took horse in Car- 
isle, and not above twenty-five in my comjiany, thinking to 
lurprise the house on a sudden. Before I could suiTound the 
li.}ii«e, the two Scots were gotten in the strong tower, and I 
jonl'l «ee a boy riding from the house as fast as his horse could 
«aiT> h^m ; I little suspecting what it meant. But Thomas 
Lj»rieton same to me presently, and told me, that if I did not 
^Kwently prevent it, both myself and all my company would 
■3e eitlier slain or taken i)risoncrs. it was strange to me to hear 
his language. He then said to me, ' Do you see that boy that 
rideth away so fast ? He will be in Scotland within this half 
jour ; and he is gone to let them know , that you are here, and 
Ic what end you are co^ie, and the small number you have 
with you ; and tliat if they will make haste, on a sudden they 
may surprise us, and do with us what they please.' Hereupon 
we took advice what was bcst to be done. We sent notice 
arexently to all parts to raise the country, and to come to .is 
with all the speed tliey could ; and withall we sent to Carlisle 
ai rase the to'vnsmen ; for without foot we could do no good 
uuir.u the tower. There we staid some hoais, expecting more 



company ; and within short time after th , country csiiie in M 
all sides, so that we were quickly between three and lour nun 
dred horse ; and, after some longer stay, the foot of CarlisU 
came to us, to the number of th.'-ee or four hundred men 
whom we [iresently set to work, to get to the top of the tower, 
and to uncover the roof; and then some twenty of them to fall 
down together, and by that means to win the '.ower. — The 
Scots, seeing their present danger, ofl^ered to parley, and yie!de<l 
themselves to my mercy. They had no sooner opened the iron 
gate, and yielded themselves my prisoners, but we might se« 
400 horse within a quarter of a mile coming to theit -escue, 
and to surprise me and my small company ; but of a suddeij 
they stayed, and stood at gaze. Then had I more to do thaui 
ever ; for all our Borderers came crying, with full mouths, 
' Sir, give us leave to set upon them ; for these are they tha» 
have killed our fathers, our brothers, and uncles, and our co!'~- 
sins ; and they are coming, thinking to surprise you, upon weak 
grass nags, such as they could get on a sudden ; and God halb 
put them into your hands, that we may take revenge of them 
for much blood that they have spilt of ours.' I desired tney 
would be ))atient a while, and bethought myself, if I sliould 
give them their will, there would be few or none of the Scots 
that would escape unkilled (there was so many deadly feud* 
among them) ; and therefore I resolved with myself to girs 
them a fair answer, but not to give them their desire. So I 
told them, tliat if I were not there myself, they might then do 
what they pleased themselves ; but being present, if I should 
give them leave, the blood that should be spilt that day woulu 
lie very hard upon my conscience. And therefore I desired 
them, for my sake, to forbear ; and, if the Scots did not pre* 
ently inake away with all the speed they could, ujion ray send 
ing to them, they should then have their wills to do What the^ 
pleased. They were ill satisfied with my answer, but durst 
not disobey. I sent with speed to the Scots, and bade them 
pack away with all the speed they could ; for if they staved 
the messenger's return, they should few of them return to theii 
own home. They made no stay ; but they were refirned 
homewards before the messenger had made an end of his mes- 
sage. Thus, by God's mercy, I escaped a great danger; and, 
by my means, tliere vvere a great many men's lives saved that 
day." 



Note 2 U. 



On many a cairn's gray pyramid. 

Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid. — P. 32. 

The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown the sum- 
mit of most of our Scottish hills, and are found in oilier re- 
markable situations, seem usually, though not universally, to 
have been sepulchral monuments. Si.\ fiat stones aie com- 
monly found in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or small 
er dimensions, in which an urn is often placed. The author ii 
possessed of one, discovered beneath an immense cairn at 
Roughlee, in Liddesdale. It is of the most barbarous con- 
struct.on ; the middle of the substance alone having been sub- 
jected to the fire, over which, when hardened, the artist ntif 
laid an inner and outer coat of unbaked clay, etched with sorn* 
very rude ornaments; his skill apparently being inadequate tt 
baking the vase, when completely finished. The ciAitenu 
were bones and ashes, ana a vjuantity of beads made of coal. 
This seems to nave been a barbarous imitation of the Ro4uia 
fashion of sepulture. 



Noxr, 2 V. 



For pathless march and mountain cell. 
The peasant left his Icwly shed. — P. 33. 

The morasses were the usual refuge of the Border henlsmes 
on the approach of an English army. — (JIIinr'reU% of th» 



tcottish Border, vol. i. p. 393.) Caves, hewed in the most 
langerous and inaccessible places, also afforded an occasional 
etreai. Such caverns may be seen in the precipitous banks of 
•-he Teviot at Sunlaws, upon the Ale at Ancrain, upon the 
Jed at Hundalee, aud in many other places upon the Border. 
The banks of the Eske, at Gorton and Hawthornden, are hol- 
<iwed into similar recesses. But even these dreary d ins were 
.-•t always secure places of concealment. " In the way as we 
;a lie. not far from this place (Long Niddry), George Ferres, 

I ueiitl'-man of my Lord Protector's happened 

)0n a cave in the grounde, the mouth whereof was so worne 
villi tin fresh print of steps, that he seemed to be certayne 
.hear wear some folke within ; and gone doune to trie, he was 
readily receyved with a hakebut or two. He left them not 
yet, till he had known wheyther thei wolde be content to yield 
and come out ; which they fondly refusing, he went to my 
lord's grace, and upon utterance of the thynge, gat licence to 
deale with them as he coulde ; and so returned to them, with 
a skore or two o pioners. Three ventes had their cave, that 
we wear ware o> whereof he first stopt up on ; anoother he 
fill'd full of straw e, and set it a fyer, whereat they within cast 
water apace ; but it was so wel maynteyned without, that the 
fyer prevayled, and thei within fayji to get them belyke into 
moother parler. Then devysed we (for I hapt to be with him) 
:o stop the same up, whereby we should eyther smoother them, 
or fynd out their ventes, if thei hadde any moe ; as this was 
done at another issue, about xii score of, we moughte see the 
fume of their smoke to come out : the which continued with 
30 great a force, and so long a while, that we could not but 
:hinr"e they must needs get them out, or smoother within : and 
forasmuch as we found not that they dyd the tone, we thought 
ii for certain thei wear sure of the toother." — Patten's ./Jc- 
zount of Somerset's Expedition into Scotland, apud Dal- 
ifKLL's Fragments. 



Note 2 "W. 



Show'd southern ravage was begun. — P. 33. 

From the following fragment of a letter from the Earl of 
Northumberland to King Henry VIIL, preserved among the 
Cotton MSS. Calig. B. vii. 179, the reader may estimate the 
nature of the dreadful war which was occasionally waged upon 
the Borders, sharpened by mutual cruelties, and the personal 
hatred of the wardens, or leaders. 

Some Scottish Barons, says the Earl, had threatened to come 
within " three miles of my pore house of Werkworth, where I 
lye and gif me light to put on my clothes at mydnight ; and 
dlsoo the said Marke Carr said there opynly, that seyng they 
had a governor on the Marches of Scotland, as well as they 
had in Ingland, he shulde kepe your highness instructions, 
gytfyn unto your garyson, for making of any day-forrey ; for 
he and his friends wolde burne enough on the nyght, lettyng 
your counsaill here defyne a notable acte at theyre pleasures. 
Upon whiche, m your highnes name, I comaundetdewe walche 
to be kepte on your Marchies, for eomyng in of any Scotts. — 
Neuenheles, upon Thursday at night last, came thyrty light 
horsemen into a litil village of myne, called Whitell, having 
lot past 8e.\ houses, lying towards Ryddisdaill, upon Shilbotell 
Vore, and there wold have fyred the said howses, but ther was 
to fyre to g* there, and they forgate to brynge any withe 
Jieyme ; and took a wyf being great with chylde, in the said 
lowne, and said to liyr, Wher we can not gyve the lard lyght, 
yet we shall (loo this in spyte of hyin ; and gyve her iii mortall 
rounds upon the heid, and another in the right side, with a 
logger ; whereupon the said wyf is deede, and the childe in 
ler bely is loste. Beseeching your most gracious highness to 
ednce unto yonr gracious memory this wylful and shameful! 
a uder, done within this yonr highnes realme, notwithstanding 

I Rup, creak -Rive, t«a£. 



all the inhabitants thereabout rose unto the said fray, and ga\i 
warnynge by becons into the countrey afore theym.°, and v-el 
the Scottsmen dyde escajie. And uppon certeyne knowleilge 
to my brother ClyfForthe, and me, had by credible oerjoii" .i 
Scotland, this aboraynable act not only to be done by dyverss 
of the Mershe, but also the afore named persons of Ty viitaill 
and consented to, as by appearance, by the Erie of Murey 
upon Friday at night last, let slip C of the best hnrsemtn o 
Glendaill, with a parte of your highnes subjects of liei^,^<r 
together with George Dowglas, whoo came into Ingland aga\ i:e 
in the dawning of the day ; but albre theyre retonie, they dy\ 
mar the Earl of Murreis provisions at Coldingham ; for ih<-> 
did not only burne the said town of Coldinghart. wi'h all t!i« 
corne thereunto belonging, which is esteemed worthe oil ma'ke 
sterling ; but alsoo burned twa towiies nye adjouiing tiiereun'o 
called Branerdergest and the Black Hill, and toke x.xui persons, 
Ix horse, with cc lied of cataill, which, nowe, as I am iiiiurm- 
ed, hathe not only been a staye of the said Erie of Murreis nov 
coming to the Bordure as yet, but alsoo, that none inlan le 
man will adventure theyr self uppon the Marches. And as loi 
the tax that shulde have been grauntyd for liuding of the said 
iii hundred men, is utterly denyed. Upon which the King ol 
Scotland departed from Edynburgh to Stirling, and as yei 
there doth remayr. And also I, by the advice of my brothei 
Clyfforth, have devysed, that within this iii nyghts, Godde wil- 
Ung. Kelsey, in like case, shall be brent, with all ;he com ir. 
the said town ; and then they shall have noo place to lye anj 
garyson in nygli unto the Bordei's. And as I shall atteigue i'ui 
ther knowledge, I shall not faill to satisfye your highnes, ac 
cording to my most bounden dutie. And for this burnyng o' 
Kelsey is devysed to be done secreily, by Tyndaill and Ryddis 
dale. And thus the holy Trynite and * * * your most royal 
estate, with long lyf, and as much increase of honour as \oui 
most noble heart can desire. jSi IVerkworth, the xxiiii dau ui 
October." (1522.) 



Note 2 X. 
Watt Tiniinn.—P. 33. 
This person was, in my younger days, the ihemt. i aiany a 
fireside tale. He wj^ a retainer of the Buccleu^li tataily, and 
held for his Border service a small tower on the frontiers ol 
Liddesdale. Watt was, by profession, a suiur, bu*, ^•v incli- 
nation and practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one >*-c»- 
sion, the captain of Bewcastle, military governor of that wild 
district of Cumberland, is said to have made an incursion into 
Scotland, in which he was defeated, and forced to fly. Watt 
Tinlinn pursued him closely through a dangerous morass ; the 
captain, however, gained the Srni ground ; and seeing Tinlinn 
dismounted, and floundering in the bog, used these words of 
insult: — " Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your boots; the • «iia 
risp, and the seam? rive."^ — " If I cannot sew," retortfed Ti» 
hnn, discharging a shaft, which nailed the caplair.'s thigh *^ 
his saddle, — " If I cannot sew, I can yerk.'"^ 



Note 2 Y. 



Billhope Stag. — P. 34. 

There is an old rhyme, wliich thus celebrates the plaov u 
Liddesdale remarkable for game : 

" Billhope braes for bucks and rses, 
And Carit haugh for stirine. 
And Tarras for the good bull-Uout, 
If he be ta'en in time." 

The bucks and roes, as well as the old swine, are nov «« 
tinct ; but the good bull-trout is still famous. 



3 Yerk, to twitch, a« shoemali^'ra do, 

ir„rk. 



Becuring the Btjtc* e» :5 tift^ 



70 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note 2 Z. 

Brl'ed (VUl Howard.— V. 34. 

Lord William Howard, t lini son of Thomas, Duke of Nor- 
•ilk succeeded to NawortW Castle, and a large domain an- 
nexed to it, in right of his m il" Elizabeth, sister of George 
'jord Dacre, who died witlvout heirs male, in the 11th of 
«aeen Klizabeth. By a poetical anachronism, he is intro- 
itioed into fhe romance a few years earlier than he actually 
flourished. He was warden of the Western Marches : and, 
fW>m the rigor with which he repressed the Border excesses, 
(rie name of Belted Will Howard is still famous in our tradi- 
,>ori». In the castle of Naworth, his apartments, containing 
k bedroom, oratory, and library, are still shown. They im- 
j),-ess us with an unjileasing idea of tlie life of a lord warden 
of ihe Marches. Three or four strong doors, separating these 
rooms from the rest of the castle, indicate the apprehensions 
)f treachery from his garrison ; and the seai'et winding pas- 
i»<:es, through which he could privately descend into the 
guardroom, or even into the dungeons, imply the necessity of 
no small degree of secret superintendence on the part of the 
governor. As the ancient books and furniture have remained 
undisturbed, the venerable appearance of these apartments, 
and the armor scattered around the chamber, almost lead us to 
i^xpect the arrival of the warden in person. Naworth Castle 
is situated near Brampton, in Cumberland. Lord William 
Howard is ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle. 



Note 3 A. 

Lord Dacre.— v. 34, 

The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits 
of one of their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemais, 
ander Richard Coeur de Lion. There were two powerful 
branches of that name. The first family, called Lord Dacres 
of the South, held the castle of the same name, and are an- 
e«^tors to the present Lord Dacre. The other family, descend- 
ed from the same stock, were called Lord Dacres of the 
North, and were barons of Gilsland and Graystock. A chief- 
tarn of the latter branch was warden of the West Marches 
luring the reign of Edward VI. He was a man of a hot and 
jbstinate character, as appears from some parliculars of Lord 
Surrey's letter to Henry VIII., giving an account of his beha- 
vior at the siege and storm of Jedburgh. It is printed in the 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Appendix to the Intro- 
duction. 



Note 3 B. 



The Oerman haclcbut-^ien.-^P. 34. 

Ill Hie wars with Scotland, Henry VHI. and his successors 
nnpliyed numerous bands of mercenary troops. At the bat- 
"e of P, iky there were in the English army si.\ hundred hack- 
atters on foot, and two humlred on horseback, composed 
.l>:elly of foreigners. On the '27th of September, 1549, the 
Puke of Somerset, Lord Protector, writes to the Lord Dacre, 
warden of the West Marches: — "The Almains, in number 
Iwn thousand, very valiant paldiers. shall he sent to you shortly 
from Newca.stle, together ■with Sir Thomas Holcroft, and with 
the force of your wardenry (which we would were advanced 
to the most strength of horsemen that might be), shall make 
Jie attempt to Loughmaben, being of no such strength, but 
ili»t it may be skailed with Ladders, whereof, beforehand, we 
vonid you caused secretly some number to be provided ; or 
>We •"•rientined with the pyke-axe, jnd so taken : "hither to be 



kept for the King's Majesty, or otr er«iBe to be dtfaoail, an 
taken from the profits of the enemy. And in like Manner tiit 
house of Carlaverock to be used." Repeated mention oceun 
of the Almains, in the subse-;aeiit correspondence ; a»-d the 
enterprise seems finally to have hevr. "!iatidoned, from the dif 
ficulty of providing these strangers with the necessa'y " vie 
tuals and carriages in so poor a country as Dumfries-slire."— 
History of Cumber/and, vol. i. In:rod. p. Ixi. From ib» 
battle-pieces of the ancie.nt Flemish painters, we lean,, thai 
the Low Country and German soldiers marched to an imh ili 
with their right knees bared. And we may also observe il 
such pictures, the extravagance to which the^ ,,am' it .'a« 
fashion of ornamenting their dress with knots of ribbon Tlir 
custom of the Germans is alluded to in the Mirrour for M. g v 
trates, p. 121. 

" Their pleited garments therewith well accord. 
All jagde and frouust, with divers colours deckt 



Note 3 C. 



" h^ady, aye ready,'" for the field. — P. 34. 

Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the reign of Jamet 
v., and possessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamesclench 
&.C., lying upon the river of Ettrick, and extending to St. 
Mary's Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It appears, that when 
James had assembled his nobility, and their feudal followers 
at Fala, with the purpose of invading England, and was, as i. 
well known, disappointed by the obstinate refusal of his peers, 
this baron alone declared himself ready to follow the King 
wherever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, James 
granted to his family a charter of arms, entitling them to beai 
a border of fleurs-de-luce, similar to the tressure in the roya'. 
arms, with a bundle of spears for the crest ; motto. Ready, 
aye ready. The charter itself is printed by Nisbet ; but his 
work being scarce, I insert the following accurate transcripi 
from the original, in the possession of the Right Honorable 
Lord Napier, the representative of John of Thiilestainc. 

" James Rex. 
We James, by the grace of God, King of Scottis, considei 
and the ffaith and guid servis of of of i right traist friend Johi 
Scott of Thirlestane, quha cummand to our hoste at Soutra 
edge, with three score and ten launcieres on horseback of hi.> 
friends and followers, and beand willing to gang with ws intc 
England, when all our nobles and otiiers refused, he wa> 
ready to stake at all our bidding ; ffbr the quhilk cause, it is 
our will, and we doe straitlie command and charg our lior 
herauld and his deputies for the time beand, to give and to 
graunt to the said John Scott, ane Border of flleure de hsei 
about his coatte of amies, sik as is on out royal banner, am' 
alsua ane bundell of launces above hi^ helmet, with thir wordi 
Readdy, ay Readdy, thai he and all his aftercummers m«j 
bruik the samine as a pledg<» .\nd taiken of our guid will ABil 
kyndnes for his true worthir-s ; and thir our letter* seee,. yt 
nae waes failzie to doe. Given at Ffalla Muiri^ under aiu 
hand and privy cashet, the xxvii day of July, m c and xrxii 
zeires. By the King's graces speciali ordinance. 

"Jo. Arsxini. ' 

On the back of the chartei >* written, 
" Edin. 14 January, 1713. Registred, conform to the act o< 
parliament maile anent probative writs, per M'Kaile, prof. 
and produced by Alexander Borthwick, servant to Sir WiUiur 
Scott of Thurlestane. M. L. J.'' 

1 Bic ID one 



ATFENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



tl 



Note 3 D. 

An aged Knight, to danger steel'd. 

With many a moss-trooper came on; 
^nd azure in a golden field, 
T^' stars and crescen graced his shield, 
Pfithout the bend oj Murdieston. — P. 34. 

Thf family .f Harden arc dwcended from a younger son of 
/•e ' airJ of Buccleuch, who flourislied before the estate of 
Wuriliestoii was acquired by the marriage of one of those 
ieftei-na with the heireas in 12y6. Hence they bear the cog- 
i7JiUi:e nJ' the Scotts upon the field ; whereas those of the 
"»» . y ;ucli are disposed upon a bend dexter, assumed in conse- 
•"i'^e of that marriage. — See Gladstainb of Whitelawe's 
M!-Jii and Scott of Stokoe's Pedigree, Newcastle, 1783. 

Wa sr Scott of Harden, who flourished during the reign of 
Uufen Vlary, was a renowned Border freebooter, concerning 
ivhom ti idition lias preserved a variety of anecdotes, some of 
which hi ve been published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border ; ithers in Leyden's Scenes of Infancy ; and others, 
more latelj in The Mountain Bard, a collection of Border 
ballads by iNlr. James Hogg. The bugle-horn, said to have 
been used bj this formidable leader, is preserved by his de- 
scendant, th6 oresent Mr. Scott of Harden. His castle was 
Ituated upon he very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, 
nrough which i scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borthwick. 
in the recess oi .his glen he is said to have kept his spoil, 
which served foi l:ie daily maintenance of his retainers, until 
the production of a pair of clean spurs, in a covered dish, an- 
nounced to the hungry band, that they must ride for a supply 
]f provisions. He was married to Mary Scott, daughter of 
Philip Scott of Dryhope, and called in song the Flower of 
Varrow. He possessed a very extensive estate, which was di- 
vided among his five sons. There are numerous descendants 
jf this old marauding baron. The following beautiful passage 
»f Leyden's Scenes of Infancy, is founded on a tradition re- 
•pecting an infant captive, whom Walter of Harden carried ofl' 
n a predatory incursion, and who is said to have become the 
luthor of some of our most beautiful pastoral songs : 

" Where Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with sand, 
Rolls her red tide to Teviot's western strand, 
Through slaty hills, whose sides are shagg'd with thorn, 
Where springs, in scatter'd tufts, the dark-green corn, 
Towers wood-girt Harden, far above the vale, 
And clouds of ravens o'er the turrets sail. 
A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, 
The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar. 
Here fix'd his mountain home ; — a wide domain, 
And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain ; 
But what the niggard ground of wealth denied. 
From fields more bless' d his fearless arm supplied. 

' The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright ; 
The waftirir's horn was heard at dead of night ; 
And as the massy portals wide were flung. 
With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung. 
Wha^ fair, half vei)'d, leans from her latticed hall, 
Where red the wavering gleams of torchlight fall ? 
Tis Yarrow's fairest flower, who, through the gloo n, 
Looks, wistful, for her lover's dancing plume. 
Amid the piles of spoil, that strew'd the ground 
Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound ; 
Willi trembling haste the youthful matron flew. 
And from the hurried heaps an infant drew. 

" Scared at the light, his little hands he flung 
Around her nui^k, and to her bosom clung ; 
While beauteous Mary soothed, in accents mil4 
His fluttering soiil, and clasp'd her foster child. 
Of milder mood the gentle captive grew, 
Woi ioi 3d the sc^mes that scared his infant viow 



In vales remote, from camps and cast.es far. 
He shunn'd the fearful shuddering joy of war j 
Content the loves of simple swains to sing, 
Or wake to fame tlie harp's heroic string. 

" His are the strains v,-hose wandering echoes tbriii 
The shepherd, lingering on the twilight hill. 
When evening brings the raeixy folding hours, 
And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. 
He lived o'er Yarrow's Flower to shed the tear. 
To strew the holly leaves o'er Harden's bier: 
But none was found above the minstrel's tomb 
Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom : 
He, nameless as the race from which he sprung. 
Saved other names, and left his own unsung." 



Note 3 E. 

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band. — P. 35. 

In this, and the following stanzas, some account is given a 
the mode in which the property in the valley of Esk was trans 
fen'ed from the Beattisons, its ancient possessors, to the nam* 
of Scott. It is needless to repeat the circumstances, which 
are given in the poem, literally as they liave been preserved 
by tradition. Lord Maxwell, in the latter part of the six- 
teenth century, took upon himself the title of Earl of Morton. 
The descendants of Beattison of Woodkerrick, wlio aided the 
Earl to escape from his disobedient vassals, continued to hold 
these lands within the memory of man, and were the only 
Beattisons who had property in the dale. The old people give 
locality to the story, by showing the Galliar»!'» Haugh, tt« 
place where Bucoleuch's men were concealed, &c. 



Note 3 F. 

Their gathering word was Bellenden. — P 36. 

Bellenden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and 
being in the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was fre- 
quently used as their place of rendezvous and gathering word 
— Survey of Selkirkshire in Macfarlane' s MSS., AdvocateQ 
Library. Hence Satchells calls one part of his genealogical 
accoant of the families of that clan, his Bellenden. 



Note 3 G. 



The camp their home, their law the sword. 
They knew no country, own'd no lord. — P. 36 

The mercenary adventurers, whom, in 1380, (i* Earl of 
Cambridge carried to the assistance of the King of Por'Nt^*' 
against the Spaniards, mutinied for want of regular pay. Ai 
an assembly of their leaders, Sir John Soltier, a nalurai ui 
of Edward the Black Prince, thus addressed them : '' ' I lonn- 
sayle, let us be alle of one alliance, and of one accc*(le, aLd * 
us among ourselves reyse up the banner of St. Gec;|6, and U»i 
us be frendes to God, and enemyes to alle the wciUe; fct 
without we make ourselfe to be feared, we gete no'hynge.' 

" ' By my fayth,' quod Sir William Helmon, ' ye s^ye right 
well, and so let us do.' They all agreed with o«e voyce, and 
so regarded among them who shulde be their capitayne. The* 
they advysed in the case how they coude nat have a bettei 
capitayne than Su- John Soltier. For they sulde than hav« 
good leyser to do yvel, and they thought he was more metel- 
yer thereto than any other. Then they raised up the uenon 
of St. George, and cried, 'A Soltier 1 a Soltier! the valyauD) 
bastarde I frendes to God, and enemies to aU t!ie worlde I' — 
JFROissART, vol. i. cb. 393, 



72 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note S H. 

Tha. he may suffer march-treason pain. — P. 37. 

Several species of oSences, peculiar le the Border, constitn- 
.-ed what was called march-treason. Among others, was the 
crime of riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite country 
liuring the time of truce. Thus, in an indenture made at the 
water of Eske, beside Salom, on the 2oth day of March, 1334, 
■jeiwixt noble lords and mighty. Sirs Henry Percy, Earl of 
.Vorthumberland and Archibald Douglas, Lord of Galloway, 
1 truce is agrees :ipon until the 1st day of July ; and it is ex- 
;^~83ly accorded, " Gif ony stellis authir on the ta part, or on 
Wi totliyr, that he shall be hanget or heofdit ; and gif ony 
(HJinpany stellis any gudes within t!ie trienx beforesayd, ane of 
tJsat company sail be hanget or heofdit, and the remnant sail 
lestore the gudys stolen in the dubble." — History of West- 
moreland and Cumberland, lutrod. p. xxzix. 



Note 3 L 



Deloraine 



Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain. — P. 38. 

In dubious cases, the innocence of Border criminals was oc- 
casionally referred to their own oath. The form of excusing 
billa, or indictments, by Border-oath, ran thus : " You shall 
Bwear by heaven above you, hell beneath you, by your part of 
Paradise, by all that God made in six days and seven nights, 
and by God himself, you are whart out saekless of art, part, 
way, witting, ridd, kenning, having, or recetting of any of the 
goods and cattels named in this bill. So help yon God." — 
History of Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv. 



Note 3 K. 



Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword. — P. 38. 

The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institu- 
lon, had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from the mon- 
arch, but could be conferred by one who himself possessed it, 
upon any squire who, after due probation, was found to merit 
tne honor of chivalry. Latterly, this power was confined to 
?,enerals, who were wont to create knights bannerets after or 
jefore an engagement. Even so late as the reign of Q,ueen 
Elizabeth, Essex highly offended his jealous sovereign by the 
irtiscriminate exertion of this privilege. Among others, he 
tnigliled tlie witty Sir John Harrington, whose favor at court 
wa."" by no means enhanced by his new honors. — See the J^Tuga 
JintiqucE, edited by Mr. Park. But probably the latest in- 
•tance of knighthood, confeiTed by a subject, was in the case 
»f Thomas Ker, knighted by the Earl of Huntley, after the de- 
lea." of the Earl of Aigyle in the battle of Belrinnes. The fact 
\r '♦>?sted, both by a poetical and prose account of the en- 
|«^»iiw» nonlained in an ancient MS. in the Advocates' Li- 
trV7 and edited by Mr. Dalyell, in Oodly Sangs and Ballets, 
Mien.. iWi 



Note 3 L. 
When EngiuA Hood swell'd .^ncram's ford. — P. 38. 

The battle of Ancram Moor, or Penielhench, was fought 
K. U. 154.5. The English, commanded by Sii Ralph Evers 
imd Sir Brian Latoun, were totally routed, and both their 
jailers slain in the action. The Scottish army was com- 
tinndeil by Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by Uie 
Mill of Bcccleuch auJ Norman Leslef 



Note 8 M. 

For who, tn field or foray slack. 

Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back 7 — I 3t! 

This was tlie cognizance of the noble house of Ho Ivard m il 
its branches. The crest, or bearing, of a wamor, was ofer 
used aaSinomme 'le guerre. Thus Richard HI. acquired hi. 
well-known epithet, The Boar of York. In the violent satin 
on Cardinal Wolsey, written by Roy, commonly, but em 
neously, imputed to Dr. Bull, the Duke of Bnckir-gham ii 
called the Beautiful Swan, and the Duke of Norfolk, )i Ear 
of Surrey, the IV hite Lion. As the book is extiemeiv ran- 
and the whole passage relates to the emblematica. mierpreta 
tion of heraldry, it shall be here given at lengeth. 

" The Description of the Armes. 

" Of the proud Cardinal this is the shelde 
Borne up betweene two angels of Sathan ; 
The six bloudy axes in a bare felde, 
Sheweth the cruelte of the red man. 
Which hath devoured the Beautiful Swan, 
Mortal enemy unto the Whyte Lion, 
Carter of Yorke, the vyle butcher's sonne, 
The six bulles heddes in a felde blacke, 
Betokeneth his stordy furiousness. 
Wherefore, the godly lyght to jiut abacke, 
He bryngeth in his dyvlisli darcness ; 
The bandog in the middes doth expresse 
The mastiff curre bred in Ypswich towne, 
Gnawynge with his teth a kiiiges crowne. 
The cloubbe signifieth playne his tiranny, 
Covered over with a Cardinall's hatt. 
Wherein shall be fulfilled the jirophecy, 
Aryse up, Jaeke, and put on thy salatt, 
For the tyme is come of bagge and walatt. 
The temporall chevalry thus thrown doune, 
Wlierefor, prest, take hede, and beware tiiy crowne.' 

There were two copies of this very scarce satire in the li'orm 
ry of the late John, Duke of Roxburghe. See an account of i) 
also in Sir Egerton Brydges' curious miscellany, the Ceruura 
Literaria. 



Note 3 N. 



Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine 
In single fight. P. 38. 

It may easily be supposed, that trial by single combat, sc 
peculiar to the feudal system, was common on the Borders. 
In 1558, the well-known Kirkaldy of Grange fought i. duel 
with Ralph Evre, brother to the then Lord Evre, \t const* 
quence of a dispute about a prisoner said to have been il 
treated by the Lord Evre. Pitscottie gives the following a* 
count of the alfair : — " The Lord of Ivers his brother jrovokei 
William Kircaldy of Grange to fight with him, in shigcJs 
combit, on horseback, with spears ; who, keeping the ac'i^tir. 
ment, accompanied with Monsieur d'Ossel. leuter\nt Jc th 
French king, and the garrison of Haymouth, and Mt Iren 
accompanied with the governor and ganison if Ber«.ck, i, 
was discharged, under the pain of treason, that any mar 
should come near the champions within a flight-shot, except 
one man for either of them, to bear their spears, two trnrapeis, 
and two lords to be judges. When they were in readiness, th» 
trumpets sonnded, the heranlds cried, and the judges lei then- 
go. They then encountered very fiercely ; i»ut Grange struch 
his spear through his adversary's shoulder, and bare him ofl 
his horse, being sore wounded : But whether he died or not, it 
is uncertain."— P. 202. 

Tlie following indenture will show at how late a period tb« 
trial by combat was resorted to on the Bordw, u a pr x>f oi 
guilt or innocence . — 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



73 



" It is agreed between Thomas Mnsgrave and Launoelot 
Uarleton, for the true trial of such controversies as are betwiit 
Ihem, to have it openly tried by way of combat, before God 
and the face of the world, to try it in Canonbyholme, before 
England and Scotland, upon Thursday in Easter-week, being 
the eighth day of April next ensuing, A. D. 1602, betwixt nine 
of the clocK and one of the same day, to fight on foot, to be 
wir^-d witn jack, steel cap, plaite sleeves, plaite breaches, 
fi'te'.e sockes, two basleard swords, the blades to be one yard 
and naif a quarter in length, two Scotch daggers, or dorks, at 
th*\/ jirc'les, and either of them to provide armour and weap- 
atiB {it themselves according to this indenture. Two gentle- 
awn to be appointed on the field, to view both the parties, to 
tee that they both be equal in arms and wea^pons, according to 
chis indenture ; and being so viewed by the gentlemen, the 
gentlemen to ride to the rest of the company, and to leave 
them but two boys, viewed by the gentlemen, to be under six- 
teen years of age, to hold their horses. In testimony of this 
our agreement, we have both set our hands to this indenture, 
of intent all matters shall be made so plain, as there shall be 
no question to stick upon that day. Which indenture, as a 
witness, shall be delivered to two gentlemen. And for that it 
ia convenient the world should be privy to every particular 
of the grounds of the quarrel, we have agreed it< set it down 
in this indenture betwixt us, that, knowing the quarrel, their 
«ye8 may be witness of the trial. 

THE GROUNDS OF THE QUARREL. 

" 1. Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas Musgrave before 
the Lords of her Majesty's Privy Council, that LanctiOt Carle- 
ton was told by a gentleman, one of her Majesty's sworn ser- 
vants, that Thomas Musgi a ve had offered to deliver her Majes- 
ty's Castle of Bewcastle to the King of Scots ; and to witness 
the same, Lancelot Carleton had a letter under the gentleman's 
own hand for his discharge. 

" 2. He chargeth him, that whereas her Majesty doth yearly 
bestow a great fee upon him, as captain of Bewcastle, to aid 
and defend her Majesty's subjects therein : Thomas Musgrave 
hath neglected his duty, for that her Majesty's Castle of Bew- 
castle was by him made a den of thieves, and an harbour and 
receipt for murderers, felons, and all sorts of misdemeanors. 
The precedent was Ciuintin Whitehead and Runion Blackbume. 

"3. He chargeth him, that his office of Bewcastle is open 
for the Scotch to ride in and through, and small resistance 
made by him to the contrary. 

"Thomas Musgrave doth deny all this charge; and saith, 
that he will prove that Lancelot Carleton doth falsely bely hira, 
M)d will prove the same by way of combat, according to this 
indenture. Lancelot Carleton hath entertained the challenge ; 
and so, by God's petjnission, will prove it true as before, and 
aalh set his hand to the same. 

(Signed) " Thomas Musgrave. 

" Lancelot Carleton." 



Note 3 0. 



He, the jovial harper. — P. 39. 

The person here alluded to, is one of our ancient Border 
ninstieis, called Rattling Roaring Willie. This soubriquet 
vaa jirooably derived from his bullying disposition ; being, it 
iTould seem, such a roaring boy, as is frequently mentioned in 
old plays. While drinking at Newmill, upon Teviot, about 
five miles above Hawick, Willie chanced to quarrel with one 
of his own profession, who was usually distinguished by the 
odd name of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule Water so 
tailed. They retired to a meadow on the op[iosite side of the 
Teviot, to decide the contest with their e words, and Sweet 



1 The day of the Rood-fair at J«dbiirgh. 
t Su Gilbert EUliot of Stobs, and Seott of Fahmah 
10 



Milk was killed on the sjiot. A thorn-tree marks the scene ol 
the murder, which is still called Sweet Milk Thorn. Willil 
was taken and executed at Jedburgh, bequeathing his nam4 
to tlie beautrful Scotch air, called " Rattling Roaring Willie " 
Ramsay, who set no value on traditionary lore, published i 
few verses of this song in the Tea-Table Miscellany, carefully 
sujipressing all which had any connection with the history o' 
the author and origin of the piece. In this case, howevei, 
honest Allan is in some degree justified, by the extreme worth 
lessness of the poetry. A verse or two may be taken, as il;'o» 
trative of the history of Roaring Willie, alluded to in tiie Kit 

" Now Willie's gane to Jeddart, 

And he's for the rood-day ;i 
But Stobs and young Falnashs 

They follow'd him a' the way; 
They follow'd him a' the way. 

They sought him up and down. 
In the links of Ousenam water 

They fand him sleeping sound. 

" Stobs light aff his horse. 

And never a word he spak, 
Till he lied Willie's hands 

Fu' fast behind his back; 
Fu' fast behind his back. 

And down beneath his kneo, 
And drink will be dear to Willie, 

When sweet milk^ gars him di« 

" Ah wae light on ye, Stobs I 

An ill death mot ye die ; 
Ye're tne first and foremost man 

That e'er laid hands on me ; 
That e'er laid hands on me. 

And took my mare me frae : 
Wae to you. Sir Gilbert Elliot 1 

Ye are my mortal fae I 

" The lasses of Ousenam Water 

Are rugging and riving their hui 
And a' 'or the sake of Willie^ 

His beauty was so fair ". 
His beauty was so fair, 

And comely for to seo, 
And drink will be dear to Willk>, 

When sweet milk gais him die " 



Note 3 P. 

He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black Lord Archibald' s battle-laios 
In the Old Douglas' day.— P. 39. 

The title to the most ancient collection of Border regnlattofc 
runs thus : — " Be it remembered, that, on t-'ie ISth day ot _.• 
cember, 1468, Earl fVUliam Douglas assiaibled the <vtioi« 
lords, freeholders, and eldest Borderers, that best know!»lge 
had, at the college of Lincloiiden ; and there he caused thes* 
lords and Borderers bodily to be sworn, the Holy Gospof 
touched, that they, justly and truly, after their cunning, 
should decrete, decern, deliver, and put in order and writing, 
the statutes, ordinances, and uses of marche, that were ordained 
in Black Archibald of Douglas's days, and Archibald hit 
son's days, in time of warfare ; and they came again ti hint 
advisedly with these statutes and ordinances, -vhich were in 
time of warfare before. The said Earl IVimam, seeing th« 
statutes in writing decreed and delivered by the said limli uti 



8 A wictonea pm <m nu aKtagmn's nan* 



74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



BordereiB, thau;;lit them riglit speedful and profitable to the 
Borders ; the wliich statutes, ordinances, and points of warfare, 
he look, and tlie whole lords and Borderers he caused bodily to 
be sworn, that they should maintain and supply him at their 
»oodly power, to do the law ujjon tliose that should break the 
Matutos underwritten. Also, the said Earl fVMiam, an^ 
liirds, and eldest Borderers, made certain points to be treason in 
lime of warfare to be used, which were no treason before hia 
iic», but <ii be treason in hiii time, and iu all time coming." 



Note 3 Q. 

The Bloody Utart blazed in the van, 
Announeing Douglas, dreaded name. — P. 40. 

The chief of this ))Otent race of heroes, about the date of the 
wem, was Arciiiba'.J Douglas, seventh Earl of Angus, a man 
of great courage and activity. The Bloody Heart was the 
well-known cognizance of the House of Douglas, assumed from 
the time of good Lord James, to whose care Robert Bruce 
oommilted liis lieart, to be carried to the Holy Laud. 



Note 3 R. 



And Swinton laid his lance in rest. 
That tavied of yore the sparkling crest 
Of Clarence's Plantagenct. — P. 40. 

At the battle of Beaug6, in France, Thomas, Duke of Clar- 
ence, brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton 
of Swinton, who distinguished him by a coronet set with 
precious stones, which he wore around his helmet. The family 
of Swinton is one of the most ancient iu Scotland, and pro- 
duced many celebrated warriors.* 



Note 3 S. 



And shouting still, A Home I a Home I — P. 40. 

The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient 
Karls of Marcii, carried a lion rampant, argent ; but, as a 
dilference, changed the color of the shield from gules to vert, 
in allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient possession. The slogan, 
or war-cry, of tliis powerful family, was, " A Home ! a 
Home !" It was anciently placed in an escrol above the crest. 
The helmet ij armed with a lion's head erased guleg, with a 
oap of slate gules, turned up ermine. 

The Hepburns, a powerful family in East Lothian, were 
asnally in close alliance with the Homes. The chief of this 
clan was Hei)burii, Lord of Hailes ; a fami'.y which terminated 
in the too famous Earl of Botliwell. 



Note 3 T. 

And tome, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, rc.nclry, and rout. 

Pursued the foot-hall play. — P. 41. 

The foot-ball was anciently a very favorite sport all through 
Bcotland, but especially upon the Borders. Sir John Carmi- 
(hael of (^arniichael. Warden of the Middle Marches, was 
killed in ICOO by a band of the Armstrongs, returning from a 
foot-ball match. Sir Robert Gary, in his Memoirs, mentions 
» great meeting, appointed by the Scotch riders to be held at 
Kelso for the purpose of playing at foot-ball, but which ter- 
jainated n an incursion upon England. At present, the foot- 

8m the Battle of Holidoa Hill. Sir W. Scott wa< doaceudod from Six 
Icho Sviiit4iu. — Ki>. 



ball is often played by the inhabitants of adjacent paiunet 
or of the opjiosite banks of a stream. Tne victory is con 
tested with the utmost fury, ami very serious acvidentf ha. 
sometimes taken place in the struggle. 



Note 3 U. 



' Tunxt truce and war, such sudden change 
Was not infrequent, nor held strange, 
In the old Border-day. — P. 4L 

Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borden, ati 
the occasional cruelties which marked the mutual inroads 
the inhabitants on either side do not appear to ha\e reganled 
each other with that violent and personal animosity, whicb 
might have been expected. On the contrary, like the out 
posts of hostile armies, they often carried on something r? 
sembling friendly intercourse, even in the middle of hostili- 
ties ; and it is evident, from varioiis ordinances against m..W 
and intermarriages, between English and Scottish Borderers, 
that the governments of both countries were jealous of theii 
cherishing too intimate a connection. Froissart says of both 
nations, that " Englyshmen on the one party, and Scottes on 
the other party, are good men of wane ; for when they B;eet, 
there is a harde tighi without sparynge. There is no boo 
[trucc~\ between the"!, as long as speai-s, swords, axes, or dag 
gers, will endure, ba, 'aye on eche upon uther ; and whan 
they be well beaten, and »>at the one party hath obtained the 
victory, they then glorifye so in theyre dedes of armies, and 
are so joyfull, that such as be taken tliey shall be ransomed, 
or that they go out of the felde ; so that shortly eche of them 
is so content with other, that, at their departynge, curtyslyfl 
they will say, God thar.k you." — Bkrnkrs' Froissart, vol. 
ii. p. 153. The Border meetings of truce, which, although 
places of merchandise and merriment, often witnessed the most 
bloody scenes, may serve to illustrate the description in tha 
te.vt. They are vividly portrayed in the old ba'lad of 'he 
Reidsquair. [See Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 15.] Both parties 
came armed to a meeting of the wardens, yet they intermixed 
fearlessly and peaceably with each other in mutual sports and 
familiar intercourse, until a casual fray arose : — 

" Then was there naught but bow and spear, 
And every man puU'd out a brand." 

In the 29th stanza of this canto, there is an attempt to ex- 
press some of 'he mixed feeUngs, with which tlie Borderers i 
each side were led to regard their neighbors. 



Note 3 V. 



- on the darkening plain, 



Loud hollo, wh lop, or whistle ran. 
As bands their sirasglers to regain, 

Oive the shrill watchword of their clan.~-P. 41. 

Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disorderly oon litf 
of the English Borderers, who attended the Protectf.i <riaei 
set on his expedition against Scotland. " As we wear then i 
setling, and the tents a setting up, among all things els 3om 
mendable in our hole journey, one thing seemed to me an 
intollerable disorder and abuse: that wherea.s always, both is 
all tonnes of war, and in all campes of armies, q-iietness saa 
Btilnes, without nois, is, principally in the night, alVer the 
watch is set, observed (I need not reason why), our northern 
prikers, the Borderers, notwithstandyng, with gieat enormitie 
(as thought me), and not unlike (to be playn) unto a masterle* 
houiule howlyng in a hie way when he hath lost him he waited 
upon, sum hoopynge, sum whistlyng, and most with crying, A 
Berwyke, a Berwyke ' A Fenwyke, a Fenwyke ! A Bt Imer 
a Bulmer I or so ootlierwian as tlieyr captains names wear 



■ever lin'de taese troublous and dangerous noyses all the 
Byghte longe. They said, they did it to find their captain and 
fellows ; but f the souldiers of our oother countreys and sheres 
had used the ^ame maner, in that case we should have oft 
iDes had the state of our carape more like the outrage of a 
tosolute huntyng, than the quiet of a well ordered armye. It 
) 1 feat of war, in mine opinion, that might right well be left. 
I oould reherse causes (but yf I take it, they are better unspo- 
ken thin uttred, unless the faut wear sure to be amended) that 
might shew the) move alweis njore peral to our armie, but in 
Aeir one ciyghl's so doynge, than they shew good service (as 
iome sey) in a hoole vyage." — Apud Dalzkll's Fragments, 
1 75. 



Note 3 W. 



To see how thou the chase couldst wind. 
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way. 
And with the bugle rouse the fray. — P. 45. 

The pursuit of Border marauders was followed by the in- 
ured party and his friends with blood-hounds and bugle-horn, 
and was called the hot-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could 
trace the scent, to tbilow the invaders into the opposite king- 
dom ; a privilege which often occasioned bloodshed, fn addi- 
tion to what has been said of the blood-hound, I may add, 
that the breed was kept up by the Buccleuch family on their 
Border estates till within the 18th century. A person was 
alive in the memory of man, who remembered a blood-hound 
being kept at Eldinhope, in Ettrick Forest, for whose main- 
.'.enance the tenant had an allowance of meal. At that time 
the sheep were always watched at night. Upon one occasion, 
when the duty had fallen on the narrator, then a lad, he be- 
came exhausted with fatigue, and fell asleep upon a bank, 
near sun-rising. Suddenly he was awakened by the tread of 
horses, and saw five men, well mounted and armed, ride 
briskly over the edge of the hill. They stopped and looked at 
the flock ; but the day was too far broken to admit the chance 
of their carrying any of them off. One of them, in spite, 
leaped from his horse, anu coming to the shepherd, seized 
him by the belt he wore round his waist ; and, setting his foot 
upon his body, pulled it till it broke, and carried it away 
witli him. They rode off at the gallop ; and, the shepherd 
giving the alarm, the blood-hound was turned loose, and the 
people in the neighborhood alarmed. The marauders, how- 
ever, escaped, notwithstanding a sharp pursuit. This circum- 
•tanee serves to show how very long the license of the Borderers 
continued in some degree to manifest itself. 



Note 3 X. 

She wrought not by forbidden spell. — P. 46. 

Popclar belief, though contrary to the doctrines of the Church, 
■ado a favorable d'siinction betwixt magicians, and necroman- 
cers, or wizards the former were supposed to command the 
•Til spirits, and the latter to serve, or at least to be in league 
•nd compact with, those enemies of mankind. The arts of 
•nlijecting the demons were manifold ; sometimes the fiends 
were actually swindled by the magicians, as in the case of the 
bargain betwixt one of their number and the noet Virgil. The 
classical reader will doubtless be carious to peruse this anec- 
liote : — 

" Virgilins was at scole at Tolenton, where he stodyed dyly- 
|ently, for he was of great understandynge. Upon a tyme, 
the scolers had lycense to go to play and sprote them in the 
''ildea, after the usance of the old tyme. And there was also 



Virgilius therbye, also walkynge among the hylles alle a WJt 
It fortuned he spyed a great hole in the svde of a great hyll 
wherein he went so depe, that he culd not see no more lyght 
and than he went a lylell farther therein, and than he saM 
some lyght egayne, and than he went fourth streyghte, art 
within a lytell wyle after he harde a voyce that called ' Vir 
gilius ! Virgilius I' and looked aboute, and he colde nat se« 
no body. Than sayd he (i. e. the voice), ' Virgilius, see y« 
not the lytell horde lying besyde you there maiked with ihal 
word V Than answered Virgilius, ' I see that horde well 
anough.' The voice said, ' Doo awaye that horde, and letU 
me out there atte.' Than answered Virgilius to the voice thai 
was under the lytell borde, and sayd, ' Who art thou tha 
callest me so ?' Than answered the devyll, 'I am n dev yll 
conjured out of the bodye of a certeyne man, and banyssi ec. 
here tyll the day of judgmend, without that I be delvve'ed 
by the handes of men. Thus, Virgilius, I pray the, delj vet 
me out of this payn, and I shall shewe unto the many boka» 
of negromancye, and how thou shalt come by it lyghtly, ao* 
know the practyse therein, that no man in the scyence of n»- 
groniancye shall passe the. And moreovr, I shall shewe and 
enforme the so, that thou shalt have alle thy desyre, whereby 
methinke it is a great gyfte for so lytyll a doyng. For ye ma; 
also thus all your power frendys heipe, and make ryclie youi 
enemyes. ' Thorough that great promyse was Virgilius terr.iit- 
ed ; he badde the fynd show the bokes to hym, that he might 
have and occupy them at his wyll ; and so the fynde shewed 
him. And than Virgilius pulled open a borde, and there was 
a lytell hole, and thereat wrang the devyll out like a yell, and 
cam and stode before Virgilius lyke a bygge man ; whereoi 
Virgilius was astonied and marveyled greatly tliereof, that so 
great a man myght come out of so lytyll a hole. Than sayd 
Virgilius, ' Shulde ye well passe into the hole that ye cam out 
of?' — 'Yea, I shall well,' said the devyl. — 'I holde the best 
plegge that I have, that ye shall not do it.' — ' Well,' sayd tht 
devyll, 'thereto I consent.' And than the devyll wratige 
himselfe into the lytyll hole agene ; and as he was therein, 
Virgilius kyvered the hole ageyiie with the borde close, an" 
so was the devyll begyled, and myght nat there come out 
agen, but abydeth shytte styll therein. Than called the devyH 
dredefully to Virgilius, and said, ' What have ye done, Vir- 
gilius ?' — Virgilius answered, ' Abyde there styll to your day 
appoynted ;' and fro thens forth abydeth he there. And so 
Virgilius became very connynge in the practyse of tiie black 
scyence." 

This story may remind the reader of the Arabian tale of the 
Fisherman and the imprisoned Genie ; and it is more than 
probable, that many of the marvels narrated in the life of Vii> 
gil, are of Oriental extraction. Among such I am disposed to 
reckon the following whimsical account of the foundation ol 
Naples, containing a curious theory concerning the origin oi 
the earthquakes with which it is afflicted. Vu-gil, who was a 
person of gallantry, had, it seems, carried off the daughter of » 
certain Soldan, and was anxious to secure his prize. 

" Than he thought in his mynde how he myghte majye hyf, 
and thought in his mynde to founde in the middee of the »e% 
a fayer towne, with great landes belongynge to it , and so h( 
did by his cunnynge, and called it Napells. And toe fand^ 
cyon of it was of egges, and in that town of NapeJs he maiit 
a tower with iiii corners, and in the toppe he set an apeE upon 
an yron yarde, and no man culde pull away that apell without 
he brake it ; and thoroughe that yren set he a bolte, »nd in tha 
bolte set he a egge. And he henge the apell by the stauke 
upon a cheyne, and so hangeth it still. And when the egge 
styrreth, so shnlde the towne of Napells quake ; and whan 
the egge brake, then shnlde the towne sinke. Whan ho liad 
made an ende, he lette ca'l it Napells." This appears to have 
been an article of current belief during the middle ages, as ap- 
pears from the statutes of the order Du Saiiit Esprit au droit 
desir, instituted in 1352. A chapter of the knights is appointed 
to be held annually at the Castle of the Enchanted Egg new 
the grotto of Virgil. — MoNTrACcoN, vol. U. p. 329 



Note 3 Y. 

^ merlin sat upon her wrist, 

Held by a leash of silken twist. — P. 46. 

A nr.erlin, or sparrow-hawk, was actnally carried by ladies 
tfnuiX, as a falcon was, in time of peace, the constant attend- 
ant jf a knight or baron. See Latham on Falconry. — Gods- 
urott relates tliat when Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed 
the Earl of Angus to admit a royal garrison into his Castle of 
TaEtalitn. To this he returned no direct answer ; but as if 
ipostrtphi/ing a goss-liawk, which sat on hi: wr.at, ana which 
ke was feeding during th,. Q,ueen'i speech, he exclaimed, 
' TLe devil's in this greedy glede, she will never be full." — 
HcHB'a History of the House of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii. p. 
131. Barclay complains of the common and indecent practice 
•f bringing hawks and hounds into churches. 



Note 3 Z. 



^nd princely peacock's gilded train. 
And o'er the boar-head garnished brave. — P. 47. 
The peacock, it b well known, was considered, during the 
times of chivalry, not merely as an exquisite delicacy, but as a 
dish of peculiar solemnity. After being roasted, it was again 
decorated with its plumage, and a sponge, dipped in liglited 
piritA of wine, was placed in its bill. When it was introduced 
»n days of grand festival, it was the signal for the adventurous 
knights to take upon them vows to do some deed of chivalry, 
' hefoie the peacock and the ladies." 

The boar's head was also a usual dish of feudal splendor, 
fn Scotland it was sometimes surrounded with little banners, 
displaying the colors and achievements of the baron at whose 
board it was served. — Pikkbrton's History, vol. i. p. 432. 



Note 4 A. 



Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill. — P. 47. 
The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient race of Border 
Lairds, whose names occur in history, sometimes as defending 
the frontier against the English, sometimes as disturbing the 
peace oi' their own country. Dickon Draw-the-sword was son 
to the ancient warrior, called in tradition tlie Cock of Hunthill, 
remarkable for leading into battle nine sons, gallant warriors, 
til sons of the aged champion. Mr. Rutherford, late of New 
Vork, in a letter to the editor, soon after these songs were first 
jubiished, quoted, when upwards of eighty years old, a ballad 
ipparently the same with the Raid of the Reid-square, but 
nrbich apparently is lost, except the following lines : — 

" Bauld Rutberfurd he was fu' stoat, 
With all his nine sous him about. 
He brought the lads of Jedbrught out. 
Ami bauldly fought that day." 



Note 4 B. 

bit his glove. — P. 47. 

t« bite tbe thomb, or the glofs, Beem£ not to have been con- 

1 Froiaeart relat«6, that a knight of the household of the Comte de Foix 
«xlubit«d a similar feat of BtreD^. The hall-fire bad waxed low, and 
wood Wat wanted to mend it. The knight went down to the court-yard, 
vberv stood an aea laden with fagota, seized on the animal and burden, 
tod, carrying him up to the hall on his shoulders, tumbled htm into the 
^imoey with his heela uppermost : a humane pleasantry, much applauded 
by the Count and all the spectators. 

" Mminns of the moon," as Falstaff would have said. The vocation 

rirsued by our ancient Borderers may be justified un the authority of the 

■UAt polJAhed of the ancient nations : " For the Grecians in old time, and 

nch barbarians as in the continent lived neere unto the sea, or else inh&b- 

«k« ialaada, after once they began to croeae over one to another m 



didercd, upon the Border, as a gesture of contempt, though u 
ised by Shakspeare, but as a pledge of mortal revenge. It ii 
yet remembered, that a young gentleman of Teviotdale, on the 
morning after a hard drinking-bout, observed that he had bitten 
his glove. He instantly demanded of his companion with 
whom he had quarrelled ? And, learning that he had hai 
words with one of the party, insisted on instant satiafactiop 
asserting, that though he remembered nothing of the dispuie, 
yet he was sure he never would have bit his glove nnJess ht 
had received some unpardonable insult. He fell in the datl 
which was fought near Selkirk, in 1731. 



Note 4 C. 

Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 
When in the cleuch the buck was ta'cn. — P. 47. 
A tradition preserved by Scott of ?atchells, who published, 
in 1688, A true History of the Right Honorable name of Scutt, 
gives the following romantic origin of that name. Two breth 
ren, natives of Galloway, having been banished from that 
country for a riot, or insurrection, came to Rankleburn, ia fit- 
trick Forest, where the keeper, whose name was Brydone. re- 
ceived them joyfully, on account of their skill in winding the 
horn, and in the other mysteries of the chase. . Kenneth Mao- 
Alpin, then King of Scotland, came soon after to hunt in the 
royal forest, and pursued a buck from Ettrick-heugh to the 
glen now called Buckcleuch, about two miles above the junc- 
tion of Rankleburn with the river Ettrick. Here the stag stood 
at bay ; and the King and his attendants, who followed on 
horseback, were thrown out by the steepness of the hill and the 
morass. John, one of the brethren from Galloway, had fol- 
lowed the chase on foot ; and, now coming in, seized the buck 
by the horns, and, being a man of great strength and activity, 
threw him on his back, and ran with his burden about a milt 
up the steep hill, to a place called Cracra-Cross, where Ken- 
neth had halted, and laid the buck at the sovereign's fect.^ 

" The deer being cureed in that place, 

At his Majesty's demand. 
Then John of Galloway ran apace, 

And fetched water to his hand. 
The King did wash into a dish, 

And Galloway John he wot ; 
He said, ' Thy name now after this 

Shall ever be called John Scott. 

" ' The forest and the deer therein. 
We commit to thy hand ; 
For thou shalt sure the ranger be, 

If thou obey command ; 
And for the buck thou stoutly brought 

To us up that steep heuch. 
Thy designation ever shall 

Be John Scott in Buckscleuch. 

• ••*•• 

" In Scotland no Buckcleuch was then, 
Before the buck in the cleuch was slain ; 
Night's men2 at first they did appear, * 

Because moon and stars to their arms they beai , 
Their crest, supporters, and hunting-horn, 
Show their beginning from hunting came ; 

ships, became theeves, and went abroad under the conduct of their moT« 
puiESent men, both to enrich themselves, and to fetch in maintenance fof 
the weak : and falling upon towns unfortified, or ecatteringly Inhabited 
rifted them, and made this the best means of thear living ; being a matter al 
that time nowhere in disgrace, but rather carrying with it something >f glory. 
This is manifest by some that dwell upon the continent, amongst ^om,t« 
it be performed nobly, it is still esteemed as an omament. The same ^ 
also proved by some of the ancient poets, ;vho Introduced men questloninji 
of such as sail bv, on all coasts alike, whether they be theeves or not ; at • 
thyng neyther scorned by such as were asked, nor upbraided by those ttMl 
were desirous to know. They also robbed one another, within tha suba 
land ; and much of Greece lueth tlu old costome, as the Locnaiu tka 



APPENDIX TO THE LA.Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



•7J 



Tlieir name, and style, the book doth say, 
John gained them both into one day." 

Watt's Bellenden. 

The Buccleuch anns have been altered, and now allude less 
pointedly to this hunting, whether real or fahulons. The fa- 
mily nov bear Or, upon a bend azure, a mullet betwixt two 
crescents of the field ; in addition to which, they formerly bore 
In the field a hnnting-horn. The supporters, now two ladies, 
"rere formerly a hound and buck, or, according to the old 
erms, a hart of leash and a hart of greece. The family of 
Suott of Hovpasley and Thirlestaine long retained the bugle- 
•orn ; they also carried a bent bow and arrow in the sinister 
»'itle perhaps as a difference. It is said the motto was — 
B>:st riding by moonlight, in allusion to the crescents on the 
iliield, and perhaps to the habits of those who bore it. The 
griotto now given is Amo, applying to the female supporters. 



Note 4 D. 



old Albert Ortsme, 
The Minstrel of that ancient name. — P. 48. 

" John Graeme, second son of Malice, Earl of Monteith, 
eommonly surnamed John with the Bright Sword, upon some 
displeasure risen against him at court, retired with many of his 
clan and kindred into tlie English Borders, in the reign of King 
Henry the Fourth, where they seated themselves; and many 
i)f their posterity have continued there ever since. IVIr. Sand- 
"ord, speaking of them, says (which indeed was applicable to 
most of the Borderers on both sides), ' They were all stark 
Moss-troopers, and arrant thieves : Both to England and Scot- 
and outlawed ; yet sometimes connived at, because they gave 
intelligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 400 horse at any 
rme upon a raid of the English into Scotland. A saying is re- 
xjriled of a mother to her son (which is now become prover- 
bial). Hide, Rowley, hough's V the pot : that is, the last piece 
of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high time to go and 
fetcli more.' " — Introduction to the History of Cumberland. 

The residence of the Gr;Emes being chiefly in the Debatea- 
ble Land, so called because it was claimed by both kingdoms, 
their depredations extended both to England and Scotland, 
with impunity ; for as both wardens accounted tliem the pro- 
per subjects of their own prince, neitlier inclined to demand 
reparation for their excesses from the opposite oflicers, which 
would have been an acknowledgment of his jurisdiction over 
trem. — See a long correspondence on this subject betwixt Lord 
Dacre and the English Privy Council, in Introduction to His- 
lory of Cvmberland. The Debateable Land was finally divid- 
»d betwixt England and Scotland, by commissioners appointed 
»j t)oth nations. 1 



Note 4 E. 

The sjtn shines fair on Carlisle wall. — P. 48. 

ThU burden is adopted, with some alteration, from ar old 
Jeel'ieh sorg, beginning thus : — 

" She lean'd her back against a thorn, 
Tlie sun shi nes fair on Carlisle wa' : 
And there she has her young babe bom. 
And the lyon shall be lord of a'." 

4tamanian; and those of the cmtinent in that quarter, unto thii day. 
Iloreover, the fashion of wearing iron remuineth yet with the people of that 
anntioent, from their old trade of thieving."— Hobbes' Thun/didee, p. 4. 
Lend, 

1 See Tarions notes in the Minfltrelay. 

1 The tomb of Sir William St. Clair, on which he appears sculptnred in 
Knnor, with n greyhound at iiis feet, is Btill to be seen in Roslin chapel. 
n« Derson who shonv it always telU the story of his hunting match, with 



Note 4 F, 

Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ? — P. 48. 

The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl nf 9ni 
rey, was nrquestionably the most accomplished caviLr of h« 
time ; and his sonnets display beauties which would do lio^a 
to a more polished age. He was beheaded on Tower-h I ii 
1546; a victim to the mean jealousy of Henry VIII., «rh« 
could not bear so brilliant a character near his throne. 

The song of the supposed bard is founded on an incidct nfcai 
to have happened to the Earl in his travels. CorneUns Agri* 
pa, the celebrated alchemist, showed him, in a loofcng-glsBi 
the lovely Geraldine, to whose Sicvice he had devoted his p«i 
and his sword. Tlie vision represented her as in .ii.,08ed, lat 
reclining upon a couch, reading her lover's verse* by the Itjjai 
of a waxen taper. 



Note 4 G. 



The storm-swept Orcades : 



Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway, 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay. — P. 49. 

The St. Clairs are of Norman extraction, being descended 
from William de St. Clair, second son of Walderne Compte dii 
St. Clair, and Margaret, daughter to Richard Duke of Nor- 
mandy. He was called, for his fair deportment, the Seemly 
St. Clair ; and, settling in Scotland during the reign of JMal 
colm Caenmore, obtained large grants of land in Mid-Lothian 
These domains were increased by the liberality of sncceediK» 
monarchs to the descendants of the family, and comprehended 
the baronies of Rosline, Pentland, Cowsland, Cardaine, and 
several others. It is said a large addition was obtained from 
Robert Bruce, on the following occasion : — The King, in fol 
lowing the chase upon Pentland-hills, had often started a 
" white faunch deer," which had always escaped from his 
hounds ; and he asked the nobles, who were assembled around 
him, whether any of them had dogs, which they thought might 
be more successful. No courtier would aflirm that his hounds 
were fleeter than those of the king, until Sir William St. Claii 
of Rosline unceremoniously said, he would wager his head tha* 
his two favorite dogs, Help and Hold, would kill the deer be- 
fore she could cross the March-burn. The King instantly 
caught at his unwary offer, and betted the forest of Pentland- 
moor against the life of Sir William St. Clair. All the houi.di 
were tied up, except a few ratches, or slow-hounds, to put up 
the deer ; while Sir William St. Clair, posting himself in th» 
best situation for slipping his dogs, prayed <levoutly to Christ, 
the blessed Virgin, and St. Katherine. The deer was shortly 
after roused, and the hounds slipped . Sir William following 
on a gallant steed, to cheer his dogs. The hind, however, 
reached the middle of the brook, upon which the hunter threw 
himself from his horse in despair. At this critical moment 
however. Hold stopped her in the brook ; and Help, coming 
up, turned her back, and killed her on Sir William's side 
The King descended from the hill, embraced Sir Williana, an* 
bestowed on him the lands of Kirkton, Logan-honse EifS 
craig, &c., in free forestrie. Sir William, in acr nc '.vledgESSB 
of St. Katherine's intercession, built the chtpe of St. Ksth* 
rine in the Hopes, the churchyard of which is still to be seen. 
The hill, from which Robert Bruce beheld ihis memorsibl* 
chase, is still called the King's Hill ; and the place where Sij 
William hunted, is called the Knight's Field.^^JI/S. Histtrj 

some addition to Mr. Hay's account ; as that the Knight of Roslise'V frighi 
made him poetical, and that in tlie last emergency, he shouted, 
" Help, Hftud, an ye may, 
Or Roslin will lose his head this day.** 
If this couplet does him no great honor a« a poet, the conclusion of th« 
story does him still \etM credit. He set his foot on the dog, says the nar- 
rator, and killed him on the spot, saying he would never again put his Mof 
in such a risk. As Mr. Hay does not mention this circumstance, I hop© ' 
is only founded on the conchaot posture of the hoond oa tbi noonineDt 



^8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



*f the Family of St. Clair, Jy RicHiRD AuonsTiN Mat, 
Canon of St. Oevcvieve. 

This adventurous huntsman married Elizabeth, dinghter of 
>lalice Sjiar, Earl of Orkney and Stratherne, in whose right 
their son Henry was, in 1379, created Earl of Orkney, by Haco, 
king of Norway. His title was recognized by the Kings of 
Scotland, and remained with his successors until it was an- 
nexed to the crown, in 1471, by act of Parliament. In ex- 
change for this earldom, tlie castle and domains of Ravens- 
waig, or Ravensheuch, were conferred on William Saintclair, 
Kui of Caithness. 



Note 4 H. 



Still nods their palace to its fall, 

Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall. — P. 49. 

The Castle of Kirkwall was built by the St. Clairs, while 
Earls of Orkney. It was dismantled by the Earl of Caithness 
about l(il5, having been garrisoned against the government by 
Roi)ert Stewart, natural son to the Earl of Orkney. 

Its ruins afforded a sad subject of contemplation to John, 
Master of St. Clair, who, flying from his native country, on 
scco jnt of his share in the insurrection 1715, made some stay 
at Kirkwall. 

' I had occasion to entertain myself at Kirkwall with the 
melancholy prospect of the ruins of an old castle, the seat of 
the old Earls of Orkney, my ancestors ; and of a more melan- 
choly reflection, of so great and noble an estate as the Orkney 
and Shetland Isles being taken from one of them by James the 
Third for faultrie, after his brother Alexander, Duke of Alba- 
ny, had married a daughter of my family, and for jjrotecting 
and defending the said Alexander against the King, who wish- 
ed to kill him, as he had done his youngest brother, the Earl 
of Mar ; and for which, after the forfaultrie, he gratefully 
j'vorced my forfaulted ancestor's sister; though I cannot pei^ 
raade myself that he had any misalliance to plead against a 
rmailie in whose veins the blood of Robert Bruce ran as fresh 
an in his own ; for their title to the crowne was by a daughter 
0*" David Bruce, son to Robert ; and our alliance was by mar- 
rying a grandchild of the same Robert Bruce, and daughter to 
>.iw sister of the same David, out of the familie of Douglass, 
w'lich at that time did not much sullie the blood, more than 
ay ancestor's having not long before had the honour of marry- 
kig a daughter of the King of Denmark's, who was named 
Florentine, and has left in the town of Kirkwall a iioble mon- 
oment of the grandeur of the times, the finest church ever I 
HW entire in Scotland. I then had no small reason to think, 
In that unhappy state, on the many not inconsiderable services 
tendered since to the royal familie, for these many years by- 
rone, on all occasions, when they stood most in need of friends, 
which they have thought themselves very often obliged to ac- 
knowledge by letters yet extant, and in a style more like friends 
than souveraigns ; our attachment to them, without any other 
thanks, having brought upon us considerable losses, and among 
gthsrs, that of onr all in Cromwell's time; and left in that 
coidit'on without the least relief except what we found in our 
•T»n virtue. My father was the only man of the Scots nation 
wh; had cocrage enough to protest in Parliament against King 
William's tit.e to the throne, which was lost, God knows how ; 
Biid this at a time when the losses in the cause of the royall 
fam'lie, and their usual gratitude, had scarce left him bread to 
maintain a numerous familie of eleven children, who had soon 
after sprung up on him, in spi'e of all which, he had honoura- 
bly [lersisted in his jirinciple. 1 ^uy, these things consiilered, 
and after being treated as 1 was, and in that unlucky state, 
when objects appear to men in their true light, as at the honr 
of death, coild I be blamed for making some bitter reflections 
o myself, and laughing at the extravagance and unaccountable 
nnmour of men, and the singularitie of ray own case (an exile 
lor the cause of the Stuart family), when I ought to have 

nown that I'* •^^fest en ire I. or my family, could have 



committed, wis persevering, to my own destrnctior., in ^et "ini 
the royal family faithfully, th«»'\gli obstinitely, after so greal < 
share of depression, and after may had been pleased to doos 
me and my familie to starve. MS. Mem-'irg of John, Mas 
ter of St. Clair. 



NOTJI \ I. 

Of that Sea-Snake, tre-<a/^ 'ous euvVd, 

Whose monstrous cirelt g'rd-t thi world ^-i. 49. 

The_7ormj(7!^«rtrfr, or Snal e of the Octo , whose foldkinr- 
round the earth, is one of th>; wildest fictiii >f the Edda. Il 
was very nearly caught by the god Thor, M.tt> vrenX to ^f^ 'sc 
it with a hook baited with a bull's hea(!. v the :t(,"ji t* 
twixt tlie evil demons and the divinities of ^ • which is to 
precede the Ragnarockr, or Twilight of Vui •, ♦■!, this 8nak« 
is to act a conspicuous part. 



Note 4 K. 
Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yet'. ■ P. 19. 
These were the Valcyriur, or Selectors of i »i ,• >un, dii 
patched by Odin from Valhalla, to choose those « t » rero 
die, and to distribute tne contest. They were weli v«ivn 
the English reader as Gray's Fatal Sisters. 



Note 4 L. 



Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 

By the pale death-lights of the tomb. 

Ransack' d the graves of warriors old. 

Their falchions wrench' d from corpses' hold. — P. 49 

The northern warriors were usually entombed with the* 
arms, and their other treasures. Thus, Angantyr, l>sfore com- 
mencing the duel in which he was slain, stii)ulated, that if h« 
fell, his sword Tyrfing should be buried with him. His daugK- 
ter Hervor, afterwards took it from his tomb. The dialogs* 
which passed betwixt her and AngantyT's spirit on this occa- 
sion has been often translated. The whole history may bi 
found in the Hervarar-Saga. Indeed, the ghosts of the nortL 
em warriors were not wont tamely to suffer their tombs to bii 
plundered ; and hence, the mortal heroes had an addition* 
temptation to attempt such adventures ; for they held nothing 
more worthy of their valor than to encounter supernatural b» 
ings. — Bartholinus De causis contempts a Danis mortit 
lib. i. cap. 2, 9, 10, 13. 



Note 4 M. 
Castle Ravensheuch. — P. 50. 



A large and strong castle, now rninons, situated betwix 
Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a steep crag, washed by the Frith ji 
Forth. It was conferred on Sir William St. Clair as a siigl» 
compensation for the er.rldom of Orkney, by a charter of Kiiy 
James III. dated in 1471, and is now the property of Sir Jama 
St. Clair Erskine (now Earl of Rosslyn), representative of tb. 
family. It was long a princijial residence of the Barond o 
Roslin. 



Note 4 N. 



Seem'd all on fire within, around. 
Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 
Shone every pillar foliage bound. 
JInd glimmer' d all the dead men s mail. — P. 30 
The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still in tolerable preserrm 
tion. It was founded in 1446, by William St. Clair Prince & 



APPENDIX TO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



79 



O.-knej, Dike of Oldenbnrgh, Earl of Caithness and Strath- 
Hne Lord St. Clair, Lord Niddesdale, Lord Admiral of the 
Bco'.tish Seas, Lord Chief Justice of Scotland, Lord Warden 
of tlie three Marches, Baron of Roslin, Pentland, Pentland- 
moor, &«. , Knight of the Cockle, and of the Garter (as is 
atfimed), Higli Chancellor, Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of 
Scotland. This lofty person, whose titles, says Godscroft, 
might weary a Spaniard, built the castle of Roslin, where he 
»esided in princely splendor, and founded the chapel, which is in 
the most rich and florid style of Gothic architecture. Among 
Jie profuse carving on the pillars and buttresses, the rose is fre- 
quently introduceu, in allusion to the name, with which, how- 
ever, tlie flower has no connection ; the etymology jeing Ross- 
linnhe, the promontory of the linn, or water-fall. The chapel 
IS said to appear on fire previous to the death of any of his de- 
Bcendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer, in his Thea- 
t.Tum ScoticB, and alluded to in the text, is probably of Noi^ 
wegian derivation, and may have been imported by the Earls 
of Orkney into their Lothian dominions. The torab-firea of 
the north are mentioned in most of the Sagas. 

The Barons of Roslin were buried in a vault beneath the 
chipel floor. The manner of their interment is thus described 
by Father Hay, in the MS. history already quoted. 

" Sir William Sinclair, the father, was a lewd man. He 
kept a miller's daughter, with whom, it is alleged, he went to 
Ireland ; yet I think the cause of his retreat was rather occa- 
sioned by the Presbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of 
his religion being Roman Catholic. His son. Sir William, died 
during tht troubles, and was interred in the chapel of Roslin 
the very snme day that the battle of Dunbar was fought. 
Wlien ray godfather was buried, his (i. e. Sir William's) corpse 
seemed to be entire at the opening of the cave ; but when they 
came to touch his body, it fell into dust. He was laying in 
his armor, with a red velvet cap on his head, on a flat stone ; 
nothing was spoiled except a piece of the white furring that 
went round the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the 
head. All his predecessors were buried after the same man- 
ner, in their armor : late Rosline, my good father, was the first 
that was buried in a coffin, against the sentiments of King 
James the Seventh, who was then in Scotland, and several 
other persons well versed in antiquity, to whom my mother 
would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be buried after that 
Banner. The great expenses she was at in burying her hus- 
uand, occasioned the sumptuary acts which were made in the 
wUowing parliament." 



Note 4 0. 



For he was speechless, ghastly, wan 

Like him. of whom the story ran, 

Whv spoke tkc spectre-hound in Man. — P. 51. 

The ancient castle of Peel-town, in the Isle of Man, is sat- 
ronuded bj" four churches, now ruinous. Through one of these 
"lapeis theiTj was formerly a passage from the guard-room of 
te ga.--ison. This was closed, it is said, upon the following oc- 
asioa '■ They saj , that an apparition, called, in the Mankish 
ingaa^\ the Mnuthe Doog n tae shape of a Urge black 
ipanie., ^th curled snaggy haij- was nsed to hannt Peel-castle ; 
tnd has beer, frequently seen in every room, but particularly in 
ine gnard-chamber, where, as soon as candles were lighted, it 
ULiae- and lay down before the fire, in presence of all ihe sol- 
iiers, who, at length, by being so much accustomed to the 
■|.it of it, lost great part of the terror they were seized with at 



its first appearance. They still, however, retained a certalr. 
awe, as beh'eving it was an evil spirit, which only wait>- 1 per- 
mission to do them hurt ; and, for that leascn, forebore t rear- 
ing and all profane discourse, while in its company. Bni 
though thej endured the shock of such a guest when altog tliei 
in a body, none cared to be le."; alone with it. It heioj th» 
custom, therefore, for one of the soldier* to lock Jio fatei 1/ 
the castle at a certain hour, and carry the keys to the capt^i.*. 
to whose apartment, as 1 said before, the itay led through t.-. 
church, they agreed among themselves, that whoever .vi« » 
succeed the ensuing night his fellow in th srrano ^houia •► 
company him that went first, and by this mtan," r^jmac woild 
be exposed singly to the danger ; for I forgot to mention, that 
the Mautlie Dong was always seen to come oi'*. from that pas- 
sage at the close of the day, and return to it again as soon t» 
the morning dawned ; which made them look on this place as 
its peculiar residence. 

" One night a fellow being drunk, and by the strength of his 
liquor rendered more daring than ordinarily, laughed at the 
simplicity of his companions, and, though it was not his turn 
to go with the keys, would needs take that office upon him, to 
testify his courage. All the soldiers endeavored to dissuade 
him ; but the more they said, the more resolute he seemed, and 
swore that he desired nothing more than that the Mautht 
Doog would follow him, as it had done the others ; for he 
would try if it were dog or devil. After having talked in a 
very reprobate manner for some time, he snatched up the keys 
and went out of the guard-room. In some time after his de- 
parture, a great noise was heard, but nobody had the boldness 
to see what occasioned it, till the adventurer returning, they 
demanded the knowledge of him ; but as loud and noisy as he 
had been at leaving them, he was now become sober and silent 
enough ; for he was never heard to speak more, and though 
all the time he lived, which was three days, he was entreateu 
by all who came near him, either to speak, or, if he could not 
do that, to make some signs, by which they might understand 
what had happened to him, yet nothing intelligible could be 
got from him, only that, by the distortion of his limbs and fea- 
tures, it might be guessed that he died in agonies more than is 
common in a natural death. 

" The Mauthe Doog was, however, never after seen in thi 
castle, nor wonld any one attempt to go through that passage 
for which reason it was closed np, and another way madt 
This accident happened about three score years since ; and 1 
heard it attested by sevfral, but especially by an old soldier 
who assured me he had seen it oftener than he had then hairs 
on his head."— Waldron's Descriftion of the Isle of Man 
p. 107. 



Note 4 P. 



St. Bride of Douglas. — P. 51 



This was a favorite saint of the house of Douglas, and of t^ 
Earl of Angus in particular, as we learn from the following 
passage : — " The Q,ueen-regent had proposed to raise a rival 
noble to the ducal dignity ; and discoursing of her purpose with 
Angus, he answered, ' Why not, madam 1 we are happy tnaw 
have such a princess, that can know and will acknowledge 
men's services, and is willing to recompense it J but, by the 
might of God' (this was his oath when he was serious bad io 
anger ; at other times, it was by St. Bryde of Douglas), ' if h« 
be a Dnke, I will be a Drake !' — So s le desisted from pjoearr 
ting of that purpose." — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 131 



>, - •-.w->«r>^,Tt-T»av.^-.<>aa»a.-v-i.3;g<:^rjtf«iLj»-rnjyf ■•av-^f.-CT j;?^ . ^m-, -.ct t - yT ^ T •^^n'-F -l i^'^-^-^^'^'''^''-'''''^'^^-^'^*^'^''''"-' - ^""^'' ' "^^^ mwrrOfxminmsv i - 



ill arm ion: 

tL TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD.* 
IN SIX CANTOS. 



Alas I that Scottish maid should sing 

The combat where her lover fell ! 
That Scottish Bard should wake the string, 

The trinmnh of our foes to tell. 

Lbtdbn. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

Some alterations in the text of the Introduction 
to Marmion, and of the Poem itself, as ■weU as 
7arious additions to the Author's Notes, will be 
:)baerved in tliis Edition. We have followed Sir 
Walter Scott's interleaved copy, as finally revised 
by liim in the summer of 1831. 

The preservation of the original MS. of the 
Poem has enriched tliis volume with numerous 
various readings, which will be found cm-ious and 
interesting. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

What I have to eay respecting this Poem may 
be briefly told. In the Introduction to the " Lay 
of the Last Minstrel," I have mentioned the cir- 
cumstances, so far as my literary life is concerned, 
which mduced me to resign the ax^tive pursuit of 
an honorable profession, for the more precarious 
resotu-ces of literature. My appointment to the 
Sheriffdom of Selkirk called for a change of resi- 
dence. I left, therefore, the pleasant cottage I 
had npon the side of the Esk, for the " pleasant er 
bank' of the Tweed," m order to comply with the 
law. wliv.h requires that the Sherilf shall be resi- 
dent, at uast during a certain number of months, 
within liis jurisdiction. We found a delightful re- 
(iremeut, by my becoming the tenant of my inti- 
mate friend and cousin-german, Colonel Russell,' 
in liis mansion of Ashestiel, which was unoccupied, 
(luring his absence on military service in India. 
The house was adequate to oiu* accommodation, 
Mvd the exercise of a limited hospitality. The 

< Pnblisbed in 4to, £1 Us. 6d., Febtaary, 1808. 



situation is imcommonly beautiful, by the side of t 
fine river, whose streams are tliere very favorabl 
for anglmg, surrounded by the remains of natura 
woods, and by liills abomiding in game. In poin 
of society, according to the heartfelt phrase o 
Scripture, we dwelt " amongst our own pei'ple;" 
and as the distiince from the metropoUs was only 
thirty miles, we were not out of reach of our Ed- 
inburgh friends, in wliich city we spent tlie terms 
of the summer and winter Sessions of the Court, 
that is, five or six months in the year. 

An important circumstance had, about the same 
time, taken place in my life. Hopes had been 
held out to me from an influential quarter, of a 
nature to relieve me from the anxiety which I 
must have otherwise felt, as one upon the preca- 
rious tenure of whose own life rested the prmcipal 
prospects of his family, and especially as one who 
had necessarily some dependence upon the favor 
of the public, which is proverbially capricious 
though it is but justice to add, tliat, in my own 
case, I have not found it so. Mr. Pitt had express- 
ed a wish to my personal fi'iend, the Right Hon- 
orable Wilham Dimdas, now Lord Clerk Registei 
of Scotland, that some fitting opportimity should 
be taken to be of service to me ; and as my views 
and wishes pointed to a future rather than an im- 
mediate provision, an opportunity of accomplish- 
ing tliis was soon found. One of the Prin'^ipal 
(-lerks of Session, as they are called (official per 
sons who occupy an important and responsible 
situation, and enjoy a considerable income), who 
had served upwards of thirty years, felt btmselfi 
from age, and the infirmity of deafness with which 
it was accompanied, desirous of retiring from hia 
official situation. As the law then stood, such 



s Now Major-Genetal Sir Jamec Russw., K. C. 
Life of Seott, vol. viu. pp. 133, 118 



B -4S-I 



MARMION. 



81 



/ifficial persons were entitled to bargain with their 
successors, either for a sum of money, which was 
usnally a considerable one, or for an interest in the 
emohmierits of the office during their life. My 
predecessor, whose services had been unusually 
meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments of his 
office during his life, while I should enjoy the sur- 
rivorship, on the condition that I discharged the 
duties of the office in the mean time. Mr. Pitt, 
however, ha.ving died in the interval, his adminis- 
tration was dissolved, and was succeeded by that 
known by the name of the Fox and Granville Min- 
istry. My affaii- was so far completed, that my 
commission lay in the office subscribed by his 
Majesty ; but, from hurry or mistake, the interest 
cf my predecessor was not expressed in it, as had 
been usual in such cases. Although, therefore, it 
only requked payment of the fees, I could not in 
honor take out the commission in the present state, 
nince, in the event of my dying before him, the 
gentleman whom I succeeded must have lost the 
vested interest which he had stipulated to retain. 
I had the honor of an interview with Earl Spen- 
cer on the subject, and he, in the most handsome 
nanner, gave directions that the commission should 
issue as originally intended ; adding, that the mat- 
ter having received the royal assent, he regarded 
only as a claim of justice wiiat he would have 
willingly done as an act of favor. I never saw 
Mr. Fox on this, or on any other occasion, and 
aevsr made any apphcation to him, conceiving 
f.hat in doing so I might have been supposed to 
express pohtical opinions contrary to those which 
I had always professed. In his private capacity, 
f.bere is no man to whom I would have been more 
proud to owe an obligation, had I been so distin- 
gmshed. 

By this arrangement I obtained the survivor- 
ship of an office, the emoliunents of which were 
fully adequate to my wishes ; and as the law re- 
spectmg the mode of providing for superannuated 
officers was, about five or six years after, altered 
from that which admitted the arrangement of as- 
sistant and successor, my colleague very hand- 
somely took the opportmiity of the alteration, to 
accept of the ■^-etirmg annuity provided in such 
cases, and admitted me to the full benefit of the 
office. 

> See J.ife, vol. iii. p. 4. 

» " Next view in state, proad prancing on his roan. 
The golden-crested haughty Marmion, 
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, 
Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, 
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; 
A wighty mixture of the great and base. 
And think'st thou, Scott I by vain conceit perchance, 
On public taste to foist thy stale romance. 
Though Murray with his Miller may combine 
To yield thy masejnat balf-a-crowu |>er line} 
11 



But although the certainty of succeeding tc^ a 
considerable income, at the time I obtained it, 
seemed to assure me of a quiet harbor in my old 
age, I did not escape my share of inconvenience 
from the contrary tides and currents by which we 
are so often encountered in our journey through 
Ufe. Indeed, the pubUcation of my next poeticaj 
attempt was prematurely accelerated, from one o» 
those unpleasant accidents which can neither b« 
foreseen nor avoided. 

I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavoi 
to bestow a little more labor than I had yet don(. 
on my productions, and to be in no hurry again t( 
announce myself as a candidate for Uterary fame 
Accordingly, particular passages of a poem, which 
was finally called " Marmion," were labored with 
a good deal of care, by one by whom much care 
was seldom bestowed. Whether the work was 
worth the labor or not, I am no competent judge ; 
but I may be permitted to say, that the period of 
its composition was a very happy one, in my life ; 
so much so, that I remember with pleasme, at tiiis 
moment, some of the spots in which particular pas- 
sages were composed. It is probably owing to 
this, that the Introduction to the several Cantos^ 
assumed the form of familiar epistles to my inti- 
mate friends, in which I alluded, perhaps more 
than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic 
occupations and amusements — a loquacity which 
may be excused by those who remem.ber, that 1* 
was still young, light-headed, and J'^ppy, and that 
" out of the abimdance of the heart the mou( a 
speaketh." 

The misfortunes of a near relation .ind friend, 
which happened at tliis time, led me to .titer raj 
prudent determination, which had been, to iso 
great precaution in sending this poem in<o -he 
world ; and made it convenient at least, if i .ot ab 
solutely necessary, to hasten its publication. The 
pubhshers of " The Lay of the Last Minstrel," em 
boldened by the success of that poem, willingly of 
fered a thousand pounds for " Marmion."' Tlie 
transaction being no secret, afforded Lord Byron 
who was then at general war with all who blacked 
paper, an apology for including me in his satire, 
entitled " EngUsh Bards and Scotch Reviewers.'" 
I never could conceive how an arrangement be 
tween an author and his publishers, if satisfjactai^ 

No ! when the sons of song descend to trade. 
Their bays are sear, the former laurels fade. 
Let such forego the poet s sacred name, 
Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame ; 
Still for stern Mammon may thev toil in vain I 
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain f 
Such be their meed, such still the just reward 
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard I 
For this we spurn Apollo's venal son. 
And bid a long ' Good-night to Marmion.' " 

Byron's fVorks, vol. vii. o K{5-« 



to the persons concerned, could afford matter of 
cei8iu"e to any third party. I had taken no unu- 
sual or ungenerous means of enhancing the value 
of my merchandise — I had never higgled a mo- 
nacnt about the bargain, but accepted at once 
what I considered the handsome offer of my pub- 
lishers. These gentlemen, at least, were not of 
opinion that they had been taken advantage of in 
tl/ci transaction, which indeed was one of their own 
framing ; on the contrary, the sale of the Poem 
was so far beyond their expectation, as to induce 
them to supply the Author's cellars with what is 
ilways an acceptable present to a young Scottish 
housekeeper, namely, a liogshead of excellent claret. 
The Poem was finished in too much haste, to 
allow me an opportunity of softening down, if not 
removing, some of its most prominent defects. The 
nature of Marmion's guilt, although similar instan- 
ces were found, and might be quoted, as existing 
in feudal times, was nevertheless not sufficiently 
oeculiar to be indicative of the character of the 
period, forgery being the crime of a commercial, 
rather than a proud and warlike age. This gross 
defect ought to have been remedied or paUiated. 
Yet I suffered the tree to lie as it had fallen. I 
remember my friend, Dr. Leyden, then in the East, 
wrote me a furious remonstrance on the subject. 

On first reading this satire, 1809, Scott says, "It is funny 
enough to see a whelp of a yoUng Lord Byron abusing me, of 
wliose circnrastances he knows nothing, for endeavoring to 
»oratch out a living with ray pen. God help the bear, if hav- 
iig little else to eat, he must not even suck his own paws. I 
C1I. assure the noble imp of fame it is not my fault that I was 
pot born to a park and £5000 a year, as it is not his lordship's 
merit, although it may be his great good fortune, that he was 
BOi. oorn to live by his literary talents or success." — Life, vol. 
Ui. p. 195. — See also Correspondence with Lord Byron Ibtu. 
pp.3P5 398. 

• '' Mfiimion was first printed it a splentnd quarto, price 
9ue 5'.mea and a half Tiie 2000 conies of this edition were 
%>\ t\iaposed of i". less than a month, when a second of 3000 
fopies, in 8vo,, visa sent to press. Ther<? fci.owed a third and 
t fourth edition, each of 3000, in J809; a fifth of 2000, early 
)> 181); and a Bizth of 3000, >i: two volame*, crawn 6t«., 



I have, nevertheless, always been of opinion, ths4 
corrections, however in themselres judicious, have 
a bad effect — after publication. An author is nev- 
er so decidedly condemned as on his owe confes 
sion, and may long find apologists and partisans, 
imtU he gives up his own cause. 1 vvas n*^, there- 
fore, incliaed to afford matter for censure out o 
my own admissions; and, by good fortune, t\ 
nove'ty of the subject, and, if I may say so, son 
force and vivacity of description were allowed t 
atone for many imperfections. Thus the secono 
experiment on the public patience, generally the 
most perilous, — for the pubhc are then most apt 
to judge with rigor, what in the first instance they 
had received, perhaps, with imprudent generosity, 
— was in my case decidedly successful. I had the 
good fortime to pass this ordeal favorably, and the 
return of sales before me makes the copies amoimt 
to thirty -six thousand printed between 1808 and 
1825, besides a considerable sale since that period.' 
I shall here pause upon the subject of " Marmion," 
and, in a few prefatory words to " The Lady of 
the Lake," the last poem of mine which obtained 
eminent success, I wiU continue the task which I 
have imposed on myself respecting the origin of 
my productions. 

Abbotsfobt), April, 1830, 

with twelve designs by Singleton, before the end of that yeai 
a seventh of 400lt p.nd an eighth of 5000 copies 8vo., in 1811 ; 
a ninth of 3000 in 1815 ; a tenth of 500 in 1820 ; an eleventh of 
500, and a twelfth of 2000 copies, in foolscap, both in 1825 
The legitimate sale in this country, therefore, down to the 
time of its being included in the first collective edition of his 
poetical works, amounted to 31,000 ; and the aggregate of that 
sale, down to the period at which I am writing (May 1836), 
may be staled at 50,000 copies. I presume it is right for me 
to facilitate the task of future historians of our literature b) 
preserving these details as often as I can. Such particnlan 
respecting many of the great works even of the last centnry 
are already sought for with vain regret ; t,nd I anticipate nc 
day when the student of English civilization will pass witkoal 
curiosity the contemporary reception of the Tale of Floddw 
Field." — I<ocKHART, Life of Scott, toI. iii, p. 66. 



lllllfll1ll*lllMJlttiiW>MiwAaM 



>< !■ mil 



r..-^.--:- r-:,:-:.---.-.,- >.^->-/-.':— •-■---■--:i.v^^- :-: : / 'S'V.^^^vi^i, 



iiXaxmxon. 



TO THE 
RIGHT HONORABLE 

HENRY LORD MONTAGU,* 
<jtc. &c. dec. 

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED »T 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION". 

It it SwrMy tc he exptcted, that an Author whom the Public have honored loith some degree ~\f ap 
ri(iA« thmild not he again a trespasser on their kindness. Yet the Author o/Marmion must be sup- 
posed to feel some anxiety concerning its success, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this secoTW 
intrusion, any reputation which his first Poem may have procured him. The present story turns upor- 
Ihe private adventures of a fictitious character ; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero's 
fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. The design of the Author 
was, if possible, to apprize his readers, at the outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them for 
the manners of the Age in which it is laid. Any Historical Narrative, far more an attempt at Epit 
composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet he may be permitted to hope, from- the popularity 
o/The Lay of the Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times, upoji a 
broader scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the Public. 

The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, •** 
Beptember, 1513. 

ASHESTIEL, 1808. 



IHarmton. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 



TO 
WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ.a 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest, 
November's sky is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing down the steepy linn, 
That hems our little garden in. 
Low in its dark and narrow glen, 
Y< u scarce the rivulet might ken, 
So thick the tangled greenwood grew, 
So feeble trill'd the streamlet through : 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
Through bush and brier, no longer green, 

Lord Montagu was the second sod of Henry Dnke of Bnc- 
Meneh, by the only daughter of John last Duke of Montagu. 

* For the origin and progress of Scott's acquaintance with 
•r. Rose see Life, vols. ii. iii iv. vi. I'art of Marmion 



An angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with doubled speed. 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ;' 
No more, beneath the evening beam. 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam ; 
Away hath pass'd the heather-bell 
That bloom'd so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven, 
To shelter'd dale and down are diiven, 
Where yet some faded herbage pineSj 
And yet a watery sunbeam shines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The wither'd sward and wintry sky, 

was composed at Mr. Rose's seat in the New Foreil 
vol. iii. p. 10. 
8 M& — " No longer now in glowinj, red 

The Ettericke-Forest hills are clad.'* 



/M« 



84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Gleukmnon's rill : 
The shepherd shifts liis mantle's fold, 
And wraps liim closer from the cold;. 
His dogs, no merry circles wheel, 
But, shivering, follow at liis heel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast, 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wUd, 
As best befits the mountain duld. 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vauished flower ; 
Tlieir sunmaer gambols tell, and moTUTi, 
And anxious ask, — Will sprmg return. 
And birds and lambs again be gay. 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? 

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint yoiu" summer bower ; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
Tke garlands you delight to tie ; 
The iambs upon the lea shall boimd. 
The wild birds carol to the round, 
And while you frolic light as they. 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
'N'ew life revolving summer brings ;' 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And in her glory reappears. 
But oh ! my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate ? 
What powerful call shaU bid arise 
The buried warhke and the wise ;' 
Tlie mind that thought for Britain's weal. 
The hand that grasp'd the victor's steel ? 
Tlie vernal sun new Ufe bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he shine. 
Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine ; 

1 " The ' chano* and change' of nature, — the vicissitndes 
rliicli are observaWe in the moral aa well as the physical part 
>f the creation,- kave given occasion to more exquisite poetry 
Jian any other general subject. The author had before made 
\3iple use of the sentiments suggested by these topics ; yet he 
• not satisfief , but begins again with the same in his first in- 
mduction. The lines are certainly pleasing ; but they fall, in 
jn» entimation, far bMow that beautiful simile of the Tweed 
vhich he hns intrudnced into his former poem. The Aj, at, 
M fiiiXnKat of Mosehus is, however, worked up again to some 
►4»antag^ in the following passage; — ' To mnte,' &o." — 
Utonthly Rev., May, 1808. 

' MS. — " What call awakens from the dead 

The hero's heart, the patriot's head 7" 

• MS. — " Deep in each British bosom wrote, 

O never be those names forgot I" 

• Nelson. 

■' Copenhagen. 

• MS — " Tu:;g'd at subjection's cracking rein." 



And vainly pierce the solemn gloom. 
That slu-ouds, Pitt, thy hallow'd tomb ! 

Deep graved va. every British heart, 
never let those names depart !* 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ;* 
To him, as to the biu-ning levin. 
Short, bright, resistless course was givenu 
Where'er his coimtry's foes were found, 
Was heard the fated thimder's sotmd, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
RoU'd, blazed, destroy'd, — and was no more 

Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth, 
Who bade the conqueror go forth, 
And launch'd that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar ; 
Wlio, born to guide such high emprize, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave. 
For Britain's sius, an early grave ! 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spiu-n'd at the sordid lust of pelf, 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strain'd at subjection's bursting rein," 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gain'd, 
Tlie pride, he would not crush, restrain'd, 
Show'd their fierce zeal a worthier cause,' 
And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the fire« 
man's laws. 

Had'st thou but lived, though stripp'd of 
power,* 
A watclunan on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land. 
When fraud or danger were at hand* 
By thee, as by the beacon-hght. 
Our pilots had kept course aright ; 
As some proud column, though alone 

' MS. — " Show'd their hold zeal a worthier cause " 
* This paragraph was interpolated on the blank page of tiM 
MS. We insert the lines as they appear there : — 
" O had he Hved, though stripp'd of power, 
Like a lone watchman on the tower. 
His thrilling trumpet through the land 
Had wam'd when foemen were at hind. 
As by some beacon's lonely light, 

thee our couree had steer'd aright ; 
inr steady course had steer'( 
i.ir pilots kept their course ; 
His single mind, unbent by fate. 
Had propp'd his country's tottering freight; 

Ab some \ ^ | column left alone, 
( vast S 

Had propp'd our tottering state and throne, 

His strength had propp'd our tottering throne 

The beacon light is qnench'd in smoke. 

The warder fallen, the column broke." 



AS [ 

(By I 
i Our 
( Ok 



3 "S"'. 

er'd aright ; \ 

r'd aright ; V 

i aright ; I 



MARMION. 



8t 



Thy stren^^h had propp'd the tottering throne : 
Now ia the stately cnlumn broke, 
The beacon-Ught ie quench'd in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is still, 
The warder sUent on the hill I 

Oh think, how to his latest day,' 
Wlien Death, just hovering, claim'd his prey, 
With i'alinure's unalter'd mood, 
Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
Each call for needful rest repell'd. 
With dying hand the rudder held, 
Till in his faU, with fateful sway, 
ITie steerage of the realm gave way I 
Then while on Britain's thousand plains, 
One unpolluted church remains. 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound, 
But stiU, upon the halloVd day," 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here I 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
Because his rival slumbers nigh ; 
Nor be thy requieseat dumb, 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.' 
For talents mourn, untimely lost. 
When best employ'd, and wanted most ; 
MoiuTi genius high, and lore profound. 
And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
And aU the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave, 

I MS.—" Tet think how to his latest day." 
• MS.—" But still upon the holy day." 
8 In place of fhis couplet, and the ten lines which follow it, 
lie original MS. of Marraion has only the following : — 

" If genius high and judgment sound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound, 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine. 
Could save one mortal of the herd 
From error — Fcx had never err'd." 

' While Scott was correcting a second proof of the passage 
where Pitt and Fox are mentioned together, at Stanmore Priory, 
b April, 1807, Lord Abercorn suggested that the compliment 
to the Whig statesman ought to be still further heightened, and 
leveral lines — 

' For talents mourn untimely lost. 
When best employed, aitd wanted most,' &c. — 
were added accordingly. I have heard, indeed, that they came 
from iJie Marquis's own pen. Ballantyne, however, from some 
inadvertence had put the sheet to press before the revise, as it 
B called, arrived in Edinburgh, and some few copies got abroad 
k uhieh the additional couplets were omitted. A London 



Be every harsher thought suppress'd, 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; 
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke agen, 
" All peace on eartlo, good-will to men " 
If ever from an EngUsh heart, 
0, here let prejudice depart; 
And, partial feeling cast aside,* 
Record, that Fox a Bnton. died ! 
When Europe crouch'd to France's yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave. 
Was barter'd by a timorous slave, 
Even then dishonor's peace he spurn' d, 
The suUied olive-branch return'd, 
Stood for his country's glory fast. 
And nail'd her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward his firimiess, gave 
A portion in this honor'd grave, 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust.* 

With more than mortal powers endow'd. 
How high they soar'd above the crowd ' 
Theirs was no conmion party race,' 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ■, 
Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
Beneath each banner proud to stand, 
Look'd up the noblest of the land, 
TUl through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
SpeUs of such force no wizard grave 

journal (the Morning Chronicle) was stupid and mallgnaa) 
enough to insinuate that the author had his presentation copiei 
struck off with or without them, according as they were loi 
Whig or Tory hands. I mention the circumstance now ou'y 
because I see by a letter of Heber's that Scott had thought it 
worth his while to contradict the absurd charge in the ne'«'» 
papers of the day." — Lockhart, Life of Scott, vol. iii. \. ?1 

■• MS. — " And party passion doff'd aside ' 

""The first epistolary effusion, contaming a ttret.x^j 31 
Nelson, Pitt, and Fox, exhibits a remarkable failure. Wb in 
nnwilHng to quarrel with a poet on the score of politics , hot 
the manner in which he has chosen to praise the Isj'w of thes« 
great men, is more likely, we conceive, to give offence to hii 
admirers, than the most direct censure. The or.ly deed foj 
which he is praised is for having broken off the negotiation fa 
peace; and for this act of firmness, it is added. Heaven r& 
warded him with a share in the honored grave of Pitt ! It ii 
then said that his errors should be forgotten, and that he dJed 
a Briton — a pretty plain insinuation that, in tlie author's opin 
ion, he did not live one; and Just such an encomium as ht 
himself pronounces over the grave of his villain hero, Ma* 
mion." — Jeffrey. 

" MS — " Theirs was no common courtir r?i<w ' 



86 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


E'er frame J in dark Tbessalian cave, 


Like frostwork in the morning ray. 


ITiough his could dram the ocean dry, 


The fancied fabric melts away * 


And force the planets from the sky.' 


Ekch Gothic arch, memorial-stoue. 


These spells are spent, and, spent with these, 


And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone • 


The wine of hfe is on the lees. 


And, lingering last, deception dear, 


Genius, and taste, and talent gone. 


The choir's high sotmds die on my ear. 


Forever tomb'd beneath the stone, 


Now slow retiu-n the lonely down, 


Where — taming thought to human pride I — 


Tlie silent pastures bleak and brown, 


'Ilie mighty chiefs sleep side by side.* 


The farm begirt with copse wood w'Jd, 


Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 


The gambols of each frolic child. 


'Twill trickle to his rival's bier ; 


Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 


O'er Pirr's the mournful requiem sound, 


Of Tweed's dark waters rushing oa i 


And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 




The solemn echo seems to cry, — 


Prompt on unequal tasks to run) 


" Here let their discord with them die. 


Thus Nature discipUnea her son : 


Speak not for those a separate doom, 


Meeter, she says, for me to stray, 


Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb ; 


And waste the soUtary day. 


But search the land of living men. 


In plucking from yon fen the reed. 


Where wilt thou find their like agen ?" 


Anfl watch it floating down the Tweed ; 




Or idly list the shrilling lay. 


Rest, ardent Spuits ! tiU the cries 


With which the milkmaid cheers her way, 


Of dying Nature bid you rise ; 


Marking its cadence rise and fail, 


Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 


As from the field, beneath her pail. 


The leaden silence of your hearse ; 


She trips it down the tmeven dale ; 


Then, 0, how impotent and vain 


Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 


This grateful tributary strain ! 


The ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 


Though not immark'd from northern clime, 


Though oft he stop in rustic feai',* 


Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 


Lest his old legends tire the ear 


His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 


Of one, who, in his simple mind. 


The Bard you deign'd to praise, your deathless 


May boast of book-learn'd taste refined 


names has sung. 






But thou, my friend, can'st fitly tell 


Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 


(For few have read romance so well). 


My wilder'd fancy still beguile I 


How stiU the legendary lay 


From tills high theme how can I part, 


O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 


Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 


How on the ancient minstrel strain 


For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 


Tune lays his palsied hand in vain ; 


And all the raptures fancy knew, 


And how om* hearts at doughty deeds. 


And all the keener rush of blood, 


By warriors wrought in steely weeds, 


That tlu-obs through bard in bard-like mood. 


StiU tlirob for fear and pity's sake ; 


Were here a tribute mean and low. 


As when the Champion of the Lake 


Though all their mingled streams could flow — 


Enters Morgana's fated house. 


Woe, wonder, and sensation liigh. 


Or in the Chapel Perilous, 


In one spring-tide of ecstasy 1 — 


Despising spells and demons' force. 


It win not be — it may not last — 


Holds converse with the imburied corse ;• 


The vision of enchantment's past : 


Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move 


MS. — " And force the pale moon from the sky." 


Which hushes all ! a calm tinstonny wave 


" Reader ! remember when thou wert a lad, 


Which oversweeps the world. The theme is otd 


Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, bo much, 


Of dust to dust ;' but half its tale untold ; 


His very rival almost deem'd him such. 
We, we have seen the intellectual race 




lime Lempers noi its lerrora. — — ^^— 

Byron's ^ge of Brtnu 


Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face ; 


• " If bnt a beam of sober reason play. 


Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea 


Lol Fancy's fairy frostwork melt^ away." 


Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free. 


Rogers' Pleasures of Menor$ 


As the deep billows of the ^Egean roar 


« MS. — " Though oft he stops to wonder still 


Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore. 


That his old legends have tlie skill 


But where are they — the rivals ! — a few feet 


To win so well the attentive ear, 


Of snllen earth divide each winding-sheet. 


Perchance to draw the sigh or tear " 


Uow peaceful and how powerful is *Jie greve 


' Bee Appendix, Note A. 



CAKTO I. 



MARMION. 



87 



(Alas, that lawless was their love 1) 
He sought proud Tarquiii in his den, 
And free fuU sixty knights ; or when, 
A sinful man, and uneonfess'd, 
He took the Sangreal's holy quest, 
And, rilumbering, saw the vision high. 
He might not view with waking eye.* 

The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorn'd not «uch legends to prolong: 
Tiey gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, 
And mix in Miltqp's lieavenly theme ; 
And Dryden, in immortal strain. 
Had raised the Table Roimd again,* 
But that a ribald King and Court 
Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; 
Demanded for their niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay. 
Licentious satire, song, and play ;' 
The world defrauded of the high design,* 
Profaned the God-given strength, and marr'd 
the lofty line. 

"Warm'd by such names, well may we then, 
Though dwindled sons of little men, 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's ceU, 
Where long through talisman and spell, 
Wliile tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
Tliy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
There somid the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth, 
On ventxu-ous quest to prick again, 
In all his arms, with all his train,* 
Slueld, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf, 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of might. 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Aroimd the Genius weave their spells. 
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells ; 
Mystery, half veil'd and half reveal'd ; 
And Honor, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fix'd eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 



Sap Appendix, Note B. 



2 Ibid. Note C. 



MS -' 
MS- 



Kgam, 



Licentious stng, lampoon, and play." 
The world defrauded of the bold design, 
And q'lench'd the heroic / fire, and marr'd the 
Profaned tht heavenly > lofty line." 



' Profaned hii Gcd-g:ven strength, and marr'd ftz's lofty line." 
' In the MS. im -w; of the passage stands as follows : — 

" Around him wait with all their \ <^'''^""'» 
^ ( spells, 

Pure Love which \ ^'^ae only warms ; 

r scarce his paasion tells ; 

Mystery, half seen and half conceal'd ; 
Awl Honor, with unspotted shield ; 



And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death 
And Valor, lion-mettled lord. 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown, 
A worthy meed may thus be won ; 
Ytene's* oaks — beneath whose sliade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart and Bevis bold,' 
And that Red King,* who, while of old. 
Through Boldrewood the chase he led. 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled— • 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renewed such legendary strain ; 
For thou hast sung, how He of Gaul, 
That Amadis so famed in hall. 
For Oriana, foil'd in fight 
The Necromancer's felon might ; 
And well in modern verse hast wove 
Partenopex's mystic love :' 
Hear, then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder d»f. 



iH a r m i n 



CANTO FIRST. 



STj^e Castle 



Day set on Norham's castled steep,'" 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 

And Cheviot's mountains lone : 
The battled towers, the donjon keep," 
The loophole grates, where captives weep^ 
The flanking walls that round it sweep. 

In yellow lustre shone." 
The warriors on the turrets higli, 
Moving athwart the evening sky," 

Seem'd forms of giant height : 
Their armor, as it caught the rays, 

Attention, with fix'd eye ; and Feai, 

That loves the tale she shrinks to near; 

And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 

And Valor that despises death." 
6 The New Forest in Hampshire, anciently so callad. 
' See Appendix, > ote D. 
e William Rufus. 

9 Partenopex tie Blots, a poem, by W S. Rose, Eiq., tn 
published in 1808.— Ed. 

' See Appendix, Note E. Ibid. Note K. 

12 In the MS. the first line has " hoary keep :" tli« rotini 
" donjon steep ;" the seventh " ruddy lustre." 
18 M3.— " Eastern skj." 



fi8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANTC k 



Flasb'd back again the western blaze,' 
In lines of dazzling light. 

n. 

Saint George's banner, broad and gay, 
I^ow faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
The evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their search 

The Castle gates were barr'd ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, | 

Tim i ng his footsteps to a march. 

The Warder kept his guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient Border gathering song. 

IIL 

A distant trampling soimd he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
O'er HorncUif-hiU a plmnp" of spears, 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade, 
That closed the Castle barricade, 

His bugle horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall, 
And warn'd the Captain in the hall, 
For well the blast he knew ; 
And joyfully that knight did call. 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal 

IV. 
" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe, 
And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his glee. 

And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot :' 

Lord Marmiox waits below 1" 
Then to the Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall. 
The iron-studded gates unbarr'd, 

, " Evening blaze." 

» This word i)roi)erly applies to a flight of water-fowl ; Dnt 

■ ppbed, by analogy, to a body of horse. 

" There is a knight of the North Country, 
Which leads a \\xsty plump of spears." 

Flodden Field. 
MS.--" A welcome shot." 

« MS.— •" On his brown cheek an aznre scar 
Bora *oken true of Boswonh war." 



Raised the portcullis' ponderous g lard, 
The lofty palisade unsparr'd 
And let the drawbridge falL 



Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, 
Proudly his red-roan charger trode. 
His hehn hung at the saddlebow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stal worth knight, and keen, 
And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown cheek^reveal'd* 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of file, 
ShoVd spu-it proud, and prompt to ire ; 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare, 
His thick mustache, and curly hau-, 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, 

But more through toil than age ; . 
His square-turned joints, and strength of limb 
Show'd him no carpet knight so trim. 
But in close tight a champion grim. 

In camps a leader sage.* 

VL 

Well was he arm'd from head to heel. 

In mail and plate of Milan steel ;° 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost. 

Was all with burnish'd gold emboss'd: 

Amid the plmnage of the crest, 

A falcon hover'd on her nest. 

With wings outspread, and forward breast ; 

E'en such a falcon, on his sliield, 

Soar'd sable in an azure field : 

The golden legend bore aright, 

212^1)0 cl)ecfes at me, to HcatJ) is liifll)t.' 

Blue was the charger's broider'd rein ; 

Blue ribbons deck'd his arcliing mane ; 

The knightly housing's ample fcid 

Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold. 

VIL 
Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
Of noble name, and knightly sires ; 
They bum'd the gilded spurs to claim ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame, 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, 

' " Marmion is to Deloraine what Tom Jones is to Jost!|:A 
Andrews : the varnish of higher breeding.' nowhe-e diminishet 
the prominence of the features ; and the minion of a king if 
as light and sinewy a cavalier as the Bordere —rather lea 
ferocious — more wicked, not less fit for the hero of a ballad 
and much more so for the hen) of a regular poem. ' — Gkoroi 
Ellis. 

9 See Appendix, Note 6. 
1 raid. Note H. 



OAHTO I. 



MARMION. 



86 



Ajid lightly bear the ring away ; 


The cannon from the ramparts glanced, 


^iTor less with courteous precepts stored, 


And thundering welcome gave. 


Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 


A blithe salute, in mai-tial sort. 


And frame love-ditties passing rare. 


The minstrels well might' sound, 


And sing them to a lady fair. 


For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court, 




He scatter'd angels round. 


VIIL 


" Welcome to Norham, Marmion I 


Four men-at-arms came at their backs. 


Stout heart, and open hand 1 


With halbert, bill, and battle-axe : 


Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. 


They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,' 


Thou flower of English land 1" 


And led his sumpter-mules along, 




And ambling palfrey, when at need 


XL 


Him listed ease his battle-steed. 


Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck. 


The last and trustiest of the four, 


With silver scutcheon round their neck, 


On high his forky pennon bore ; 


Stood on the steps of stone. 


Like swallow's tail, hi shape and hue. 


By which you reach the donjon gate. 


riutter'd the streamer glossy blue, 


And there, with herald pomp and state. 


Where, blazon'd sable, as before, 


Tliey haii'd Lord Marmion :' 


The towering falcon seem'd to soar. 


They haii'd him Lord of Fontenaye, 


Last, twenty yeomen, two and two. 


Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 


In hosen black, and jerkins blue, 


Of Tamworth tower and town :* 


With falcons broider'd on each breast, 


And he, their courtesy to requite, 


Attended on their lord's behest. 


Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weighty 


Each, chosen for an archer good. 


All as he lighted down. 


Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 


" Now, largesse, largesse,* Lord Marmion, 


Each one a six-foot bow could bend, 


Knight of the crest of gold 1 


And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 


A blazon'd shield, in battle won, 


Each held a boar-spear tough and strong 


Ne'er guarded heart so bold." 


And at their belts their quivers rung 




Their dusty palfreys, and array, 


XIL 


Show'd they had march'd a weary way. 


They marshaU'd him to the Castle-hall, 




Where the guests stood aU aside, 


IX. 


And loudly flourish'd the trumpet-call. 


'Tis meet that I should tell you now. 


And the heralds loudly cried, 


How fairly arm'd, and order'd how. 


— " Room, lordlings, room for Lord Marmion 


The soldiers of the guard. 


With the crest and helm of gold ! 


With musket, pike, and morion, 


Full well we know the trophies won 


To welcome noble Marmion, 


In the lists at Cottiswold : 


Stood in the Castle-yard ; 


There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strov* 


Minstrels and tnmi peters were there, 


'Gainst Marmion's force to stand: 


The gnnner held his linstock yare. 


To liim he lost his lady-love, 


For welcome-shot prepared : 


And to the King his land. 


Enter'd the traiu, and such a clang,' 


Ourselves beheld the listed field. 


As then tlorough all his turrets rang, 


A sight both sad and fair ; 


Old Norham never heard. 


We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,* 




And saw his saddle bare ; 


X. 


We saw the victor win the crest 


T3»a guards their morrice-pikes advanced. 


He wears with worthy pride ; 


The trumpets flourish'd brave. 


And on the gibbet-tree, reversed. 



i MS.— ' Orj bore Lord Marmion's lance bo strong, 
Two led his snmpter-mules along, 
The third his palfrey, when at need." 

* MS. — " And when he enter'd, such a clang 

As through the echoing turrets rang." 

• "The most picturesque of all poets, Homer, is frequently 
ninote, to the utmost degree, in the description of the dresses 
tu^ acoDtrb^ents of his personages. These particulars, often 
12 



inconsiderable in themselves, have the effect of giving tmti 
and identity to the picture, and assist the mind in realizing 
the scenes, in a degree which no general description coa.d 
suggest ; nor could we so completely enter the Castle with 
Lord Marmion, were any circumstances of the descriptioa 
omitted." — British Critic. 



4 See Appendix, Note I. 

« MS.—" Cleave his shield." 



e Ibid. Note K 



90 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 1 



Hiw foeman's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight I 

Room, room, ye gentles gay. 
For him who conquer'd in the right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye 1" 

XIII. 
T&en eitepp' d to meet that noble Lord, 

Sir Hugb the Heron bold, 
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold.' 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 
Raised o'er the pavement high. 
And placed him in the upper place — 

They feasted fuU and high : 
The -whiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

"H(m the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridley i 
all? 
Stout Willimondswick, 
And Hardriding Dick, 
And Hughie of Uawdon, and Will o' the 
Wall, 
Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 
And taken his life at the Deadtnan's-shaw." 
Scantily Lord Marmion's ear could brook 

The harper's barbarous lay ; 
Yet much he praised the pains he took, 
And well those pains did pay : 
For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain. 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 

XIV. 

" Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron saya, 

" Of your fair courtesy, 
I pray you bide some little space 

In this poor tower with me. 
Here may you keep your arms from rust, 

May breathe your war-horse well; 
Seldom has pass'd a week but giust 

Or feats of arms befell : 
The Scots can rein a mettled steed ; 

And love to couch a spear ; — 
Saint George ! a stu-ring life they lead. 

That have such neighbors near 
ITien stay with us a little space. 

Our northern wars to learn ; 
] pray you, for yoiu* lady's grace 1" 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stem. 

See Anpendix, Note u. > Ibid. Note M. 

MS. — " J}nd let me pray thee fair." 
MS. — " To rub a shield or sharp a brand." 
• MS. — " Lord Marmion ill such jest could brook, 
He roU'd his kindling eye ; 
Fix'd on the Knight his dark hanght look, 
And answer'd stem and high : 
' That page ihou didst so closely eye, 
9o fair of hand and skin. 



XV. 

The Captain mark'd his alter'd look. 

And gave a squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassail-bowl he took, 

And crown'd it high in wine. 
" Now pledge me here. Lord Marmion ; 

But first I pray thee fair,' 
Where hast thou left that page of thine, 
That used to serve thy cup of wine, 

Whose beauty waa so rare ? 
When last in Raby towers we met, 

The boy I closely eyed. 
And often mark'd his cheeks were wet, 

With tears he fain would liide : 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
To bm-nish sliield or sharpen brand,* 

Or saddle battle-steed ; 
But meeter seemed for lady fair. 
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair. 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 

The slender silk to lead : 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 

His bosom — when he sigh'd. 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower ? 
Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 

A gentle paramour ?" 

XVL 
Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest ; 

He roU'd his kindling eye. 
With pain his rising wrath suppress'd. 

Yet made a calm reply : 
" That boy thou thought'st so goodly faif , 

He might not brook the northern air. 
More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, 

I left him sick in Lindisfarn :' 
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say. 
Why does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to day ? 
Or has that dame, so fair and sage. 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage 1"— 
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whisper'd hght tales of Heron's dame. 

XVIL 

Unmark'd, at least unreck'd, the taunt, 
Careless the Knight repUed,' 

Is come, I ween, of lineage high. 

And of thy lady's kin. 
That youth, so like a paramour, 

Who wept for shame and pride. 
Was erst, in Wilton's lordly bower 
Sir Ralph de Wilton's bride.' " 
* See Note 2 B, canto ii. stanza 1. 
' MS. — " Whisper'd strange things of Heron's daoM. 
e MS.—" The Captain gay replied." 



OANTO 1. 



MARMION. 



»1 



*No bird, wLose feathers gayly flaunt, 


Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 


Delights in cage to bide : 


Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 


Norham is grim and grated close, 


Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 


Hemm'd in by balllement and fosse. 




And many a darksome tower ; 


XXL 


A nd better loves my lady bright 


The Captain mused a httle space, 


To siv " wJiuerty and light, 


And pass'd his hand across his face. 


In ittir Queen Margaret's bower 


— " Fain would I find the guide you van 


We hold oiir greyhound in owe hand, 


But ill may spare a pursuivant. 


Our falcon on om- glove ; 


The only men that safe can ride 


But where shall we find leash or ban*:, 


Mine errands on the Scottish side : 


For dame that loves to rove ? 


And though a bishop built this fort, 


Let the wild falcon soar her swinjf, 


Few holy brethren here resort ; 


She'll stoop when she has tired her wing." — • 


Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 




Since our last siege, we have not seen : , 


XVIII. 


The mass he might not sing or say, 


"Nay if with Royal James's bride 


Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 


The lovely Lady Heron bide, 


So, safe he sat in Diu-ham aisle. 


Behold me here a messenger, 


And pra/d for our success the while. 


Your tender greetings prompt to bear ; 


Our Norham vicar, woe betide. 


For, to the Scottish court address'd, 


Is all too well in case to ride ; 


I journey at our King's behest, 


The priest of Shoreswood* — ^he could rein 


And pray you, of your grace, provide 


The wildest war-horse in yom- train ; 


For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 


But then, no spearman in the haU 


I have not ridden in Scotland since 


Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawL 


James back'd the cause of that mock prince. 


Friar John of Tillmouth were the man 


Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. 


A bUthesome brother at the can, 


Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 


A welcome guest in hall and bower. 


Then did I march with Surrey's power, 


He knows each castle, town, and tower, 


W hat time we razed old Ayton tower," — * 


In which the wme and ale is good, 




'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 


XIX. 


But that good man, as ill befalls, 


" For such-like need, my lord, I trow. 


Hath seldom left oiu- castle walla, 


Norham can find you guides enow ; 


Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, 


For here be some have prick'd as far, 


In evil hom-, he cross'd the Tweed, 


On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 


To teach Dame Alison her creed. 


Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale. 


Old Bughtrig found him with his wife ; 


And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 


And John, an enemy to strife^ 


Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 


Sans frock and hood, fled for his hfe. 


And given them hght to set their hoods." — ' 


The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 




That, if again he ventine o'er. 


XX. 


He shall shrieve penitent no mora 


■* Now, m good sooth," Lord Marmion cried, 


Little he loves such risks, I know ; 


" Were I in warlike wise to ride, 


Yet, in your guard, perchance wiU ga" 


A better guard I would not lack, 




Than your stout forayers at my back ; 


XXIL 


Bat; "IS in form of peace I go. 


Young Selby, at the fair hall-board. 


A fii-jnily messenger, to know. 


Carved to his uncle and that lord. 


W hy tht-ough all Scotland, near and far. 


Aid reverently took up the word. 


Their King is mustering troops for war, 


" Kind uncle, woe were we each one, 


The sight of plundering Border spears 


K harm should hap to brother John. 


Might justify suspicious fears, 


He is a man of mirthful speech, 


And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, 


Can many a game and gambol teach : 


Break o-jt in some unseemly broU : 


FuU well at tables can he play. 


A herald were my fittmg guide ; 


And sweep at bowls the stake awa^. 


' MS.—" She'll stoop ajain when tired her wing." 


' See Appendix, Note O. 


« See Ajipendix. Note N. 


* Ibid. Nota P. 



»2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I 



None can a lustier carol bawl. 

The needfullest among us all. 

When time hangs heavy in the hall, 

And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 

And we can neither hunt, nor ride 

A foray on the Scottish side. 

The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude, 

May ena in worse than loss of hood. 

Let Friar John, in safety, still 

In chimney-corner snore his fill. 

Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill : 

Last night, to Norham there came one, 

Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 

" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay, 

WeU hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say." — 

XXIIL 
" Here is a holy Palmer come, 
From Salem first, and last fi-om Rome ; 
One, that hath kiss'd the blessed tomb^ 
And visited each holy shrine. 
In Araby and Palestine ; 
On hills of Armenie hath been, 
Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 
By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 
Which parted at the prophet's rod ; 
In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
The Mount, where Israel heard the law 
'Mid thimder-dint, and flashing levin, 
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 
He shows Saint James's cockle-shell, 
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 

And of that Grot where OUves nod,' 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From aU the youth of Sicily, 

Saint Rosalie'' retired to God.* 

XXIV. 

" To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he pray'd. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks for slirines beyond the Forth ; 
Little he eats, and long wiU wake, 
A nd drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But, when our Jolm hath quaff 'd his ale. 
As Uttle as the wind tliat blows, 

' MS.~" And of the olive's ihaded cell." 
' MS.—" Retired to God St. Rosalie." 

• Pee Appendix, Note Q.. 

• MS. — " And with metheglin warm'd his n«8e, 

As little as," &o. 

• " This poem has faalts of too great magnitade to be passed 
withoat notice. There is a debasing lowness and vulgarity in 
lome passages, which we hink must be oflTensive to every 
•>ader of delicacy, and which are not, for the most part, re- 
•aamed I jr any vigor or picturesque effect. The venison pasties, 



And warms itself against his nose,* 
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.''—* 

XXV. 
" Gramercy 1" quoth Lord Marmion. 
" Full loth were L that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me. 
Were placed in fear or jeopardy. 
If this same Pahuer will me lead 

From hence to Holy-Rood, 
Like his good saint, I'U pay his meeq 
Instead of cockle-shell, or bead. 

With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 
They know to charm a weary hill. 

With song, romance, or lay : 
Some jovial talc, or glee, or jest. 
Some lying legend, at the least. 

They bring to cheer the way."— 

XXVL 

" Ah 1 noble sir," young Selby said. 

And finger on his Up he laid, 

"This man knows much, perchance e'tn mon 

Than he could learn by holy lore. 

StUl to himself he's muttering. 

And slu-inks as at some unseen thing. 

Last night we listen'd at his cell ; 

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth t ) toll. 

He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er 

No hving mortal could be near. 

Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, 

As other voices spoke again. 

I cannot tell — I hke it not — 

Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 

No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 

Can rest awake, and pray so long. 

Himself still sleeps before his beads 

Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds." — * 

XXVIL 
— " Let pass," quoth Marmion ; " by my faj, 
This man shall guide me on my way. 
Although the great arch-fiend and he 
Had sworn themselves qf company. 
So please you, gentle youth, to call 
This Pahner' to the Castle-hall." 
The summon'd Palmer came in place ; 
His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; 

wei think, are of this description ; and this commemor&tioa M 
Sir Hugh Heron's troopers, who 

' Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale,' &o. 

The long accoont of Friar John, though not without merit 
oifends in the same sort, nor can we easily conceive, how Ui| 
one could venture, in a serious poem, to speak of 

' the wind that blows. 

And warms itself against his nose.' " — Jeffrbt. 
• See Appendix, Note R. ^ Ibiil. Note 8. 



nANTO 1. 



MARMION. 



Ot 



In his black mantle was he clad, 
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 

On his broad shoulders wrought 
The scallop shell his cap did deck ; 
The crucifix around his neck 

Was from Loretto brought ; 
IliS sandals were with travel tore. 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
The faded palm-branch in his hand 
Show'd pUgrim fi"om the Holy Land.' 

XXVIII. 
When as the Palmer came in hall, 
Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall, 
Or had a statelier step withal, 

Or look'd more high and keen ; 
For no saluting did he wait. 
But strode across the hall of state. 
And fronted Marmion where he sate,* 

As he his peer had been. 
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while I 
And when he struggled at a smile. 

His eye look'd haggard wild : 
Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his wan face, and sun-bum'd hair. 

She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe, 
Soon change the form that best we know— 
For deadly fear can time outgo, 

And blanch at once the htur ; 
Hard tod can roughen form and face,' 
And want can quench the eye's bright grace 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall,* 
Sut this poor Palmer knew them aU, 

XXIX. 

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task, 
So he would march with morning tide,* 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
" But *i have solemn vows to pay, 
And may not linger by the way, 

To fair St. Andrews bound, 
Within the ocean-cave to pray, 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay. 



1 " The first presentment of the mysterions Palmer is .anda- 
H*." — Jkfprey. 

* MS. — " And near Loiil Marmion took his seat." 

• MS. — " Hard toil can alter form and face, 

^ C roughen youthful grace. 
And want can ] quench > ^^^ ^^ „ 

I dim \ 

* MS. — " Happy whom none snch woes befall." 

• MS. — " So he world ride with morning tide." 



From midnight to the dawn of day. 

Sung to the billows' sound ;* 
Thence to Saint FiUan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can phrensied dreams dii pe^ 

And the crazed brain restore :' 
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 
Coidd back to peace my bosom bring, 

Or bid it throb no more 1" 

XXX. 

And now the midnight draught of sleep 
Where wine and spices richly steep, 
In massive bowl of silver deep, 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The Captain pledged his noble guest, 
The cup went through among the rest, 

Who drain'd it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer pass'd it by, 
Though Selby press'd him courteously. 
This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
It hush'd the merry wassel roar,* 

The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle naught was heard. 
But the slow footstep of the guard. 

Pacing his sober round. 

XXXL 
With early dawn Lord Marmion rest, • 
And first the chapel doors imclose ; 
Then, after morning rites were done 
(A hasty mass from Friar John),'* 
And knight and squire had broke th^ii 

fast. 
On rich substantial repast. 
Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse : 
Then came the stuTup-cup in course : 
Between the Baron and Ins host. 
No point of courtesy was lost : 
High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid. 
Solemn excuse the Captain made. 
Tin, filing from the gate, had pass'd 
That noble train, their Lord the last. 
Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
Thunder'd the cannon from the wall. 

And shook the Scottish shore ; 
Around the castle eddied slow, 
Volumes of smoke as white as snow, 

And hid its turrets hoar ; 



» See Appendix, Note T. ^ Ibid. Note 

B MS. — " The cup pass'd roDnd iimong the rert. 

8 MS. — " Soon died the merry wassel roar." 

10 "In Catholic countries, in order to reconcile the pleasarM 
of the great with the observances of religion, it WM common, 
when a party was bent for the chase, to celebrate m\M, abrmged 
and maimed of its rites, called a hunting-mass, the brevity o< 
which was designed to correspond with the im])alienM of tkm 
audience. "—ATote to "The Mbot." JVeio Edit 



84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO U 



Till they roll'd forth upon the air,' 
And met the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



JHarmion. 



INTEODUCTION TO CATTTO SECOND. 



TO THE 
REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M. 

Ashestiel, Ettrich Forest. 
The scenes are desert now, and bare, 
Where flourish'd once a forest fair," 
When these waste glens with copse were lined. 
And peopled with the hart and hind. 
Yon Thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
Have fenced him for three hmidred years, 
While fell around his green compeers — 
Yon lonely Thorn, would he could teU 
The changes of his parent dell,' 
Since he, so gray and stubborn now. 
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; 
Would he coiild tell how deep the shade 
A thousand mingled branches made ; 
How broad the shadows of the oak, 
How clung the rowan* to the rock. 
And through the foliage show'd his head, 
With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
What pines on every moimtain sprung, 
O'er every deU what birches himg. 
In every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook 1 

" Here, in my shade," metliinks he'd say, 
" The mighty stag at noon-tide lay : 
The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game 
(The neigliboring dingle bears his name), 
With lurcliing step around me prowl. 
And stop, against tlie moon to howl ; 
The moimtain-boar, on battle set, 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 

> MS.—" Slow they roll'd forth upon the air." 

* See Appendix, Note V. 

• "The second epistle opens again with 'chance and change;' 
kut it cannot be denied that the mode in which it is introduced 
e new and poetical. The comparison of Ettrick Forest, now 
»\ien and nalted, with the state in which it once was — covered 
with wood, the favorite resort of the royal hunt, and the refuge 
of daring ontif ws — leads the poet to imagine an ancient thorn 
lifted with the powers of reason, and relating the various 
■cenes which it has witnessed during a peliod of three hundred 
iivn. A melancholy train of fancy is naturally encouraged 

tJie idea." — Monthly Hevieto, 



While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, 
Have bomided by, thiough gay green-wooct. 
Then oft, from Newark's' riven tower, 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals muster'd round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and houni 
And I might see the youth intent, 
Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; 
And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 
And foresters, in green-wood trim. 
Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, 
Attentive, as the bratchet's' bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey, 
To sUp them as he broke away. 
The startled quaiTy bounds amain. 
As fast the gallant greyhotmds strain ; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry, 
And bugles ringing lightsomely," 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales, 
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow' 
But not more bUthe than silvan court. 
Than we have been at humbler sport ; 
Though small our pomp, and mean oiu- game, 
Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. 
Remember'st thou my greyhotmds true I 
O'er holt or hill there never flew. 
From slip or leash there never sprang, 
More fleet of foot, or siu-e of fang. 
Nor duU, between each merry chase, 
Pass'd by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fair resource in store, 
In Classic and in Gotliic lore : 
We mark'd each memorable scene. 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along. 
But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now — for now are still 
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowliill !* 
No longer, from thy mountains dun. 

* Mountain-ash. 

MS. — " How broad the ash his shadows flung, 
How to the rock the rowan clnng." 

s See Notes to the Lay of the I ast Minstrel. 

« Slowhound. 

' The Tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newarl 
Castle and Ettrick Forest against the King, may be found in 
the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. In the Macfarlane MS., amon| 
other causes of James the Fifth's charter to the burgh of Sel- 
kirk, is mentioned, that the citizens assisted him to soppren 
this dangerous outlaw. 

e A seat of the Duke of Bucclench on the Yarrow, In Bt 
trick Forest. See Notes to the Lay of the I^ast MinstiaL 



CANTO I. 



MARMIOK 



9^ 



The yeoman hears the well-kno'WTi gun, 
And while his honest heart glows warm. 
At thought of his paternal farm, 
Round to his mates a brimmer fills. 
And drinks, " The Chieftain of the Hills 1" 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, 
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh ; 
No youthful Baron's left to grace 
The ^^orest-Sheriff' 8 lonely chase, 
A nd ape, in manly step and tone, 
The majesty of Oberon ;' 
And she is gone, whose lovely face 
Is but her least and lowest grace ;' 
Tliough if to Sylpliid Queen 'twere given. 
To show our earth the charms of Heaven, 
She could not gUde along the air, 
With form more hght, or face more fair. 
No more the widow's deafen'd ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to hear ; 
At noontide she expects her not, 
Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
Pensive she turns her humming wheel, 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread. 
The gentle hand by which they're fed. 

From Yair, — which hUls so closely bind. 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find, 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil, 
Till aU his eddying currents boil, — 
Her long-descended lord' is gone, 
And left 'us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys,* 
Companions of my mountain joys, 
Just. at the age 'twixt boy and youth. 
When thought is speech, and speech is truth- 
Close to my side, with what delight 
Tliey press'd to hear of Wallace wight, 
When, pointing to his airy moimd, 
I call'd his rampart e holy ground 1* 
Kjndled their brows to hear me speak ; 
And I Kave smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Despite tl ~ difference of our years, 
Return agam the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, 
fhey will not, cannot, long endure ; 

Mr. Marriott was governor to the yonng nobleman here 
».' ided to, George Henry, Lord Scott, son to Charles, Earl of 
D»lkeith (afterwards Duke of Bucclench and dueensberry), 
wi'l who died early in 1808. — See Life of Scott, vol. iii. 
PI.. 59-61. 

» The fonr next lines on Harriet, Countess of Dalkeith, af- 
«rwards Duchess of Bncclenph, were not in the original MS. 

s The late Alexander Pringle, Esq., of Whytbank — whose 
naotiful seat of the Yair stands on the Tweed, about two 
■iles below A ihestiel, the then residence of the poet. 

* The Bons «.r Mr Pringle of Whytbank. 



Condemn'd to stem the world's rude tide, 

You may not linger by the side ; 

For Fate shall thrust you from the sliore, 

And Passion ply the sail and oar.* 

Yet cherish the remembrance still. 

Of the lone moimtain and the rUl ; 

For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 

When fiercer transport shall be dumb, 

And you wUl think right frequently. 

But, well I hope, without a sigh. 

On the free hours that we have spent 

Together, on the brown lull's bent. 

When, musing on companions gone, 
We doubly feel ourselves alone, 
Something, my fi-iend, we yet may gain; 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonely rest, 
Deep in each gentler heart unpress'd. 
'Tis silent amid worldly toils. 
And stifled soon by mental broils , 
But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
Its still small voice is often heard. 
Whispering a mingled sentiment, 
'Twixt resignation and content. 
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, 
By lone St Mary's sUent lake ;' 
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor 

sedge, 
Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
Abrupt and sheer, the mountaias sink 
At once upon the level brink ; 
And just a trace of silver sand' 
Marks where the water meets the land. 
Far in the mirror, bright and blue. 
Each lull's huge outline you may view ;• 
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there. 
Save where, of land, yon slender line 
Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine 
Yet even this nakedness has power. 
And aids the feeling of the hoiu- : 
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
Where living thing conceal'd might lie ; 
Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, 
Where swain, or woodman lone, might 

dwell ; 
There's nothing left to fancy's guess, 

^ There is, on a high mountainous ridge above the lam • 
Ashestiel, a fosse called Wallace's Trench. 

« MS. — " And youth shall ply the sail and aar.' 
' See Appendix, Note W. 

8 MS.- " At once upon the { *''*"' I brink i 

' silver ' 

And just a line of pebbly sand." 

9 MS. — " Far traced upon the lake yon view 

The hills' \ '"""^ I sides and sombre hm» " 
• bare ' 



36 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto x 


You see that all is loneliness : 


Back to my lonely home retire, 


And silence aids — though the steep hills 


And light my lamp, and trun my fire ; 


Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 


There ponder o'er some mystic lay. 


In summer tide, so soft they weep, 


Till the wild tale had all its sway,* 


The sound but lulls the bar asleep ; 


And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 


Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 


I heard unearthly voices speak. 


So stilly is the solitude. 


And thought the Wizard Priest was come. 




To claim again his ancient home 1 


Naught living meets the eye or ear. 


And bade my busy fancy range. 


But well I ween the dead are near ; 


To frame him fitting shape and strange, 


For though, in feudal strife, a foe 


Till from the task my brow I clear'd,' 


Hatli laid Our Lady's chapel low,' 


And snuled to think that I had fear'd. 


Yet still, benea th the hallow'd soil, 




The peasant rests him from his toil. 


But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life 


And, dying, bids his bones be laid, 


(Though but escape from fortune's strife). 


Where erst his simple fathers pray'd. 


Something most matchless good and wise, 




A great and grateful sacrifice ; 


If age had tamed the passions' strife,' 


And deem each hour to nmsing given, 


And fate had cut my ties to Ufe, 


A step upon the road to heaven. 


Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell, 




And rear again the chaplain's cell. 


Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease, 


Like that same peaceful hermitage. 


Such peaceful soHtudes displease : 


"V\1iere Milton long'd to spend his age.* 


He loves to drown his bosom's jar 


'Twere sweet to mark the setting day, 


Amid the elemental war : 


On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 


And my black Palmer's choice had been 


And, as it faint and feeble died 


Some ruder and more savage scene, 


On the broad lake, and mountain's side, 


Like that which frowns round dark JxMJk 


To say, " Thus pleasures fade away ; 


skene.* 


Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 


There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 


And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray ;" 


Down aU the rocks the torrents roar ; 


Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined towpr. 


O'er the black waves incessant driven. 


And think on Yarrow's faded riowor : 


Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; 


And when that mountain-sound I heard, 


Through the rude barriers of the lake. 


W hich bids us be for storm prepared. 


Away its hurrying waters break, 


The <Ustant rustling of his wings, 


Faster and whiter dash and curl. 


As up his force the Tempest brings. 


Till down yon dark abyss they hurL 


'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 


Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 


To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; 


Thunders the viewless stream below, 


That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 


Divmg, as if condemn'd to lave 


From company of holy dust ;* 


Some demon's subterranean cavv-. 


On which no sunbeam ever shines — 


W ho, prison'd by enchanter's spell, 


(So superstition's creed divines) — 


Shakes the dark rock with groan and yeU. 


Tlience view the lake, with sullen roar. 


And well that Palmer's form and mien 


Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 


Had suited with the stormy scene, 


And mark the wild-swans moimt the gale, 


Just on the edge, straming his ken 


Spread wide through mist their snowy sail,' 


To view the bottom of the den. 


And ever stoop again to lave 


Where deep, deep down, and far within. 


Tlieir bosoms on the surging wave ; 


Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; 


Then, when against the driving hail 


Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, 


No longer might my plaid avail. 


And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 


) See Appendix, Note X. 


And every herb that sipa the dew ; 


3 " A few of the iines which follow breathe as trae a epirit 


Till old experience do attain 


»f pe«ure and repose, as even the simple strains of our vener- 


To something like prophetic strain." 


thlii Walton." — Monthly Review. 


// PaiferMt 


8 "And may at last my weary age 


* See Appendix, Note Y. 


Find out the peaceful hermitage 


s MS. — " Spread through broad mist their mowy MiL" 


The hairy gown and mossy cell, 


« MS.—" TM fancy wild had aJI ker .whv." 


Where I may sit and rightly spell 


1 MS.—" Tr.i from we tasK my brain 1 oiea^a,' 


Of everj star that heaven doth show. 


8 See Appendix, Note Z 



CANTO 11. MARMION. Vi 


White as the enowy charger's tail, 


Rear'd o'er the foaming spray ; 


Drives dawn the pass of Moffatdale, 


And one would stDJ adjust her veil. 




Disorder'd by the summer gale. 


Marriott, thy harp, on Isis strung, 


Perchance lest some more worldly eye 


To many a Border theme has rung ;* 


Her dedicated charms might spy ; 


Then list to me, and thou shalt know 


Perchance, because such action graced 


Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 


Her fair tum'd arm and slender waist. 




Light was each simple bosom there, 




Save two, who Dl might pleasure share, — 






The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 


iHarmlo n. 






IIL 

The Abbess was of noble blood, 




CANTO SECOND. 


But early took the veil and hood, 




Ere upon hfe she cast a look, 


STfie Conbent. 


Or knew the world that she forsook. 




Fair too she was, and kind had been 


L 


As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 


The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 


For ner a timid lover sigh. 


Round Norham Castle roU'd, 


Nor knew the influence of her eye. 


When all the loud artillery spoke, 


Love, to her ear, was but a name. 


With lightmng-flash and thimder-stroke, 


Combined with vanity and shame ; 


As Msirmion left the Hold. 


Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were alJ 


It curl'd not Tweed alone, that breeze, 


Bounded within the cloister wall : 


For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 


The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 


It freshly blew, and strong, 


Was of monastic rule the breach ; 


Where, from high Whitby's cloister'd pile,* 


And her ambition's highest aim 


Bound to St. Cuthbert's Holy Isle,* 


To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 


It bore a bark along. 


For this she gave her ample dower,* 


tTpon the gale she stoop'd her side. 


To raise the convent's eastern tower , 


And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 


For tliis, with carving rare and quaint, 


As she were dancing home ; 


She deck'd the chapel of the saint. 


The merry seamen laugh'd to see 


And gave the reUc-shi-ine of cost 


Their gallant ship so lustily 


With ivory and gems emboss'd. 


Furrow the green sea-foam. 


The poor her Convent's bounty blest. 


Much joy'd they m their honor'd freight ; 


The pUgrim in its halls found rest. 


For, on the deck, in chair of state. 


TTT 


The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed. 


IV. 


With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 


Black was her garb, her rigid rule 




Reform'd on Benedictine school ; 


IL 


Her cheek was pale, her form was spare , 


'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. 


Vigils, and penitence austere, 


Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 


Had early quench'd the light of ycuth, 


Their first flight from the cage. 


But gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 


How timid, and how ciu-ious too. 


Though vain of her religious sway. 


For all to then: was strange and new. 


She loved to see her maids obey, 


• A.nd all the common sights they view. 


Yet nothing stern was she in ceU, 


Their wonderment engage. 


And the nuns loved their Abbess weU. 


One eyed the shrouds and sweUing sail 


Sad was this voyage to the dame : 


With many a benedifite ; 


Smniaon'd to Lindisfarne, she came, 


One at the rippling surge f,Tew pale. 


There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old, 


And would for terror pray ; 


And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 


Then shriek'd, because the se/i-dog, nigh, 


A chapter of Saint Benedict, 


Hia round black head, and sparkling eye, 


For inquisition stern and strict, 


> See varions ballads by Mr. Marriott, in the 4th vol. of the 


* MS. — " rwas she that gave her ample dowei 


Border Minstrelsy. 


' Twas she, with carving rare and qaaist 


» See ArpsTidix, Note 2 A. « Ibid, Note 2 B, 


Who deck'd the chapel of the saim ' 



9b 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOP.XS. 



CAKTO U 



On two apostates from the faith. 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 



Naught say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save tliis, that she was young and fair ; 
As yet a mvice uiiprofess'd, 
Lovely and gentle, but distress'd. 
She was betroth'd to one now dead, 
Or worse, who had dishonor'd fled. 
Her kinsman bade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for her land: 
Herself, almost heart-broken now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow, 
And slu-oud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and wither'd bloom. 

VI. 

She sate upon the galley's prow, 
And seem'd to mark the waves below ; 
Nay, seem'd, so fix'd her look and eye, 
To count them as they glided by. 
She saw them not — 'twas aeeming all — 
Far other scenes her thoughts recall, — 
A sun-scorch'd desert, waste and bare, 
Nor waves, nor breezes murmur' d. there ; 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heap'd the sand. 
To hide it tUl the jackals come, 

To tear it from the scanty tomb. 

See what a woful look was given, 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven 1 

VII. 
Ix)vely, and gentle, and distress' d — 
These charms might tame the fiercest breast : 
Harpers have sung, and poets told, 
That he, in fury uncontroU'd, 
The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
Before a vu-gin, i.air and good, 
Hath pacified his savage mood. 
But passions in the hmnan frame, 
Oft p'it the lion's rage to shame ; 
And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 
Witli sordid avarice in league, 
Had practised with their bowi and knife, 
Aijainst the mourner's harmless life. 
This crune was charged 'gamst those who lay 
Prison'd in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIIL 
And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
Towns, towers, and haUs, successive rise, 
And catch th? nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay 
And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
They mark'd, amid her trees, the hall 



Of lofty Seaton-I>:,lavaI ; 

They saw the Blythe rmd Wansbecli floods 

Rush to the sea through sounding woods ; 

They pass'd the tower of Widderington,' 

Mother of many a vaLant son ; 

At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 

To the good Saint who own'd the cell ; 

Then did the Alne attention claim. 

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 

And next, they crossd themselves, to hear 

The whitemn^ breakers sound so near. 

Where, boiling tlirough the rocks, they roar 

On Dimstanborough's cavern'd shore ; 

Thy tower, proud Bamborougli, mai-k'd th*^ 

there, 
King Ida's castle, huge and square, 
From its tall rock look grimly down, 
And on the swelling ocean frown ; 
Then from the coast they bore away 
And reach'd the Holy Island's bay. 

IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain, 
And girdled m the Saint's domain : 
For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
Vanes from continent to isle ; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day. 
The pilgrims to the shrine find way , 
Twice every day, the waves efface, 
Of staves and sandaU'd feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley flew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
Tlie Castle with its battled walla. 
The ancient Monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 

X. 

In Saxon strength that Abbey frown'd. 
With massive arches broad and round, 

That rose alternate, row and row, 

On ponderous columns, short and low, 
Built ere the art was known. 

By pointed aisle and shafted stalk, 

The arcades of an aUey'd walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had pour'd his impious rage in vain ; 
And needful was such strength to these. 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 
Scourged by the wind's eternal sway, 
Open to rovers fierce as they, 
Which could twelve hundred yeafu withstana 
Winds, waves, and northbro pirate«' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style, 

' Bee the notes on Chevy Chase. — PiROT'a AeitguM 



Ainro n. 



MARMION. 



91 



Sho-w'd -where the spoiler's hand had been ; 
Not but the wastuig sea-breeze keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, 
^d moulder'd in his niche the saint, 
And 1 ounded, -with consuming power. 
The pointed angles of each tower ; 
Tet still entire the Abbey stood, 
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued 

XI. 

Soon as they near'd his turrets strong. 
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song, 
And with the sea-wave and the wind, 
Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined. 

And made harmonious close ; 
Then, answering from the sandy shore, 
Half-drown'd amid the breakers' roar, 

According chorus rose : 
Down to the haven of the Isle, 
The monks and nuns in order file, 
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and relics there. 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; 
Mid, as they caught the sounds on air, 

They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders, in joyous mood, 
Rush'd emulously through the flood 

To hfJe the bark to land ; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood, 
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood. 
And bless'd them with her hand. 

xn. 

nuppose we now the welcome said, 
Suppose the Convent banquet made : 

All through the holy dome. 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vestal maid might pry, 
Nor risk to meet unhallow'd eye, 

Tlie stranger sisters roam : 
Tin fell the evening damp with dew. 
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, 
For there, even summer night is chill. 
Then, having stray'd and gazed their fill, 

They closed around the fire ; 
And all, in turn, essay'd to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid ; for, be it known, 
That their saint's honor is their own. 

XIIL 
Then Whitby's mms exulting told. 
How to their house three Barons bold 

Must menial service "do ;' 
While horns blow out a note of shame, 



9f)» Appendix, N ^te 2 C. 



a Ibid. Note 2 D. 



And monks cry, " Fye upon your name I 
In v^ath, for loss of silvan game, 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." — 
" This, on Ascension-day, each year, 
While laboring on our harbor-pier, 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." 
They told, how in their convent-cell 
A Saxon princess once did dwell. 

The lovely Edelfled ;* 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone. 

When holy Hilda pray'd ; 
Tliemselves, witliin their holy bound, 
Their stony folds had often found. 
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail, 
As over Whitby's towers they sail,' 
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint. 
They do their homage to the saint, 

XIV. 
Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail. 
To yie with these in holy tale ; 
His body's resting-place, jf old. 
How oft their patron changed, they told ;* 
How, when the rude Dane burn'd their pil»i, 
The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 
O'er northern momitain, marsh, and moor. 
From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they boi« 

They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
But though, alive, he loved it well. 

Not there his relics might repose ; 
For, wondrous tale to teU ! 

In his stone-coffin forth he rides, 

A ponderous bark for river tides. 

Yet light as gossamer it gUdes, 
Downward to TUmouth ceU. 
Nor long was his abiding there, 
For southward did the saint repair ; 
Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
His holy corpse, ere WardUaw 

Hail'd him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last, 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 

Looks down upon the Wear : 
There, deep in Dvu'ham's Gothic shade, 
His relics are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place. 
Save of his holiest servants three. 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 

Who share that wondrous grace. 

XV. 
Who may his miracles declare ! 
Even Scotland's dauntless king, and hen 



s See Appendix. Note 2 E 



Ibid. NoM 3 » 



too 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAN10 a 



(Although with tbem they led 
Oalwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 
And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, 
And the bold men of Teviotdale), 

Before his standard fled.' 
'Twas lie, to vindicate liis reign, 
Edged Alfred's falchion on tlie Dane, 
And turn'd tlie Conqueror back again,* 
When, with liis Nonnan bowyer band, 
He came to waste Northumberland. 

XVI. 

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 
If, on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 
Saint Cutlibert sits, and toils to frame 
The sea-born beads that bear his name :* 
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told, 
And said they miglit his shape behold, 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deaden'd clang, — a huge dim form. 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm* 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame. 
The nuns of Lindisfarne disdain. 

XVII. 
Wliile round the fire such legends go, 
Far different was the scene of woe, 
Where, in a secret aisle beneath, 
Council was held of life and death. 

It was more dark and lone that vault, 
Tlian the worst dungeon ceU : 

Old Colwulf ' built it, for his fault. 
In penitence to dwell, 
Wlien he, for cowl and beads, laid down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den, whicli, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight. 
Was call'd the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light. 
Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 
A place of burial for such dead, 
As, liaving died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the church within. 
'Twas now a place of punishment ; 
WTience if so loud a shriek were sent. 

As reach'd the upper air, 
Tlio hearers bless'd themselves, and said, 
Tlie spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoan'd their torments there. 

XVIII. 
But tHough, in the monastic pile, 
Did of this penitential aisle 

> See Appendix, Note 2 G. a Ibid. Note 2 H. « Ibld.NoteSI. 
' MS. — " Seen onbj when the gathering storm." 

See Appendix, Note 2 K. 
• Antique chande ier. 



Some vague tra iition go. 
Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
Where the place lay ; and still more few 
Were those, who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were bhndfold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the archeo hung. 
From the rude rock the side-walls sprung 
Tlie grave-stones rudely sculptured o'er. 
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, 
Were all the pavement of the floor ; 
The mildew-drops fell one by one, 
With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
A cresset," in an iron chain,' 
Wliich served to light this drear domain, 
With damp and darkness seem'd to strive, 
As if it scarce might keep ahve ; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
The awful conclave met below. 

XIX. 
There, met to doom in secrecy. 
Were placed the heads of convents three ; 
All servants of Saint Benedict, 
The statutes of whose order strict 

On iron table lay ;' 
In long black dress, on seats of stone, 
Beliind were these three judges shown 

By the pale cresset's ray : 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, there, 
Sat for a space with visage bare. 
Until to hide her bosom's swell. 
And tear-drops that for pity feU, 

She closely drew her veil : 
Ton shrouded figure, as I guess, 
By her proud mien and flowing dress. 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,* 

And she with awe looks pale : 
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 
Has long been quench'd by age's night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone. 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace, is shown, 

Whose look is hard and stem, — 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ; 
For sanctity caU'd, through the isle, 

The Saint of Lindisfarne. 

XX. 
Before them stood a guilty pair. 
But though an equal fate they share. 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's diess belied ; 
The cloiik and doublet loosely tied, 

' MS. — " Suspended by an iron chain, 

idark ) 
J domain." 
drear ' 

e MS. — " On stony table Jay." * See Appendix, Note I b 



OANTO n, 



MARMION. 



101 



Obsc'ired Ler charms, but could not hide. 

Her cap dowu o'er her face she drew ; 
And, on her doublet breast. 

She tried to hide the badge of blue, 
Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the Prioress' command, 
4. Monk undid the sUken band, 

That tied her tresses fair, 
And raised the boimet from her head. 
And down her slender form they spread, 

In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know, 
Sister profess'd of Fontevraud, 
Whom the church number'd with the dead. 
For broken vows, and convent fled. 

XXI. 
When thus her face was given to view 
(Although so pallid was her hue. 
It did a ghastly contrast bear 
To those bright ringlets glistering fair), 
Her look composed, and steady eye. 
Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 
And there she stood so calm and pale. 
That, but her breathing did not faU, 
And motion slight of eye and head. 
And of her bosom, warranted 
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks. 
You might have thought a form of wax, 
Wrought to the very hfe, was there ; 
So still she was, so pale, so fair.' 

XXII. 
Her comrade was a sordid soul, 

Such as does murder for a meed ; 
Who, but of fear, knows no control. 
Because his conscience, sear'd and foul. 

Feels not the import of his deed ; 
One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires' 
Beyond liis own more brute desires. 

> " The picture of Constance before her judges, though more 
labored than that of the voyage of the Lady Abbess, is not, 
lo our taste, so pleasing ; though it has beauty of a kind fully 
u popular." — Jeffrey. 

" I gent for ' Marmion,' because it occurred to me there 
night M a resemblance between part of ' Parisina,' and a sim- 
ilar scene in the second canto of 'Marmion.' I fear there is, 
though I never thought of it before, and could hardly wish to 
jmitate t lat which is inimitable. I wish you would ask Mr. 
SifTord whether I eight to say any thing upon it. I had com- 
pleted the sto.'> or the passage from Gibbon, which indeed 
leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind ; 
i)Tit it comes upon me not very comfortably." — Liord Byron 
t Mr. Murray Feb. 3, 1816. — Compare : 

"... Parisina's fatal charms 
Again attracted every seye — 
Would she thus hear him doo n'd to die ? 
She stood, I said, all pale and still, 
The livmg cause of Hugo's ill ; 
K"f eyes unmoved, but full and wide, 



Such tools the Tempter ever needs. 
To do the savagest of deeds ; 
For them no vision'd terrors daunt, 
Their nights no fancied spectres hatmt, 
One fear with them, of all most base, 
The fear of death, — alone finds place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 
And shamed not loud to moan and Lewi 
His body on the floor to dasli, 
And crouch, like hoimd beneath the Liah ; 
While his mute partner, standing near. 
Waited her doom ^vithout a tear 

XXIII. 

Yet weU the luckless wretch might shriek, 
Well might her paleness terror speak ! 
For there were seen in that dark wall. 
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tail ; 
Who enters at such grisly door. 
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 
In each a slender meal was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of bread : 
By each, in Benedictine dress. 
Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch, 
Show'd the grim entrance of the porch : 
Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were display'd, 
And building tools in order laid 

XXIV. 
Tliese executioners were chose, 
As men who were with mankind foea, 
And with despite and envy fired, 
Into the cloister had retired ; 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 
Strove, by deep penance, to efface 

Of some foul crime the stain ; 
For, as the vassals of her wUl, 

Not once had turn'd to either side- 
Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 
Or shade the glance o'er which they rose, 
But round their orbs of deepest blue 
The circling white dilated grew — 
And there with glassy gaze she stood 
As ice were in her curdled blood ; 
But every now and then a tear 
So large and slowly gather'd slid 
From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, 
It was a thing to see, not hear I 
And those who saw, it did surprise. 
Such drops could fall from liuman eye*. 
To speak she thought — the im|)erfect aote 
Was choked within her swelling throat, 
Yet seem'd in that low hollow groan 
Her whole heart gushing in the tone." 

Byron's Works, vol. x p 171. 
* In some recent editions this word had been erroneoai 
printed "inspires." The MS. hjis the correct line. 
" One wiiose brnte-feeling ne'er aspires " 



102 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cAsro n 


Such men the Church selected still. 


XXVIL 


As either joy'd La domg ill, 


" I speali not to implore your grace,' 


Or thought more grace to gain. 


Well know I for one tninute's space 


If, in her cause, they wrestled dowc 


Successless might I sue : 


Feelings their natm-e strove to own. 


Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 


By strange device were they brought 


For if a death of lingermg pain, 


there 


To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 


Tliey knew not ho a, nor knew not where 


Vain are your masses too. — 




I hsten'd to a traitor's tale. 


XXV. 


I left the convent and the veE ; 


ky.-\ now that blind old Abbot rose, 


For tliree long years T bow'd my pride, 


To speak the Chapter's doom. 


A horse-boy in his train to ride ; i 


3n those the wall was to enclose, 


And well my folly's meed he gave. 


Alive, within the tomb ;' 


Who forfeited, to be his slave, 


But stopp'd, because that woful Maid, 


All here, and all beyond the grave. — 


Gathering her powers, to speak essay'd. 


He saw young Clara's face more fair, 


Twice she essay'd, and twice in vam ; 


He knew her of broad lands the heir, 


Her accents might no utterance gain ; 


Forgot his vows, liis faith foreswore, 


Naught but imperfect mminurs sHp 


And Constance was beloved no more. — 


From her convulsed and qmvering lip ; 


'Tis an old tale, and often told ; 


'Twixt each attempt all was so still. 


But did my fate and wish agree, 


You seem'd to hear a distant rill — 


Ne'er had been read, in story old. 


'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 


Of maiden true betray'd for gold. 


For though this vault of sm and fear 


That loved, or was avenged, like me I 


Was to the sounding surge so near. 




A tempest there you scarce could hear, 


XXVIII. 


So massive were the walls. 


" The King approved his favorite's aim ; 




In vain a rival barr'd his clain. 


XXVI. 


Whose fate with Clare's was plight. 


At length, an effort sent apart 


For he attaints that rival's fame 


The blood that curdled to her heart,. 


With treason's charge — and on they came, 


And light came to her eye, 


In mortal lists to fight. 


And color dawn'd upon her cheek, 


Their oaths are said. 


A hectic and a flutter'd streak,'' 


Their prayers are p*«f 'd, 


Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 


Their lances in the rest are laid 


By Autumn's stormy sky ; 


They meet in mortal shock ; 


And when her sUence broke at length. 


And, hark ! the throng, with thundering cry, 


Btill as she spoke she gather'd strength, 


Shout ' Marmion, Marmion ! to the sky. 


And Erm'd herself to bear.* 


De WUton to the block !' 


It was a fearful sight to see 


Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide* 


Such high resolve and constancy. 


When in the lists two champions ride, 


In form so soft and fair.* 


Say, was Heaven's justice here ? 


» See Appendix, Note 2 M. 


Nor do I speak your prayers to gain > 


• MS.—" A feeble and a flutter'd streak, 


For if ray penance be In vain, 


Like that with which tlie mornings break 


Your prayers I cannot want. 


In Anturan's sober sky." 


Full well I knew the church's doom. 


* " Mr. S. has judiciousiy combined the horrors of the pun- 


What time I left a convent 'i gloom, 


llimect witJt a very beautiful picture of the ofl'ender, so as to 


To fly with him I loved ; 


►ei^ki n thj interest which the situation itself must necessarily 


And well my folly's meed he gave — 


xcite ; and the struggle of Constance to speak, before the 


I forfeited, to be a slave, 


btal sentence, is finely painted." — Monthly Review. 


All here, anil all beyond the grave, 


« MS. — " And mann'd herself to bear. 


And faithless hath he proved ; 


It was a fearful thing to see 


He saw another's face more fair, 


Such high resolve and constancy. 


He saw her of broad lands the heir, 


In form so soft and fair ; 


And Constance loved no more — 


Like Suiiimer'a dew her accents fell, 


Loved her no more, who, once Heaven'i biuil 


But dreadful was her tale to tell." 


Now a scom'd menial by his side, 


* M9 - ' I speak not now to sne for grace, 


Had wander'd Europe j'er." 


For well I know one minute's space 


« MS.—" Say, ye who preach the iieavens decide 


k Your mercy sci rce would grant ' 

) 

It 


When in the lists the warriors ride ' 



DANTO U. 



MARMION. 



loa 



When, loyal iu his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death, 

Beneath a traitor's spear ? 
Ho-w false the charge, how true he fell. 
This guilty packet best can tell." — 
Then drew a packet from her breast, 
Paussd, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest. 

XXIX. 

" Still was false Marmion's bridal staid ; 
To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 

The hated match to shun. 
' Ho ! shifts she thus V King Henry cried, 
' Sir Mannion, she shall be thy bride, 

If she were sworn a nun.' 
One way remain' d — the King's command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : 
I hnger'd here, and rescue plann'd 

For Clara and for me : 
Tliis caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear. 
He would to Whitby's shi'ine repair, 
And, by liis drugs, my rival fair 

A saint in heaven shoiild be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
Whose cowardice has imdone us both, 

XXX. 

■* And now my tongue the secret tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom sweUs, 
But to assure my soul that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion.' 
Had foitune my last hope betray'd, 
This packet, to the King convey'd, 
Had giren him to the headsman's stroke. 
Although my heart that instant broke. — 
• Now, men of death, work forth your will, 
For I can suffer, and be still ; 
And come he slow, or come he fast. 
It is but Death who comes at last. 

XXXI. 

" Yet dread me, from my living tomb. 

Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome 1 

If Marmion's late remorse should wake, 

Full soon such vengeance will he take, 

Tiiat you shall wish the fiery Dane 

Had ratht't been yom- guest again, 

Belmid, a carker hour ascends! 

The altars quake, the crosier bends. 

The ire of a despotic King 

Rides forth up .o destruction's wing ; 

Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 

Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep ; 

» The M& idds — " His scjiemes reveal'd, his honor gone." 
MS. — " And, willess of priests' cruelty." 

' MS.—" Stared up ] ^P'""? i from her head." 
( uncnrhng ' 

• See Note 2 M or Stanza xxv. ante, p. 103 



Some traveller then shall find my bones 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty," 
Marvel such rehces here should be." 

XXXII. 

Fix'd was her look, and stern her air . 
Back from her shoulders stream'd her hair 
The locks that wont her brow to shade. 
Stared up erectly from her head ;' 
Her figure seem'd to rise more high , 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appall'd the astonish'd conclave sate ; 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form. 
And Uisten'd for the avenging storm; 
The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
No hand was moved, no word was said, 
TUl thus the Abbot's doom was given, 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven : — 
" Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
Sinful brother, part in peace 1"* 

From that dire dungeon, place of doom, 
Of execution too, and tomb. 

Paced forth the judges three ; 
Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 
The butcher-work that tliere befell, 
Wlien they had glided from the cell 
Of sin and misery, 

XXXIII. 

An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ;' 
But, ere they breathed the fresher ail. 
They heard the slu-iekings of despair 

And many a stifled groan : 
With speed their upward way they tako 
(Such speed as age and fear can make). 
And cross'd themselves for terror's sake. 

As hurrying, tottering on : 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone,* 
They seem'd to hear a dying groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toU 
For welfare of a parting soul. 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rmig ; 
To Warkworth cell the echoes roll'd, 
His beads the wakeful hermit told. 
The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
So far was heard the mighty knell. 
The stag sprimg up on Cheviot Fell, 

' MS..—" From that dark penance vault to day.' 
• MS. — " That night amid the vesper's swell, 

They thought they heard Constantia's jcS 
And bade the mighty bell to toll, 
For welfare of a passing soul." 



104 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto in 


Spread his broad noatrils to the wind. 


To thy kind judgment seem'd excuse 


Listed before, aside, behind. 


For many an error of the mu'se. 


Then couch'd him down beside the hind, 


Oft hast thou said, " If, stiU misspent. 


And quaked among the mountain fern, 


Tlune hours to poetry are lent,* 


To hear that sound so dull and stern.' 


Go, and to tame thy wandering course. 




Quaff from the fountain at the source ; 




Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb 






Immortal laiu-els ever bloom : 


in a r m i n 


Instructive of the feebler bard. 




StiU from the grave their voice is heard , 
From them, and from the paths they shoVd, 




INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 


Choose honor'd guide and practised road ; 
Nor ramble on thi-ough brake and maze, 




TO 


With harpers rude of barbarous days. 


WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESa.a 


" Or deem'st thou not our later time' 


Ashestiel, Ettrick Forett. 


Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 


Like April morning clouds, that pass, 


Hast thou no elegiac verse 


With varying shadow, o'er the grass, 


For Brimswick's venerable hearse ? 


Aid imitate, on field and furrow. 


W hat ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 


Life's checker'd scene of joy and sorrow ; 


When valor bleeds for liberty ? — 


Like streamlet of the moimtain north, 


Oh, hero of that glorious time. 


Now in a torrent racing forth. 


When, with imrivaU'd Ught subhme, — 


Now winding slow its silver train. 


Though martial Austria, and though all 


And almost slumbering on the plain ; 


The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 


Like breezes of the autumn day, 


Though banded Em-ope stood her foes,— 


Whose voice inconstant dies away. 


The star of Brandenburgh arose ! 


And ever swells again as fast, 


Thou couldst not live to see lier beam 


When the ear deems its murmur past ; 


Forever quench'd in Jena's stream. 


Thus various, my romantic tlieme 


Lamented Cliief ! — it was not given 


FUts, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 


To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 


Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 


And crush that dragon in its birth. 


Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 


Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 


]''leased, views the rivulet afar. 


Lamented Chief ! — not thine the power. 


Weaving its maze irregular ; 


To save in that presumptuous hour, 


And pleased, we listen as the breeze 


W hen Prussia hurried to tlie field. 


Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees ; 


And snatch'd the spear, but left the shield 1 


Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, 


Valor and skill 'twas tliiue to try. 


Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale I 


And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 




lU had it seem'd thy silver hair 


Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 


The last, the bitterest pang to share, 


I love the license all too well. 


For prmcedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, 


In somids now lowly, and now strong. 


And bhthrights to usurpers given ; 


To raise the desultory song ? — ' 


Thy land's, thy children's wi-ongs to feel, 


Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime, 


And witness woes thou couldst not heal 1 


Some transient fit of lofty rhyme 


On thee relenting Heaven bestows 


• •' The sonnd of the knell that was rnng for the parting sonl 


Hay Donaldson, to which Sir Walter Scott aoctnontsd wn 


tf th s victim of seduction, is described with great force and 


ra". paragraphs. — Ed. 


BlemnitT .' '—Jeffrey. 


3 MS. — " Wit', sound now lowly, and now higher. 




Irregular to wake the lyre." 


" The whole of this trial and doom presents a high-wrought 


* MS. — *' Thine hours to thriftless rhyme ars lent ' 


•cene of horror, which, at the close, rises almost to too great a 


6 MS. — " Dost thou not deem our later diy 


pitch."— «co«a Mag., M.arch, 1808. 


Yields topic meet for classic lay ' 


' Willia.Tn Erskine, Esq., advocate, SherifT-depnte of the 


Hast thou no elegiac tone 


Orkneys, became a Judge of the Court of .Session by the title 


To join tliat universal moan. 


of Lord Kinnedder, and died at Edinburgh in August, 1822. 


Which mingled with the battle's yell, 


He had wen from early youth the most intimate of the Poet's 


Where venera'>le Brunswick fell ? — 


frienit, and his chief confidsnt and adviser as to all literary 


What 1 not a verse, a tear, a sigh, 


«a't/"«" See » notice of his lile and cliaracter by the late Mr. 


When valor 1 leeds for liberty 1" 



CANTO III. 



MAKMION. 



]0) 



For houor'd life an honor'd close ;' 

And -when revolves, in time's sure change, 

The hour of Germany's revenge, 

"When, breathing fury for her sake^ 

Some new Arminius shall awake, 

Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 

To whet h» sword on Brunswick's tomb.' 

" Or of the Red-Cross hero* teach, 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach: 
Alike to him the sea, the shore, 
T)»e brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shatter'd walls, 
Which the grim Tm'k, besmear'd with blood. 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake. 
When stubborn Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
On the warp'd wave their death-game play'd ; 
Or that, where Vengeance and Affright 
Howl'd round the father of the fight, 
Who snatch'd, on Alexandria's sand, 
The conqueror's wreath, with dying hand.* 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that wj-ung 
From the wild harp, which silent hung 
By sUver Avon's holy shore. 
Till twice an hundred years roll'd o'er ; 
When she, the bold Enchantress," came. 
With fearless hand and heart on flame 1 
from the pale willow snatch'd the treasure. 
And swept it with a kindred measiu"e. 
Till Avon swans, while rung the grove 
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, 

1 MS. — " For honor'd life an honor'd close — 
The boon which falling heroes crave, 
A soldier's death, a warrior's grave. 
Or if, with more exulting swell, 
Of conquering chiefs thou lov'st to tell. 
Give to the harp an unheard strain, 
And sing the triumphs of the main — 
Of him the Red-Cross hero teach, 
Dauntless on Acre's bloody breach, 
And ecorner of tyrannic power, 
As di intless in the Temple's tower : 
Mike to him, the sea, the shore. 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar. 
The general's eye, the pilot's art. 
The soldier's arm, the sailor's heart. 
Or if to touch such chord be thine," &3. 
• •' Scott seems to have communicated fragments of the poem 
*ery freely during the whole of its progress. As early as the 
fcjd February, 1807, 1 find Mrs. Hayman acknowledging, in 
Jie name of the Princess of Wales, Ihe receipt of a copy of the 
introduction to Canto III., in which occurs the tribute to her 
loyal highness's heroic father, mortally wounded the year 
before at Jena — a tribute so grateful to her feelings that she 
w«6>lf shortly after sent the poet an eleijaDt silver vnuse as a 
U 



Awakening at the inspu^ed strain, 
Deem'd their own Shakspeare lived again." 

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wroaging 
With praises not to me belonging. 
In task more meet for mightiest poweis, 
Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh'd 
That secret power by all obey'd. 
Which warps not less the passive mind, 
Its source conceal'd or undefined ; 
Whether an impulse, that has bhth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth. 
One with our feelings and our powers, 
And rather part of us tlian oiu-s ; 
Or whether fitlier term'd the sway 
Of habit, form'd in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confest 
Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
And drags us on by viewless chain. 
While taste and reason plead in vain.* 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why, 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 
He seeks not eager to uihale 
The fieshness of the mountain gale, 
Content to rear his whiten'd wall 
Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
He'll say, from youth he loved to see 
The white sail gliding by the tree. 
Or see yon weatherbeaten hind. 
Whose sluggish herds before him wind. 
Whose tatter'd plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern cluue and kindred speak ; 
Through England's laugliing meads he goes. 
And England's wealth around him flow»* 
Ask, if it would content him well. 
At ease in those gay plains to dwell, 

memorial of her thankfulness. And about the same time tbi 
Marchioness of Abercorn expresses the delight with which boti 
she and her lord had read the generous verses on Pitt and Fcj 
in another of those epistles." — Ziife of Scott, vol. iii. p. 9 

3 Sir Sidney Smith. 

4 Sir Ralph Abercroraby. 
6 Joanna Baillie. 

6 " As man, perhaps, the moment of his breafh, 
Receives the lurking principle of death ; 
The young disease, that must subdue at length. 
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his stren^b 
So, cast and mingled with his very frame, 
The Mind's disease, its Ruling Passion, came! 
Each vital humor which should feed the whole 
Soon flows to this, in body and in soul 
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head, 
As the mind opens, and its functions spread, 
Imagination plies her dangerous art. 
And pours it all upon tlie peccant part. 

" Nature its mother, Habit is its nurse ; 
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worse; 
Reason itself but gives it edge and power ; 
As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more soar," Sco. 
Fops' 8 Essay on Man. — IiS 



106 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m 


Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 


And ever, by the winter hearth. 


And spires and forests intervene, 


Old tales I heard of woe or mirth 


And tlie neat cottage peeps between ? 


Of lovers' slights, of ladies' cliarmf^ 


No 1 not for these will he exchange 


Of witches" spells, of warriors' arms : 


His dark Lochaber's boundless range : 


Of patriot battles, ■«'on of old 


Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 


By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold • 


Hjnnevis gray, and Garry's lake, 


Of later fields of feud and fight, 




W hen, pouring from their Highland jeight, 


Thus while I ape the measure wild 


The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 


Of tales that charm'd me yet a child, 


Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 


Rude though they be, still with the chime 


Wliile stretch'd at length upon the floor* 


Return the thoughts of early time ; 


Again I fought each combat o'er, 


And feelings, roused in Ufe's first day, 


Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 


Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 


The mimic ranks of war display'd ; 


Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 


And onward stiU the Scottish Lion bore, 


Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour.* 


And stUl the scatter'd Southron fled before.* 


Though no broad river swept alongi 




To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 


StUl, with vain fondness, could I trace, 


Though sigh'd no groves in 8um7ner gale, 


Anew, each kind familiar face. 


To prompt of love a softer tale ; 


T'hat brighten'd at our evening fire ! 


ITiough scarce a puny streamlet's speed 


From the thatch'd mansion's gray-hair'd Sire, 


Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed ; 


Wise without learning, plain and good. 


Yet was poetic impulse given. 


And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 


By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 


Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen, 


It was a barren scene, and wild, 


Show'd what in youth its glance had been ; 


Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 


Whose doom discording neighbors sought. 


But ever and anon between 


Content with equity unbought f 


Lay velvet tufts of loveUest green ; 


To him the venerable Priest, 


And well the lonely infant knew 


Our frequent and familiar guest, 


Recesses where the waU-flower grew,' 


Whose hfe and manners well could paint 


And honeysuckle loved to crawl 


Alike the student and the saint ;' 


Up the low crag and ruin'd wall. 


Alas 1 whose speech too oft I broke ) 


I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade 


With gambol rude and tuneless joke • 


The sun m all its round survey'd ; 


For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 


And still I thought that shatter'd tower' 


A self-wiU'd imp, a grandame's child ; 


The mightiest work of himian power : 


But half a plague, and half a jest, 


And marvell'd as the aged hind 


Was still endm'ed, beloved, caress'd. 


With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind, 




Of forayers, who, with headlong force. 


For me, thus nm-tured, dost thou ask 


Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse. 


The classic poet's weU-conu'd task ? 


Their southern rapine to renew, 


Nay, Erskine, nay — On the wild hiU 


Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 


Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; 


And, home returning, fill'd the hall 


Cherish the tulip, prune the vine. 


With revel, wassel-rout, and brawL* 


But freely let the woodbine twine, 


Methought that still with trump and clang, ' 


And leave untrmira'd the eglantine : 


Tlie gateway's broken arches rang ; 


Nay, my friend, nay — Since oft thy praLso 


Methought grim features, seam'd with scarS; 


Hath given fresh vigor to my lays ; 


Glared through the window's rusty bars, 


Since oft tliy judgment could refine 


M 3. — " The lonely hill, the rocky tower. 


• See notes on The Eve of St. John. 


That caught attention's wakening hour. 


' Robert Scott of Sandyknows, the graiiJf ither of the Poe» 


MS. — " Recesses where the woodbine grew." 


8 Upon revising the Poem, it seems proper to montion thai 


« Smailholm Tower, in Berwickshire, the scene of the 


the lines, 


lotlior's infancy, u sitaated about two miles from Dryburgh 


" Whose doom discording neighbors sought, 


iobey. 


Content with equity unbought :" 


♦ The two next couplets are not in the MS. 


have been unconsciously borrowed from a passage In Dryden' 


MS. — " While still with mimic hosts of shells, 


beautiful epistle to John Driden of Chesterton. — 1808. J^oU 


Again my sport the combat tells — 


to Second Edit. 


Onward the Scottish Lion bore, 


fl MS. — " The student, gentleman, and samt.*' 


The Bcatter'd Southron fled before." 


The reverend gentleman alluded to -ras Mr. John Mima 



r 



CANTO IIX. 



MARMION. 



101 



My flatten'd thought, or cumbrous line ; 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale 1 



m a rm 1 n . 



CANTO THIRD. 



Srte hostel, or £nn. 

I. 

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 
The mountain path the Palmer show'd. 
By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill, 
rhey might not choose the lowland road, 
For the Merse forayers were abroad, 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, 
Had scarcely faU'd to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer look'd down ; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; 
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe. 
Nor waited for the bending bow ; 
And when the stony path began. 
By which the naked peak they wan. 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been pass'd before 
They gain'd the height of Lammermoor ;' 
Thence winding dovm the northern way. 
Before them, at the close of day, 
Old Gilford's towers and hamlet lay.* 

IL 

No summons calls them to the tower. 

To spend the hospitable hour. 

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 

His cautious dame, in bower alone, 

Dreaded her castle to unclose, 

So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
On through the hamlet as they paced, 
Before a poi ch, whose front was graced 
With bush and flagon trimly placed. 
Lord Mai-mion drew his rein : 



mtater of Mertonn, in which parish Smailholm Tower is sit- 
\ated. 
> MS. -" They might not choose the easier road, 

For raany a forayer was abroad." 
' See Kotes to " The Bride of Lammermoor." Waverley 
fTovela, vols. xiii. and xir 



The village inn seem'd large, though rude ' 
Its cheerfid fire and hearty food 
Might well reheve his train. 
Dowji from their seats the horsemen sprung 
With jingling spurs the coiurt-yard rung : 
They bind their horses to the stall. 
For forage, food, and firing call. 
And various clamor fills the hall : 
Weighing the labor with the cost, 
Toils everywhere the bustling host, 

III. 
Soon, by the chimney's meiry blaze. 
Through the rude hostel might you gaze ; 
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof. 
The rafters of the sooty roof • 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Ol sea-fowl dried, and solands store. 
And gammons of the tusky boar. 

And savory haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide ; 
Above, arotmd it, and beside, 

Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day, 
The implements of Scottish fray, 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state. 
On oaken settle Marmion sate, 
And view'd aroxmd the blazing heartu. 
His followers mix in noisy mfrth ; 
Whom with brown ale, in joUy tide, 
From ancient vessels ranged aside, 
FuU actively their host suppUed- 

IV. 
Theirs was the glrje of martial breast. 
And laughter theirs at little jest ; 
And oft Lord Marmion deign'd to aid. 
And mingle in the mfrth they made ; 
For though, with men of high degree. 
The proudest of the proud was he, 
Yet, train'd in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey. 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May ; 
With open hand, and brow as free. 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the first to scale a tower. 
As venturous in a lady's bower :— 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 



s The village of Gifford lies about four miles from Ha<Idin(> 
ton : close to it is Yester House, the seat of the Msrqaii ot 
Tweeddale, and a little farther op the stream, which descendi 
from the hills of Lammermoor, are tlie remains of the old e«» 
tie of the family. 

4 See Appendix, Note 2 N 



108 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto 


111 


V. 


Now must I venture, as I may, 




Resting upon his pilgrim staS, 


To sing his favorite roundelay." 




Right opposite the Palmer stood ; 






His thin dark visage seen but halfi 


IX. 




Half hidden by his hood. 


A melldw voice Fitz-Eustace had. 




Still fix'd on MarmioQ was his look, 


The air he chose was wild and sad; 




Which he, who iU such gaze could brook, 


Such have I heard, in Scottish land. 




Strove by a frowu to quell; 


Rise from the busy harvest band. 




But not for that, though more than once 


W hen falls before the mountaineer, 




Full met their stern encoimtering glance, 


On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. 




The Palmer's visage feU. 


Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 




VI. 


Oft have I hsten'd, and stood still. 




Ly fits less frequent from the crowd 


As it came soften'd up the hill. 




Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; 


And deem'd it tlie lament of men 




For still, as squire and archer stared 


Who languish'd for their native glen ; 




On that dark face and matted beard, 


And thought how sad would be such sound 




Their glee and game declined. 


On Susquehanna's swampy gi-ound. 




A 11 gazed at length in sUence drear. 


Kentucky's wood-encumber'd brake. 




Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear 


Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 




Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, 


Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, 




Thus whisper'd forth his mind : — 


Recall'd fair Scotland's lulls again 1 




" Saint Mary 1 saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 


X. 




How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 




Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light 


Song. 




Glances beneath his cowl ! 


Where shall the lover rest. 




FuU on our Lord he sets his eye ; 


Wliom the fates sever 




For liis best palfrey, would not I 


From his true maiden's breast, 




Fndure that sullen scowL" 


Parted forever ? 
Where through groves deep and high. 




VIL 


Sounds the far bUlow, 




But Marmion, as to chase the awe 


Where early violets die, 




Which thus had quell'd their hearts, who 


Under the wUlow. 




saw 
The ever-vai'ying fire-light show 


CHORUS. 




That figure stern and face of woe, 


Meu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pilloir, 




Now call'd upon a squire : — 






" Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, 


There, through the sununer day. 




To speed the lingering night away ? 


Cool streams are laving ; 




We slumber by the fire." — 


There, while the tempests sway. 
Scarce are boughs wavmg ; 




VIII. 


There, thy rest shalt thou take, 




" So please you," thus the youth rejoin'd. 


Parted forever. 




" Our choicest minstrel's left beliind. 


Never agahi to wake, 




Ill may we hope to please yoior ear. 


Never, never 1 




Acciistom'd Constant's strains to hear. 






Tht harp fuU deftly can he strike, 


CHOEUS. 




Anc wake the lover's lute alike ; 


Eleu loro, &c. Never, lever 




To dear Saint Valentme, no tlu-ush 


XL 
W here shall the traitor rest, 
He the deceiver, 




Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush, 
No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be, 




Who could win maiden's breast, 




Detains from us his melody, 
Lavish'd on rocks, and billows stem, 


Ruin and leave her ? 
In the lost battle. 




Or duller monks of Tiindisfarne. 


Borne down by the flying, 
W here mingles war's rattle 




' MS- — " Full met their eyes' encountering glanop ' 


With groans of the dying. 





:5AKTO m 



MARMION. 



i09 



OHOBTJS. 

Eltu loro, Ac. There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it, — 

Nevor, never 1 

CHORUS. 

Eleii loro, Ac Never, never 1 

XII. 

It ceased, the melancholy soimd ; 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear, 
And plain'd as if disgrace and ill, 

And shamefiil death, were near. 
He drew his mantle past his face. 

Between it and the band. 
And rested with his head a space. 

Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween, 
That could their import have been seen, 
The meanest groom in all the hall. 
That e'er tied courser to a stall, 
Would scarce have wish'd to be their 

prey, 
For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 

XIII. 

High minds, of native pride and force. 
Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse ! 
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the wounds they feel. 
Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, 
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said — 
" Is it not strange, that, as ye simg, 
Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung, 
Such as in nunneries they toU 
For some departing sister's soul ? 

Say, what may this portend ?" — 
Then first the Palmer silence broke 
(The livelong day he had not spoke), 

" The death of a dear friend.'" 



See Appendix, Note 2 O. 

■IP - " Marmion, whose pride ) ^„^,j ^^^^ ^^^ 
Whoa? haughty soul J 



XIY. 

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 
Even from his Kjng, a haughty look ;' 
Whose accent of command contrcU'd, 
In camps, the boldest of the bold — 
Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him nc\r, 
Fall'n was his glance, and flush'd his brow : 

For either in the tone. 
Or sometliing in the Palmer's look. 
So full upon his conscience strook. 

That answer he foimd none. 
Thus oft it haps, that when within 
They shrink at sense of secret sin, 

A feather daunts the brave ; 
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, 
And proudest princes veil their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 

XV. 

Well might he falter ! — By his aid 
Was Constance Beverley betray'd. 
Not that he augur 'd of the doom. 
Which on the living closed the tomb ; 
But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; 
And wroth, because in wild despair. 
She practised on the life of Clare ; 
Its fugitive the Church he gave, 
Though not a victim, but a slave ; 
And deem'd restraint in convent stranj, 
Would hide her wrongs, and her reven^ 
Himself, proud Henry's favorite peer 
Held Romish thimders idle fear. 
Secure his pardon he might hold. 
For some slight mulct of penance -gold. 
Thus judging, he gave secret way. 
When the stern priests surprised their pre^ 
Hi s train but deem'd the favorite page 
Was left beliind, to spare his age ; 
Or other if they deem'd, none dared 
To mutter what he thought and heard : 
Woe to the vassal who durst pry 
Into Lord Marmion's privacy I 

XVL 
His conscience slept — ^he deem'd her well, ' 
And safe secured in distant cell ; 
But, waken'd by her favorite lay, 
And that strange Palmer's boding say, 
That fell so ominous and drear, 
Full on the object of his fear. 



Even from his King, a scornfnl look." 
« • MS. — " But tired to hear \.\ie furious inaid." 
* MS. — " Incensed, because in wild despair." 



110 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto m 


To aid remorse's venom'd throes. 


Full often learn the art to know 


Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose ; 


Of futiu-e weal, or future woe. 


And Constance, late betray'd and scom'd, 


By word, or sign, or star ; 


All lovely on his soul return'd ; 


Yet might a knight his fortune hear. 


Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 


If, knight-like, he despises fear. 


S)ie left her convent's peaceful wall, 


Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 


Crinison'd with shame, with terror mute, 


Aright our hamlet legend told." — 


Dreading alike escape, pursuit, 


These broken words the menials move 


Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 


(For marvels still the vidgar love). 


Illd fears and blushes in his ai-ms. 


And, Marmion giving license cold. 




His tale the host thus gladly +jold :— 


XVIL 




" Alas !" he thought, " how changed that mien ! 


XLX. 


How cl .anged these timid looks have been,* 


<rt)c j^osvs graic. 


Since yuars of guilt, and of disguise, 


" A Clerk could teU what years have flown 


Hive steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes 1 


Since Alexander fill'd our throne 


No more cf virgin terror speaks 


(Third monarch of that warlike name), 


The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 


And eke the time when here he came 


Fierce, and unfemimne, are there, 


To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 


Phrensy for joy, for grief despair ; 


A braver never drew a sword ; 


And I the cause — for whom were given 


A wiser never, at the hour 


Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 


Of midnight, spoke the word of power 


Would," thought he, as the picture grows, 


The same, whom ancient records call 


" I on its stalk had left the rose ! 


The founder of the Goblin-Hall." 


Oh, why should man's success remove 


I would. Sir Knight, your longer staj 


Tlie very charms that wake his love ! — 


Gave you that cavern to survey. 


Her convent's peaceful solitude 


Of lofty roof, and ample size, 


Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 


Beneath the castle deep it hes : 


And, pent within the narrow cell. 


To hew the living rock profoimd, 


How Avill her spu-it chafe and swell ! 


T^e floor to pave, the arch to round. 


How brook the stern monastic laws ! 


There never toU'd a mortal arm. 


The penance how — and I the cause ! — 


It aU was wrought by word and charm 


Vigd and scou'' _,e — perchance even worse 1" — 


And I have heard my grandsire say. 


And twice he rose to cry, " To horse !" — 


That the wild clamor and aflfray 


And twice his Sovereign's mandate came. 


Of those dread artisans of heU, 


Like damp upon a kindhng flame ; 


Wlio labor'd under Hugo's spell, 


And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 


Sounded as loud as ocean's war, 


She should be safe, though not at large 1 


Among the caverns of Dimbar. 


They durst not, for their island, shred 




One golden ringlet from her head." 


XX. 




" The King Lord Gifford's castle sought, 


XVIIL 


Deep laboring with uncertain thought ; 


Wliile thus in Marmion's bosom strove 


Even then he muster'd all his host, 


Repentance and reviving love. 


To meet upon the western coast : 


Like wliu'lwinds, whose contending sway 


For Norse and Danish galleys plied 


I've seen Loch Vennachar obey. 


Their oars witliin the frith of Clyde. 


Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, 


There floated Haco's banner trmi,* 


And, talkative, took up the word : 


Above Norweyan warriors grun,* 


," Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 


Savage of heart, and large of limb . 


Prom Scotland's simple land away,' 


Threatening both continent and isie, , 


To visit realms afar. 


Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 


The MS. reads :— 


How will her ardent spirit swell, 


" Since fiercer passions wild and >»lgh. 


And chafe within the narrow cell I" 


Have flush 'd her cheek with deeper dye, 


2 MS. — " From tliis plain simple land away.' 


And years of gnilt, and of disgnise, 


3 See Appendix, Note 2 P. 


Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes, 


< See Appendix, Note 2 d. 


And I the cause — for whom were given 


t> MS. — " Tliere floated Huco's banner grim 


Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 


O'er fierce of lieart and larse of limb 



CAITTO in. 



MARMION. 



Ill 



Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground, 

Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 

And tairied not his garb to change, 

But in his wizard habit strange,^ 

Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight ; 

His manile lined with fox-skins white ; 

His high and wrinkled forehead bore 

A. I ioint<;d cap, such as of yore 

Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore: 

His ihoes were mark'd with cross and spell. 

Upon his breast a pentacle ;'' 

His zone, of virgin parchment thin. 

Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 

Bore manj a planetary sign. 

Combust, and retrograde, and trine ;' 

And in his hand he held prepared, 

A naked sword without a guard. 

XXI. 
" Du"e dealings with the fiendish race 
Had mark'd strange lines upon his face ; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim. 
His eyesight dazzled seem'd and dim, 
As one unused to upper day ; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, 
In liis unwonted wild attire ; 
Unwonted, for traditions run, 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. — 
'I know,' he said — his voice was hoarse, 
And broken seem'd its hollow force, — 
' I know the cause, although untold. 
Why the King seeks his vassal's hold : 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 

XXII. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud. 
Who ride upon the racking cloud. 
Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, 
The issue of events afar ; 
But ptill their sullen aid withhold. 
Save whei by mightier force control!' d. 
Such lat? I siuiunon'd to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call. 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
I deem'd a refuge from the spell. 
Yet, obstinate in silence still. 
The haughty demon mocks my skUl. 
But thou — who litfee jmow st thy might. 

See Appendix, Note 2 R » Ibid. Note 2 I 

MS. — " Bare many a character and sign, 

Of planets retrograde and trine." 
Bee Appendix. Note 2 T. 
M3 — " With untaugiit valor mayst compel 

^hat is denied to mjisic spell." 



As bom upon that blessed night* 
When yawning graves, and dying groan, 
Proclaim'd hell's empire ovenhiown, — 
With untaught valor shalt compel 
Response denied to magic spell.' — * 
' Gramercy,' quoth out Monarch free, 
' Place him but front to front with me, 
And, by this good and honor'd brand, 
The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand, 
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, 
The demon shall a buifet bide.' — * 
His bearing bold the wizard view'd. 
And thus, well pleased, his speech renew'd :— 
' There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark : 
Forth, pacing hence, at midnight dark. 
The rampart seek, whose circling crown' 
Crests the ascent of yonder down : 
A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 
And trust thine elfin foe to see. 
In gtiise of thy worst enemy : 
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed— 
Upon him ! and Saint George to speed 1 
If he go down, thou soon shalt know 
Whate'er these airy sprites can show : — 
• If thy heart fail thee m the strife, 
I am no warrant for thy life.' 

XXIII. 

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 

Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King 

To that old camp's deserted roimd :* 

Su- Knight, you well might mark the mound, 

Left hand the town, — the Pictish race. 

The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; 

The moor around is brown and bare. 

The space within is green and fair. 

The spot our village children know. 

For there the earliest wild-flowers grow , 

But woe betide the wandering wight. 

That treads its circle in the night ! 

The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 

Gives ample space for full career : 

Opposed to the four points of heaven. 

By four deep gaps are entrance given. 

The southernmost our Monarch past,* 

Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 

And on the north, within the ring, 

Appear'd the form of England's King, 

Who then, a thousand leagues afar, 

In Palestine waged holy war : 

Yet arms like England's did he wield, 

6 MS.—" Bicker and buffet he shall bide." 

T MS.-" Seek \ '^^' i old i "a^P /-h''^'' | a« a c.o«« 
( yon ) I trench that i 

6 MS. — " A'one, and arm'd, rode forth the Kinjf 

To thac encfinii.meiit's haanted roor'' " 

6 MS. — " The southern gaie m Monarch pa«t " 



112 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTU tU 



Alike the leopards in the shield, 
Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
The rider's length of Umb the same : 
Long afterwards did Scotland know 
Fell Edward' was her deadliest foe. 

XXIV. 
" Thf vision made our Monarch start, 
Bui soon he raami'd his noble heart, 
And in tlie lirst career they ran. 
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man ; 
Yet did a splinter of liis lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance, 
And razed the skin — a pimy wound. 
The King, light leaping to the ground, 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
CompeU'd the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain, 

Memorial of the Danish war ; 
Himself he saw, amid the field. 
On liigh his brandish'd war-axe wield, 

And strike proud Haco from his car. 
While all around the shadowy Kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wing& 
'Tis said, that, in that awful night. 
Remoter visions met his sight. 
Foreshowing future conquests far,' 
When our sons' sous wage northern war ; 
A royal city, tower and spire, 
Redden'd the midnight sky with fire. 
And shouting crews her navy bore. 
Triumphant to the victor shore.' 
Such signs may learned clerks explain, 
"Kiey pass the wit of simple swain. 

XXV. 

** The joyful King tiuTi'd home again. 
Headed lus host, and qisll'd the Dane ; 
But yearly, when return'd the night 
Of liis strange combat with the sprite. 

His wound must bleed and smart ; 
Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my Uege, ye pay 

The penance of your start.' 
Long since, beneath Dimfermline's nave, 
King Alexander fills his grave. 

Our Lady give him rest 1 
Yet still the knightly spear and shield 

< Edward I., samained Longshanka. 

• M9 — " To be fulfill'd in times afar, 

When our sona' sons wage norlhivn war ; 
A royal city's towers and spires 
Redden'd the midnight sky with fires, 
And shouting crews her navy bore. 
Triumphant, from the vanquish'd shore." 

• For an acconnt of the expedition to Copenhagen in 1801, 
w Bonther's Life of Nelson, chap. vii. 



The Elfin Warrior doth wield. 

Upon the brown hill's breast , 
And many a knight hath proved liis chance. 
In the charm'd ring to break a lance. 

But all h.ave fbully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert /Ta^.— 
Gentles, my tale is said." 

XXVL 

The quaighs* were deep, the liquor ftrong, 
And on the tale the yeoman-throng 
Had made a comment sage and loi»g, 

But Marmion gave a sign : 
And, with their lord, the squires retire , 
The rest, around the hostel fire. 

Their drowsy limbs recline ; 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
The quiver and the targe were laid. 
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor,* 
Oppress'd with toil and ale, they snore: 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange. 

XXVIL 
Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth wUl dream. 
Of sport by tliicket, or by stream. 
Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread his slumber broke, 
And, close beside him, when he woke, 
In moonbeam half, and half iu gloom, 
Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marmion's voice he knew.' 

XXVIIL 
— " Fitz-Eustace ! rise, I cannot rest ; 
Yon chiu-l's wild legend hy.unts my breast, 
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood 
The air must cool my feverish blood ; 
And fain would I ride forth, to see 
Tlie scene of elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed ;* 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 

* See Appendix, Note 2 U. 

s A wooden cup, composed of staves hooped together 

6 MS. — " Deep slumbering on the floor of clay, 
Oppress'd with toil and ale, they lay , 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on them lights and shadows stranfo. 

' MS. — " But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 

ft spoke — Lord Marmion's voice he knew ' 

B MS. — " Come down and saddle me my steed." 



J 



uahto IV, 



MARMIOIs. 



lis 



Thou (lost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 
I would not, that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 
That I could credit such a tale." — 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid. 
And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd, 
\^Tiile, whispering, thus the Baron said : — 

XXIX. 

• Didst never, good my youth, hear tell, 

That on the hour when I was born. 
Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 
Down from his steed of marble fell, 

A weary wight forlorn ? 
The flattering chaplains all agree, 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth to show, 
Tliat I could meet this Elfin Foe !' 
Blithe would I battle, for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite : — 
Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be, 
An empty race, by foxmt or sea, 
To dashing waters dance and sing,' 
Or round the green oak wheel their ring." 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace Ibllow'd him abroad, 
And mark'd him pace the village road. 

And Ksten'd to his horse's tramp, 
Till, by the lessening sound, 

He judged that of the PictLsh camp 
Lord Marmion sought the roimd. 
Wonder it seem'd, in the squire's eyes, 
That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the chiu"ch believed,— 

Should, stirr'd by idle tale, 
Ride forth in silence of the night. 
As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Array'd in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know, 
That passions, in contending flow, 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee. 
Wo welcome ft)nd credulity, 

Guide confident, though blind. 

XXXI. 
Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
But, patient, waited till he heara, 
At distance, prick'd to utmost speed, 

1 MS. — " I would, to prove the omen right, 

That 1 could meet this Elfin Knight!" 
'MS. — "Dance to the wild waves' murmuring." 
Tifde used h/ ol I poeti "or went 
15 



The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 

Come town- ward rushing on ; 
Fhst, dead, as if on tm'f it trode, 
Then, clattering, on the village road,- • 
In other pace than forth he yode,' 

Retm-n'd Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from seUe, 
And, in his haste, wellnigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw, 
And spoke no word as he withdrew : 
But yet the moonlight did betray, 
The falcon-crest was soil'd with clay ; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see. 
By stains upon the charger's knee, 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous signs, 
At length to rest the squire reclines, 
Broken and short ; for still, between. 
Would dreams of teiTor intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 



ill a mil on. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH 



TO 
JAMES SKENE, ESa.< 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 

An ancient minstrel sagely said, 

" Where is the life which late we led ?" 

That Motley clown in Arden wood, 

Whom humorous Jacques with envy view'd. 

Not even that clown could amphfy. 

On this trite text, so long as I. 

Eleven years we now may tell. 

Since we have known each other well ; 

Since, riding side by side, our hand 

First drew the voluntary brand ;° 

And siu-e, through many a varied scene, 

Unkindness never came between. 

Away these winged years have flown. 

To join the mass of ages gone ; 

And though deep mark'd, like all below. 

With checker'd shades of joy and woe ; 

Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, 

Mark'd cities lost, and empires changed. 

While here, at home, my narrower ken 

* James Skene, Esq., of Rubislaw, Aberdeenshire, waa Cor- 
net in the Royal Edinburgh Light Horse Volunteers . and 8ii 
Walter ^^cott was duartermaster of the same coriw. 

6 MS. — " Unsheath'd the voluntary brand '' 



114 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I^ 



Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 

Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, 

Fevpr'd the progress of these years, 

Yet uow, days, weeks, and months, but seem 

llie recollection of a dream, 

60 still we glide down to the sea 

Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now it scarcely seems a day, 
'SiiX first I tuned this idle lay 
A. task so often thrown aside. 
When leism-e graver cares denied, 
Tliat now, November's dreary gale, 
WTiose voice inspired my opening tale, 
Tliat same November gale once more 
Whh-ls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 
Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky. 
Once more oiu* naked birches sigh. 
And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 
Have donn'd their wintry shrouds again : 
And mountain dark, and flooded mead,* 
Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
Earlier than wont along the sky, 
Mix'd with the rack, the snow mists fly ; 
The shepherd, who in siunraer sun. 
Had something of our envy won, 
As thou with pencil, I with pen. 
The features traced of hill and glen ; — ' 
He who, outstj-etcWd the livelong day. 
At ease among the heath-flowers lay, 
View'd the light clouds with vacant look, 
Or slumber'd o'er his tatter'H book, 
Or idly busied him to guide 
His angle o'er the lessen'd tide ; — 
At midnight now, the snowy plain 
Finds sterner labor for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamless sun,' 
Thro'jgli heavy vapors dark and dun ; 
When the tired plouglmian, dry and warm, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain. 
Against the casement's tmkling pane ; 
'The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, 
To sheltei in the brake and rocks, 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
1 T dismal and to dangerous task. 

MP — " And noon-tide mist, and flooded mead." 

• Various illustrations of tlie Poetry and Novell of Sir 
ATalter Scott, froii' designs by Mr. Skene, have since bam 

ablished. 

• MS.—" Wlusn red hath set the evening sun, 

And loud winds speak the storm begun." 
, MS. — "Til^ thickly drives the flaky snow, 

And forth the hardy swain must go. 
While, with dejected look and whine, &o. 

• MS. — * The frozen blast that sweeps the fells. 
VIS — " Hig cottage window beams a star,— 



Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in v^n, 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
Till, dark above, and white below,* 
Decided drives the flaky snow, 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and wliine. 
To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 
Whistluig and cheering them to aid, 
Around his back he wreathes the plaid : 
His flock he gathers, and he guides, 
To open downs, and mountain-sides, 
Wliere fiercest though the tempest blow, 
Least deeply lies the di'ift below. 
The bla.st, that wliistles o'er the fella,* 
Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
Oft he looks back, while streammg far 
His cottage window seems a star, — * 
Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
Turns patient to the blast again. 
And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
Drives through the gloom his lagginjf 

sheep. 
If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 
Benumbing death is in the gale : 
His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
Close to the hut, no more his own, 
Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
The morn may find the stiffen'd swain :' 
The widow sees, at dawning pale, 
His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
And, close beside liim, in the snow, 
Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 
Couches upon his master's breast,* 
And Kcks his cheek to break his rest. 

Wlio envies now the shepherd's lot, 
His healthy fare, liis rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood trees 
His rustic kirn's* loud revelry. 
His native hill-notes, tuned on high. 
To Marion of the blithesome eye ;"' 
His crook, his scrip, liis oaten reed 
And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 

Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer oft we see" 

But soon he loses it, — and then 

Turns patient to his task again." 
' MS.—" The mom shall find the stiffen'd swaio 

His widow sees, at morning pale, 

His children rise, and raise then- wail.' 
Compare the celebrated description 01 a man peiis.liDg ll tlH 
■now, in Thomson's Winter. — See Appendix, Note 2 V 
e MS. — " Couches upon \\\s frozen breast. '■" 
» The Scottish Harvest-home. 
'0 MS. — " His native wild-notes' melodf, 

To Marion's blithely blinking eye." 
11 MS — " Our youthful summer oft we sea 



3ANTC rv 



MAKMION. 



lis 



Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
WWle thfe dark storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of om- age : 
A.8 he, the ancient Chief of Troy, 
Elis ir.^nliood spent in peace and joy ; 
Bu* (irecian fires, and loud alarms, 
Oall'd ancient Priam forth to arms.' 
Then happy those, since each must drain 
Elii ."bare of pleasure, share of pain, — 
Tilt n happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
To wbsiii the mingled cup is given* 
Whose lenient sorrows find relief, 
Whose joys are chasten'd by their grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine, 
When thou of late, wert doom'd to twine, — 
Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled,'' 
And bless'd the union of his child, 
When love must change its joyous cheer, 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end,' 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes* paid 
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ; 
The tale of friendship scarce was told. 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 
Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind ! 
But not around his honor'd urn, 
ShaU friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried. 
Pom" at his name a bitter tide ; 
And frequent falls the grateful dew. 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Liscribe above his mouldering clay, 
" The widow's shield, the orphan's stay." 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on tliis sad theme ; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
'' Thy father's friend forget thou not :" 
And grateful title may I plead,' 
For many a kindly word and deed. 

Dance by on wings of mirth and glee. 
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 
To crush the winter of our age." 
> M?.— " Call'd forth his feeble age to arms." 
' MS, — " Scarce on thy bride her sire had smiled. 

• MS. — " But even the actions next his end, 

Spoke the fond sire and faithful friend.' 
» See Appendix, Note 2 W. 
» MS. — " And nearer title may I plead." 

• MS. — " Our thoughts in social silence too." 

' Camp was a favorite dog of the Poet's, a bull-terrier of ex- 
>«ordinary sagacity. He is introduced in Raeburn's portrait 
»f Sir Walter Scott, low at Dalkeith Palace.— Ed. 

• MS — " Til! of* orr voice snppress'd the fend." 



To bring my tribute to his grave : — 
'Tis little— but 'tis all I have. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling ftraio 
Recalls our surmner walks again ; 
When, douig naught, — ana, to speak inu 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wUd unbounded hills we ranged. 
While oft our talk its topic changed, 
And, desultory as our way 
Ranged, unconfined, from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagg'd, as oft will chance. 
No effort made to break its trance, 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence too ;* 
Thou gravely laboring to portray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray; 
I spelUng o'er, with much deUght, 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, yclep'd the White. 
At either's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp,'' with eyes of fire. 
Jealous, each other's motions view'd, 
And scarce suppress'd their ancient feud.' 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 

And blithesome nights, too, have been oun, 
When Winter stript the smnmer's bowers. 
Careless we heard, what now I hear,' 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear, 
When fires were bright, and lamps beam'd 

gay, 

And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 
And he was held a laggaljl soul, 
Who shunn'd to «|uaff the sparkling bowl. 
Then he, whose absence we deplore," 
Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore. 
Tlie longer miss'd, bewail'd the more ; 

And thou, and I, and dear-loved R ^," 

And one whose name I may not say," — 



9 MS. — " When light we heard whit now I hear. 

10 Colin Mackenzie, Esq., of Portmore, one of the Pncnij* 
Clerks of Session at Edinburgh, and tlirough lile an intimati 
friend of Sir Walter f'cott, died on 10th September. 1830.— Ed 

11 Sir William Rae of St. Catharine's, Bart., subsequenth 
Lord Advocate of Scotland, was a distinguished member o! 
the volunteer corps to which Sir Walter Scott belonged ; am 
he, the Poet, Mr. Skene, Mr. Mackenzie, and a few othe- 
friends, had formed themselves into a little semi-military jlul 
the meetings of which were held at their family suppeMablei 
in rotation. — Ed. 

12 The gentleman whose name the Poet " might not say,' 
was the late Sir William Forbes, of Pitsligo, Bart., son of ihi 
author of the Life of Beattie, and brotheMn-law «f Mr. Skoii* 



.10 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 


For not Mimosa's tender tree 


Of the good steed he loves so well ?" 


Slirinks sooner Ironi the touch than he, — 


Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw • 


In meiTy chorus well combmed. 


The charger panting on his straw ;* 


With laughter drowu'd the whistling wind. 


Till one, who would seem wisest, cr.ed,— 


Mirth was witliin ; iuid Care without 


" What else but evil could betide, 


Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 


With that cursed Palmer for our guide 1 


Not but amid the buxom scene 


Better we had through mire and bush 


Some grave discourse might intervene — 


Been lantern-led by Friar Rush.'" 


Of tb good horse that bore him best, 




His shoulder, hoof, and arcliing crest : 


IL 


For, like mad Tom's,' our chiefest care, 


Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guess'd. 


Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 


Nor whoUy imderstood. 


Such nights we've liad ; and, though the game' 


His comrades' clamorous plaints suppress'd 


Of manliood be more sober tame, 


He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 


And though the field-day, or the drill, 


Him, ere he issued forth, he sought, 


S^em less important now — yet still 


And found deep plunged in gloomy thought 


Such may we hope to share again. 


And did his tale display 


Tlie sprightly thought inspires my strain 1 


Simjjly as if he knew of naught 


And mark, how, like a horseman true, 


To cause such disarray. 


Lord Marniion's march I thus renew. 


Lord Marmion gave attention cold, 




Nor marvell'd at the wonders told, — 
Pass'd them as accidents of course", 




in a r in i n . 


And bade his clarions sotmd to horse. 


HL 

Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 


CANTO FOURTH. 




Had reckon'd with their Scottish host ; 






And, as the charge he cast and paid. 


SIjc Camp. 


" 111 thou deserv'st thy Mre," he said ; 


I. 


" Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight f 


EusTAoK, I said, did bUthely mark 


Fairies have ridden him all the night. 


The first notes of the merry lark. 


And left liim in a foam 1 


The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, 


I trust that soon a conjuring band. 


And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 


With English cross, and blazing brand,* 


And with their Hght and lively call, 


Shall drive the devils from tliis land. 


Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 


To their infernal home : 


Whistling they came, and free of heart, 


For in this haunted den, I trow, 


But soon their mood was changed ; 


All night they trample to and fro." — 


Complaint was heard on every part, 


The laughing host look'd on the hire, — 


Of something disarranged. 


" Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 


Some clamor'd loud for armor lost ; 


And if thou comest among the rest. 


Some brawl'd and wrangled with the host ; 


With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 


" By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear,' 


Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 


That some false Scot has stolen my spear I" — 


And short the pang to undergo." 


Toiuig Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire 


Here stay'd their talk, — for Marmion 


Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ; 


Gave now the signal to set on. 


Although the rated horse-boy sware, 


The Palmer showing forth the way, 


Last night he dress'd him sleek and fair. 


They journey'd all the morning day.* 


VV hile chafed the impatient squire hke thunder, 




Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 


IV. 


" Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all 1 


The green-sward way was smooth and good. 


Bevis lies dying in his stall : 


Through Hmubie's and tlirough Saltoun'e wood 


To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 


A forest glade, \vl ich, varying still. 


jiiongh life an intimate, and latterly a generous friend of Sir 


» MS. — •' By Becitet's bones," cried one, " I swew. ' 


Walter Scott— died 24tli October, 1828.— Ed. 


♦ MS.—" The good horse panting on the straw." 


' See Kins' Lear. 


6 See Appendix, Note 2 X. 


2 MS.- " Sneh nights we've had ; and though our game 


6 MS. — " Willi bloody cross and fierv brand." 


Advance of years may something tame." 


' MS.—" They journey'd till the middle dar. 



rANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



11 



Here gave a view of dale and hill, 


In painted tabards, proudly showing 


There narrower closed, till over head 


Gules, Argent, Or, and Aziu-e glcwing, 


^ vaulted screen the branches made. 


Attendant on a King-at-arms, 


" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 


Whose hand the armorial truncheon held. 


" Such as where errant-toights might 8et3 


That feudal strife had often quell'd. 


Adventures of high chivaiky ; 


When wildest its alarms. 


Might meet some damsel flying fast, 




With hair unbound, and looks aghast ; 


VJT. 


And smooth and level course were here, 


He was a man of middle age ; 


In her defence to break a spear. 


In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 


Heie, toO; are twilight nooks and dells; 


As on King's errand come , 


And oft, in such, the story tells, 


But in the glances of his eye. 


The damsel kind, from danger freed. 


A penetratmg, keen, and sly 


Did grateful pay her champion's meed." 


Expression found its home ; 


He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind : 


The flash of that satiric rage, 


Perchance to show liis lore design'd ; 


Which, bursting on the early stage. 


For Eustace much had pored 


Branded the vices of the age, # 


Upon a huge roraastic tome,' 


And broke the keys of Rome.* 


In the hall window of his home. 


On milk-white palfrey forth lie paced ; 


Imprinted at the antique dome 


His cap of maintenance was graced 


Of Caxton, or De Worde." 


With the proud heron-pliune 


Therefore he spoke, — but spoke m vain, 


From his steed's shoulder, loin, and brea3t« 


For Maj-mion answer'd naught again. 


Silk housmgs swept the ground, 




With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 


V. 


Embroider'd round and round. 


Now sudden, distant trumpets shriU, 


The double tressure might you see, 


In notes prolong'd by wood and hiU, 


First by Achaius borne, 


"Were heard to echo far ; 


The thistle and the fleur-de-lis. 


Each ready archer grasp'd his bow, 


And gallant unicorn.' 


But by the flourish soon they know, 


So bright the King's armorial coat. 


They breathed no point of war. 


That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 


Yet cautious, as in foeman's land, 


In living colors, blazon'd brave. 


Lord Marmion's order speeds the band, 


The Lion, wliich his title gave. 


Some opener ground to gain ; 


A train, which well beseem'd his state, 


And scarce a fiu-long had they rode. 


But all unarm' d, around liim wait. 


When thinner trees, receding, show'd 


Still is thy name in high account. 


A Uttle woodland plain. 


And still thy verse has charms. 


Just in that advantageous glade. 


Sir David Lindesay of the Moimt, 


The halting troop a line had made, 


Lord Lion King-at-arms !* 


As forth from the opposing shade 




Issued a gallant train. 


VIIL 




Down from his horse did Marmion sprinfj, 


VL 


Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 


First came the trumpets, at whose clang 


For well the stately Baron kne iV 


So late the forest echoes rang ; 


To him such courtesy was dut, 


On prancing steeds they forward press'd. 


W hom royal James himself had crownV, 


With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 


And on his temples placed the round 


Each at his trump a banner wore, 


Of Scotland's ancient diadem ; 


Which Scotland's royal scutcheon' bore : 


And wet his brow with hallow'd wine. 


Heralds and pursuivants, by name 


And on his finger given to shme 


Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, CRme, 


The emblematic gem. 


• MS. — " Upon a Hack and ponderous tome." 


'^scarlet tabards;" and in line 12tli, "blazoned trancheoa 


• William Caxton, the earliest English printer, was bom il 


* MS.—" The flash of that satirii. rage, 


Kent, A. D. 1412, and died in t491. Wynken de Worde wa.. 


Which, bursting from the early stage, 


lis next successor in the production of those 


Lash'd the coarse vices of the age,'' &c. 


" Rare volumes, dark with tarnish'd gold," 


6 MS. — " Silver unicorn." This, and the seven Drecedtni 


►hich are now the delight of bibliomaniacs. 


lines, are interpolated in the blank page of the MS 


"he MS. has " Scot wd's n ral Lion" here ; in line 9th, 


6 See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 



118 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cauto it 


Their lautuil greetings duly made, 


Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, 


ITiw Liou thus his message said : — 


Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 


" Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore' 


Oft have I traced, within thy fort, 


Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 


Of mouldering shields the mystic senso. 


And strictly hath forbid resort 


Scutcheons of honor, or pretenf^e, 


From England to his royal com-t : 


Quarterd in old armorial sort. 


Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name, 


Remains of rude magnificence. 


Ard honors much his warUke fame, 


Nor wholly yet had time defaced 


My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack 


Thy lordly gallery fair ; 


0) courtesy, to turn him back ; 


Nor yet the stony cord unbraded, 


Aud. by liis order, I, y^ur guide, 


Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 


Must lodging fit and fair provide, 


Adorn thy ruin'd stair. 


Till finds King James meet time to see 


StiU rises tmimpair'd below, * 


The flower of English chivalry." 


The court-yard's graceful portico ; 




Above its cornice, row and row 


IX. 


Of fair hewn facets richly show 


ITiough inly chafed at this delay. 


Their pointed diamond form. 


Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 


Though there but houseless cattle go, 


TLe Pahner, his mysterious guide. 


To shield them from the storm. 


Beholdmg thus his place supphed, 


And, shuddering, still may we explore, 


Sought to take leave in vain : 


W here oft whilom were captives pent, 


Strict was the Lion-King's coimuand, 


The darkness of thy Massy More ;" 


That none, who rode in Marmion's band, 


Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 


.Should sever from the train ; 


May trace, in imdulatuig line, 


' England has here enow of spies 


The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 


In Lady Heron's witching eyes :" 




To Marchmount thus, apart, he said, 


XIL 


But fair pretext to Marmion made. 


Another a^ipect Chrichtoun show'd. 


The right hand path they now decUne, 


As through its portal Marmion roae , 


And trace against the stream the Tyne. 


But yet 'twas melancholy ctat-e 




Received him at the outer gate ; 


X. 


For none were in the Castle thtn, 


At length up that wild dale they wind. 


But women, boyS; or aged men. 


Where Crichtoim Castle'' crowns the bank ; 


With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dsaob, 


For there the Lion's care assign'd 


To welcome noble Marmion, came ; 


A lodging meet for Marmion's rank 


Her eon, a stripling twelve years old, 


That Castle rises on the steep 


Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold ; 


Of the green vale of Tyne : 


For each man that could draw a sword 


And far beneath, where slow they creep, 


Had march'd that morning with their lord. 


From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 


Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 


Where aklers moist, and willows weep, 


On Flodden, by liis sovereign's side.' 


You hear her streams repine.' 


Long may his Lady look in vain ! 


The towers in different ages rose ; 


She ne'er' shall see his gallant tram," 


Tlicir various arcliitecture shows 


Come sweeping back through Oricbtoun-Dwsa 


The builders' various hands ; 


'Twas a brave race, before the name 


A mighty mass, that could oppose,* 


Of hated Bothwell stain'd tho'r faiuc 


Wlien deadhest hatred fired its foes. 




The vengeful Douglas bands. 


XIIL 




And here two days did Marmion reot, 


XL 


With every rite that honor claijns, 


Chrichtoun ! though now thy miry court 


Attended as the King's own guest ; — 


But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 


Such the command of Royal James, 


' MS. — " The Lion-King liis message said : — 


* MS. — " But the huge mass could well oppose." 


' My liege hath deej) and deadly swore,' " &c. 


» Ms. — " Of many a mouldering shield the sense." 


See Appendix, Note 2 Z ; and, for a fnller description of 


« The pit, or prison vault. — See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 


Ori'.htoii Castle, see Sir Walter Scott's Miscellaneous Prose 


* See Appendix, Note 3 A. 


(Vorks, vol. vii. p. 157. 


8 MS " Well might his gentle Lauy monra. 


j '' M?.--" Her lazy streams repine." 
\ 


Doom'd ne'er to see her Lord's reiarn. 



CANTO IV. 



MARMIOK 



llf 



Wlio mar8>all'<l then his land's array, 

Upon the Boi-ough-moor that lay. 

Perchance he wouii not foeman's eye 

Upon his gathering host should pry, 

Till full prepared was every band 

To march against the Enghsh land 

Here while they dwelt, did Liiidesay's wit 

Dft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 

A.nd, in his turn, he knew to prize 

Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and -wisb •— 

Prain'd in the lore of Rome and Grt;€».s, 

-Vnd policies of war and peace.' 

XIV. 
U chanced, as feU the second night, 

That on the battlements they walk'd, 
And, by the slowly-fading light, 

Of varying topics talked ; 
Aaid, unaware, the Herald-bard" 
Said, Marmiou might his toil have spared. 

In traveUmg so far ; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to Jaines had coimsel given 

Against the EngUsh war ;' 
And, closer question'd, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have ^moll'd : — 

XV. 
Sir J^abiU lLintic»a2'9 EaU. 

■ Of all the palaces so fair,* 

Built for the royal dwelling, 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 

MS. — " Nor less the Herald Monarch knew 
Tlie Baron's powers to value true — 
Hence confidence between them grew.' 

» MS — " Then fell from Lindesay, unware, 

That Marmion might ) , . , ,. ,, 

-. . , " ,, J his labor spare." 

Marmion might well \ 

t t?ee Appendix, Note 3 B 

4 " In some places, Mr. S'. ott's love of variety has betray 
tiim into strange imitations This is evidently formed on th« 
Xibool of Sternhold atui Hopkins, — 

' Of all the palaces so fair,' " &o. 

Jeffrey. 

• In Scotland there are about twenty palaces, castles, and 
nmains, or sites of such, 

" Where Scotia's kings of other years" 
had their royal home. 

" Linlithgow, distinguished by the combined strength and 
beauty of its situation, must have been early selected as a 
foyai residence. David, who bought the title of saint by his 
iberality to tlie Church, refers several of his charters to his 
own of Linlithgow ; and in that of Holyrood expressly be- 
stows on the new monastery ^all the skins of the rams, ewes, 
and lambs, belonging to his castle of Linlitcu, which shall 
die during the year. . . . The convenience afforded for the 
^rt of falconry, which was so great a favorite during the 
%ndal a^es, was probably one cause of the attachment of the 



Linhthgow is excelling ;' 
And in its park in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 

How bUthe the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild-buck-bells* from ferny brake, 
The coot dives merry on the lake, 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our Sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in aU the year : 
Too weU liis cause of grief you know 
June saw liis father's overthrow.' 
Woe to the traitors, who could bring 
The princely boy against his King ! 
StiU in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent * 

XVI. 
"When last this rutliful month waa 

come. 
And in Linhthgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying ; 
While, for his royal father's soul, 
The chanters sung, the beUs did toll. 

The Bishop mass was saying — 
For now the year brought round again' 
The day the luckless king was slain — 
In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt. 
With sackcloth-sliirt, and iron belt, 

And eyes with sorrow streaming ; 
Aroimd him in their stalls of state, 
The Thistle's Knight Companions sate, 

ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine like 
The sport of hunting was also followed with success in tlw 
neighborhood, from which circumstance it probably arises that 
the ancient arms of the city represent a black greyhound bitch 
tied to a tree. . . . The situation of Linlithgow Palace is 
eminently beautiful. It stands on a promontory of some 
elevation, which advances almost into the midst of the lake. 
The form is that of a square court, composed of buildings ol 
four stories high, with towers at the angles. The fronts within 
the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and the 
size of the rooms, as well as the width and character sf the 
staircases, are upon a magnificent scale. One banquet-room 
is ninety-four feet long, thirty feet wide, and thirty- three feel 
high, with a gallery for music. The king's wardr>.oe o? 
dressing-room, looking to the west, projects over the ivalls, at 
as to have a delicious prospect on three sides, and is one of tKi 
most enviable boudoirs we have ever seen." — Sir Walibp 
Scott's Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. vii p 362, &< 

« See Appendix, Note 3 C. 

' See Appendix, Note 3 1». 

8 MS. — " In offices as strict as Lent, 

And penances his Junes are spent." 

' MS. — " Vox now the year brought round again * 

The very ilay that he ) 

The day that the third James S 

In Katharine's aisle the Monarch kneels. 

And folded hands ) , , . , 

, . , , , , > show what ne fea!* 

And hands sore clasped I 



120 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Their banners o'er them beaming. 


XVIII. 


1 too was there, and, sooth to tell. 


While Lindesay told his marvel strange, 


Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell. 


The twilight was so pale, 


Was watching where the sunbeams fell. 


He mark'd not Marmion's color change. 


Through the stain'd casement gleaming ; 


While Ustening to the tale ; 


But, while I mark'd what next befell, 


But, after a suspended pause. 


It seem'd as I were dreaming. 


The Baron spoke : — " Of Natm-e's laws 


Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, 


So strong I held the force, 


In azure gown, with cincture white ; 


That never superhuman cause 


His forehead bald, his head was bare, 


Could e'er control then* couise. 


Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 


And, three days since, had judged yoji a»m 


Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, 


Was but to make your guest yoiu- game ; 


I pledge to you my knightly word, 


But I have seen, since past the Tweed,' 


That, when I saw liis placid grace, 


What much has changed my skeptic creed, 


His simple majesty of face. 


And made me credit aught." — He staid. 


His solemn bearing, and his pace 


And seem'd to wish his words imsaid : 


So stately gliding on, — 


But, by that strong emotion press'd. 


Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint 


Which prompts us to imload our breast. 


So just an image of the Saint, 


Even when discovery's pain, 


Wlio propp'd the Virgin m her faint, — 


To Lmdesay did at length imfold 


The loved Apostle John 1 


The tale his village host had told, 




At Gifford, to his train. 


XVII. 


Naught of the Palmer says he there. 


" He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, 


And naught of Constance, or of Clare ; 


And stood with rustic plaimiess there, 


The thoughts which broke liis sleep, he seeoif 


And httle reverence made ; 


To mention but as feverish dreams. 


Nor head nor body, bow'd nor bent, 




But on the desk his arm he leant, 


XIX. 


And words like these he said, 


" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 


In a low voice, but never tone' 


My burning hmbs, and couch'd my head: 


So tlirill'd through vein, and nerve, and 


Fantastic thoughts retuni'd ; 


bone : — 


And, by their wild dominion led, 


* My mother sent me from afar, 


My heart within me burn'd.* 


Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 


So sore was the delirious goad. 


Woe waits on thine array ; 


I took my steed, and forth I rode 


If war thou wUt, of woman fair,' 


And, as the moon shone bright and ctjid, 


Her witcliing wiles and wanton snare, 


Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. 


Jaxues Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware : 


The southern entrance I pass'd through. 


God keep thee as he may !' 


And halted, and my bugle blew. 


The wondering Monarch seem'd to sea^t 


Methought an answer met my ear, — 


For answer, and found none ; 


Yet was the blast so low and drear,* 


And when he raised lus head to speak, 


So hollow, and so faintly blown. 


The monitor was gone. 


It might be echo of my own. 


The Marshal and myself had cast 




To stop him as he outward pass'd ; 


XX. 


But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, 


" Thus judging, for a little space 


He vanish'd from our eyes, 


I hsten'd, ere I left the place ; 


fiike sunbeam on the billow cast, 


But scarce could trust my eyes. 


That glances but, and dies." 


Nor yet can tloiok they served me true, 


MS.—" In a low voice — bit every tone 


* MS.—" In vain," said he, " to rest I laid 


Thrill'd throagh the listener's vein and bone." 


My burning limbs, and throbbing head«< 




Fantastic thoughts return'd ; 


MS.—* And if to war thon needs wilt fare 


.led, 
And, by their wild dominion < sway'd, 
' s,>ed, 


Of wanton wiles and woman's >„„„„ ,, 

. I snare. 
Of woman's wiles and wanton ' 




My heart within me bum'd." 


MS.- •" But events, since I cross'd the Tweed, 




Havo undermined my slieptic creed ' 


6 MS. — " And yet it was so slow ana drew." 



CANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



lil 



When sudd an in the ring I view, 


Dead or alive, good cause had he 


In form distinct of shape and hue, 


To be my mortal enemy." 


A mounted champion rise. — 




I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day,' 


XXIL 


In single fight, and mix'd aflfray, 


Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount ; 


And ever, I myself may say. 


Then, learn'd in story, 'gan recount 


Have borne me as a knight ; 


Such chance had happ'd of old. 


But when this unexpected foe 


When once, near Norham, there did fight 


S;iem'd starting from the gulf below,— 


A spectre fell of fiendish might. 


[ care not though the truth I show, — 


El likeness of a Scottish knight, 


I trembled with affright ; 


"With Brian Bulmer bold. 


And as I plrr ed in rest my epear. 


And train'd him nigh to disallow 


My hand so shook with very fear, 


The aid of Ms baptismal vow. 


I scai'ce could couch it right. 


"And such a phantom too, 'tis said, 




"With Highland broadsword, targe, and p^iud 


XXL 


And fingers, red with gore. 


" W by n*" <? 1 my tongue the issue tell ? 


Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade. 


We ra'-. our course, — my charger fell ; — 


Or where the sable pine-trees shade 


Wbs.t could he 'gainst the shock of hell ?— 


Dark Tomant<jul, and Auchnaslaid, 


I roll'd upon the plain. 


Dromouchty, or Glenmore.'' 


High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 


And yet, whate'er such legends say, 


The spectre shook his naked brand, — * 


Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay, 


Yet did the worst remain : 


On mountain, moor, or plain, 


My dazzled eyes I upward cast,— 


Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,* 


Not opening hell itself could blast 


True son of chivalry should hold, 


Their sight like what I saw 1 


These midnight terrors vain ; 


Full on his face the moonbeam atrook, — 


For seldom have such spirits power 


A face could never be mistook ! 


To harm, save in the evil hour, 


I knew the stern vmdictive look. 


"When guilt we meditate within,* 


And held my breath for awe. 


Or harbor unrepented sin." — 


I saw the face of one who, fled' 


Lord Marmion turn'd him half aside. 


To foreign chmes, has long been dead, — 


And twice to clear his voice he tried. 


I well believe the last ; 


Then press'd Sir David's hand, — 


For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 


But naught, at length, in answer said ; 


A human warrior, with a glare 


And here theu- farther converse staid, 


So grimly and so ghast. 


Each ordering that his band 


Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade : 


Should bowne them with the rising day. 


But when to good Saint George I pray'd 


To Scotland's camp to take their way. — 


(The first time e'er I ask'd his aid). 


Such was the King's command. 


He plunged it in the sheath ; 




And, on liis courser mounting %ht. 


XXIIL 


He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 


Early they took Dun-Edm's road, 


The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night 


And I could trace each step they trode : 


Sunk down upon the heath. — 


Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stcae, 


'Twere long to tell what cause I have 


Lies on the path to me unknown. 


To know his face, that met me there, 


Much might it boast of storied lore ; 


Oall'd by liis hatred from the grave, 


But, passing such digression o'er, 


To cumber upper air : 


Suffice it that the route was laid 


; MS.— ' I've been, Lord-Lion, many a day, 


I knew the face of one who, fled 


In combat single, or mgl6e." 


To foreign climes, or long since dead— 


• MS. — " The spectre slioolt liis naked brand, — 


I well may judge the last." 


Yet doth tlie worst remain : 
My reeling eyes I upward cast, — 
But opening hell could never blast 

Their sight, like what I saw." 


4 See the traditions concerning Bulmer, and the ipMUt 
called Lhamdearg, or Bloody-band, in a note on OAnto UL 
Appendix, Note 2 U. 


• M^.— I knew the face of one long dead, 


6 MS.—" Of spotless faith, and bosom bold." 


Dr who to foreign climes hath fled . 


6 MS.—-" When mortals meditate within 


^« 


Fresh guih or unrepented siai." 



122 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANIO IT 



Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They pass'd the glen and scanty rill, 
And climb'd the opposing bank, until 
ITiey gain'd the top of Blackford Hill. 

XXIV. 
Blackford I on whose uncultured breast. 

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin 
A truant boy, I sought the nest, 
Or listed, as I lay at rest. 

While rose, on breezes thin. 
ITie miu-miu- of the city crowd, 
And, from his steeple jangling loud, 

Saint Giles's mingling din. 
Now, from the summit to the plain. 
Waves all the hiU with yellow grain ; 

And o'er the landscape as I look, 
Naught do I see unchanged remain, 

Save the rude cliifs and chiming brook. 
To me they make a heavy moan. 
Of early friendsliips past and gone. 

XXV, 
But different far the change has been,' 

Since Marmion, from the crown 
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown : 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 
Spread all the Borough-moor below,' 

Upland, and dale, and down : — 
A thousand did I say ? I ween,* 
Thousands on thousands there were seen. 
That checker'd all the heath between 

The streamlet and the town; 
In crossing ranks extending far, 
Forming a camp irregular ;* 
Oft giving way, where still there stood 
Some relics of the old oak wood. 
That darkly huge did mtervene, 
And tamed the glaring white with green 
In these extended lines there lay 
A martial kingdom's vast array. 

XXVI. 
For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
And from the southeiu Redswire edge, 
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 

t MS.—" Bat, oh t far difTerent change has been 
Since Marmion, from the crown 
Of Blackford-hiU, upon the scene 
Of Scotland's war look'd d' wn." 

i See Appendix, Note 3 E. 

• MS. — " A thousand said the verse? I ween, 

Thousands on thousands there were seen. 
That wliiten'd all the heath between." 

• Here ends the stanza in the MS. 

• Baveo ci^ veritfi so called, cast by one Borthwick. 



From west to east, from north to south, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth, 
Marmion might hear the muigled hum 
Of myriads up the moimtain come : 
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank, 
Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank, 

And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
And see the shifting lines advance. 
While frequent flash'd, from shield and lano^ 

The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVII. 
Thin curling in the morning air. 
The wreaths of failing smoke declare 
To embers now the brands decay'd, 
Where the night-watch their fires had madt 
They saw, slow rolling on the plain. 
Full many a baggage-cart and wain, 
And dire artillery's clumsy car. 
By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; 
And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,* 
And culverins which France had given. 
lU-omen'd gift 1 the guns remain 
The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 

Various in shape, device, and hue. 

Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 
Broad, narrow, swallow-tail'd, and square, 
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,* there 

O'er the pavilions flew.' 
Highest and midmost, was descried 
The royal banner floating wide ; 

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,' 
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone, 
WTiich still in memory is shown. 

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight 
Whene'er the western wind imroll'd. 

With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold, 
And gave to view the dazzling field, 
WTiere, in proud Scotland's royal shield, 

The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.* 

XXIX. 
Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,— 
He view'd it with a chief's delight,— 

< Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the differekl rank » 
those entitled to display them. 
1 See Appendix, Note 3 F. 
* MS. — " The standard staff, a mountain pins, 
Pitch'd in a huge memorial stone, 
That still in monnment is shown.' 
» See Appendix, Note 3 G. 

w MS. — " Lord Marmion's large dark eye flash'd light. 
It kindled with a chief's delight, 
For glow'd with martial joy his heart. 
As upon battlp-diy." 



OANTO IV. 



MARMION. 



12b 



Until within him burn'd his heart, 

And lightning from his eye did part, 
As on the battle-day ; 

Ibuch glance did falcon never dart. 
When stooping on his prey. 
* Oil ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 

Were bu'' a vain essay : 
For, by Saint George, were that host mine, 
Not power infernal nor divine, 
Should once to peace my soul incline, 
TiU I had dimm'd their armor's shine 

Li glorious battle-fraj !" 
Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood: 
"Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good. 

That kings would think withal, 
When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 
'Tis bettei' to sit still at rest,' 

Than rise, perchance to falL" 

XXX. 

Still on the spot Lord Maimion stay'd, 

For fau-er scene he ne'er survey'd. 
When sated with the martial show 
That peopled aU the plain below. 
The wandering eye could o'er it go. 
And mark the distant city glow 

With gloomy splendor red ; 
For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, 
That round her sable turrets flow, 
The morning beams were shed. 
And tinged them with a lustre proud, 
Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 

Such dusky grandeur clothed the height. 

Where the huge Castle holds its state. 
And aU the steep slope down, 

Wliose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 

Piled deep and massy, close and high. 
Mine own romantic town I'' 

But northward far, with purer blaze. 

On Ocliil mountains fell the rays. 

And <w? each heathy top they kiss'd. 

It gleau- 1 H t5xu"ple amethyst. 

Yonder the sno/es of Fife you saw ; 

Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law: 
And broad between them roU'd, 

The g illant Frith the eye might note, 

Wl>J3e islands on its bosom float. 
Like emeralds chased in gold. 

Fitz Eustace' heart felt closely pent ; 

• MS.—" 'Tis better sitting still at rest, 

Than rising but to fall ; 
'n.d white these words they did exchange. 
They reach' d the camp's extremest range." 
The Poei appears to have struck his pen through the two 
mes in italics, on conceiving the magnificent picture which re- 
Jaces iheai in the text. 

* MS — ' Dun-Edin's towers and town." 



As if to give his rapture veut. 
The spur he to his charger lent. 

And raised his bridle hand, 
And, making demi-volte in aii, 
Cried, " Where's the coward that would nbt aari 

To fight for such a land 1" 
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ;* 
Nor Maimion's frown repress'd his glee 

XXXL 
Thus while they look'd a flom-ish proud. 
Where mingled trump and clarion loud, 

And fife, and kettle-drum. 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery, 
And war-pipe with discordant cry, 
And cynibal clattering to the sky. 
Making wild music bold and high. 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chime, 
Merrily toU'd the hour of prime. 
And thus the Lindesay spoke :* 
" Thus clamor stiU the war-notes when 
The king to mass his way has ta'en. 
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,* 

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame ;* 
But me remind of peaceful game. 

When blither was their cheer. 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 
In signal none his steed shoidd spai'e. 
But strive which foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer. 

XXXIL 
"Nor less," he said, — "when looking forth, 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hiUy throne ; 
Her palace's imperial bowers, 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
Her stately haUs and holy towers — '' 

Nor less," he said, " I moan, 
To think what woe mischance may brmg, 
And how these merry bells may ring 
The death-dirge of our gallant king ; 

Or with the lartun call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gamst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall — 
But not for my presaging thought, 
Dream conquest sm-e, or cheaply bought I 

3 MS. — " The Lion smiled his joy to see.' 

* MS. — " And thus the L'on spoke." 

6 MS.- Or to our Lady's of Sienne." 

• MS.— To yon they speak of martial fame, 

To me of mood more mild and tam» - 
Blither would be their cheer." 
'> MS. — " Her stately /anes anJ holy tower*." 
B MS. — " Dream of a conquest cheaply bought 



124 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Canto t 



Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
God is the guider of the iield, 
He breaks the champion's spear and shiela, — 

But thou thyself shalt say, 
WheB joins yon host in deadly stowre, 
That England's danies must weep in bower, 

Her monks the death-mass sing ;* 
For never saw'st thou such a power 

Led on by such a King." — 
And now, down winding to the plain, 
The barriers of the camp they gain, 

And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Minstrel, tiU he fling 
His hand o'er every Border string, 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing, 
Of Scotland's ancient Court Had King, 

It- the succeeding lay. 



ill arm ton. 



INTKODUCTION TO CANTO FHCTH.* 



TO 

GEORGE ELLIS, Egia.a 

Edinburgh. 
When dark December glooms the day, 
And takes our autumn joys away ; 
When short and scant the sunbeam throws, 
Upon the weary waste of snows, 
A cold and profitless regard. 
Like patron on a needy bard ; 
When silvan occupation's done. 
And o'er the chimney rests the grin, 
And hang, in idle trophy, near. 
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; 
Wlien wiry terrier, rough and grim, 
And greyhound, with his length of limb. 
And pointer, now employ'd no more, 
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ; 
Wlien in his stall the impatient steed 
Is long condemn'd to rest and feed ; 
When from our snow-encircled home. 
Scarce caros tlie hardiest step to roam. 
Since path is none, save that to bring 

■ 

* MS. — " Their monks dead masses sing." 
"These Introductory Epistles, though excellent in them- 
lelves, are in fact only interruptions to the fable, and accord- 
'ngly, nine readers out of ten have perused them separately, 
either before, or after the poem. In short, the personal ap- 
pearance of the Minstrel, who, though the La$t, is the most 
charming of all minstrels, is by no means compensated by the 
Idea of an author shorn of his picturesque beard, and writing 
letters to his intimate friends." — Gkorqe Ellis. 

3 This accomoJished gentleman, the well-known coadjutor 
»f Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere in the " Antijacobin," and edi- 
or of " Specimens of Ancient English Romances," &e., died 



The needful water fi-om the spring ; 

When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er. 

Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 

And darkling politician, cross'd, 

Inveiglis against the lingering post, 

And answering housewife sore complains 

Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; 

When such the country cheer, I come, 

Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 

For converse, and for books, to change 

The Forest's melancholy range. 

And welcome, with renew'd dehght, 

The busy day and social night. 

Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time. 
As erst by Newark's riven towers. 
And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers.* 
True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed,* 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent. 
By bulwark, line, and battlement, 
And flanking towers, and laky flood. 
Guarded and garrison'd she stood, 
Denying entrance or resort, 
Save at each tail embattled port : 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Portcvdlis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long. 
Since, early closed, and opening late. 
Jealous revolved the studded gate, 
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, 
Dun-Edin ! 0, how alter'd now. 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sit'st, Uke Empress at her sport. 
And hberal, uncoufined and free. 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,* 
For thy dark cloud, with umber'd lower, 
That nung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower, 
Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 

Not she, the Championess of old. 
In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd. 
She for the charmed spear reuown'd 

10th April, 1815, aged 70 years ; being succeeded in hii ntata 
by his brother Charles Ellis, Esq., created, in 1827, Lord Sea 
ford.— Ed. 
< See Introduction to canto ii. 
8 See Appendix, Note 3 H. 

« Since writing this line, I find 1 have inadvertently bonow 
ed it almost verbatim, though with somewhat a different meM 
ing, fron; a chorus in " Caractacns ;" 

" Britain heard tlie descant bold, 

She flnng her white arms o'er tie *e*, 
Proud in her leafy bosom to enfold 
The freight of harmony." 



cksro V. 



MARMION. 



12» 



■Which forced each knight to kiss the ground, — 

Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, 

What time she was Malbecco's guest,' 

She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 

When from the corslet's grasp relieved. 

Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 

Sweet vas her blue eye's modest smile, 

Erst hidden by the aventayle ; 

And down her shoulders graceful roH'd 

Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 

They who whilom, in midnight fight, 

Had marvell'd at her matchless might. 

No less her maiden charms approved. 

But looking liked, and Ukuig loved." 

The sight could jealous pangs beguile. 

And charm Malbi^cco's cares a while ; 

And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 

Forgot his Columbella's claims, 

And passion, erst unknown, could gain 

The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 

Nor durst light Paridel advance. 

Bold as he was, a looser glance. 

She charm'd, at once, and tamed the heart, 

Incomparable Britomarte ! 

So thou, fair city ! disarray'd 
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid. 
As stately seem'st, but loveher far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and security are flown ; 
StUl, as of yore, Queen of the North 1 
Still canst thou send thy cluluren forth. 
Ne'er readier a^. alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall. 
Than now, m danger, shall be thine, 
Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, train'd to martial toil, 
Full red would stain their native soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Renown'd for hospitable deed. 
That virtue much with heaven may plead, 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deign'd to share ; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for The Good Town, 

> See " The Fairy Q.neen," SooK iii. canto is. 

« " For every one lier liked and every one her loved." 

Spenser, at above. 

* Bee Appendix, Xote 3 ^. 

• In Xannar/, 1796, the exiled Connt d'Artois, afterwards 
Casi'ei X. <»f France, took up his residence in Holyrood, where 



Destined in every age to be 

Refuge of injured royalty ; 

Since first, when conquering York arose, 

To Henry meek she gave repose,^ 

Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe. 

Great Bourbon's reUcs, sad she saw.* 

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they nf\ 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change, 
For Fiction's fair romantic range, 
Or for tradition's dubious light. 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
DazzUng alternately and dim, 
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim, 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see^ 
Creation of my fantasy. 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,' 
And make of mists invadiog men. 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than duU December's gloomy noon ? 
The moonhght than the fog of frost ? 
And can we say, which cheats the most ? 

But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A soimd of the romantic strain, 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones wMlere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear," 
Famed Beauclerc call'd, for that he loved 
Tlie minstrel, and his lay approved ? 
Who shall these hngering notes redeem. 
Decaying on Obhvion's stream; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung ? — 
S) ! born, Time's ravage to repair, 

nd make the dying Muse thy cart. 
V '1, when liis scythe her hoary foe 
W a loising for the final blow. 
The weapon from his hand could wring. 
And break his glass, and shear his wing, 
And bid, reviving in his strain, 
The gentle poet Uve again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
An impedantic moral gay, 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wmgs of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in hfe approved 
Example honor'd, and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art, 
To win at once the head and heart, — 

he remained until August, 1799. When again driven from U 
country by the Revolution of July, 1830, the same nnfortuniu 
Prince, with all the immediate members of his family, Boughl 
refuge once more in the ancient palace of the Stuarts, and » 
mained there until 18th September, 1832. 

6 MS.—" Than gaze out on the toggy fr-o " 

< See Appendix, Note 3 K, 



126 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. oasto f 


At once to charm, instruct and mend, 


Upon the Southern band to stare. 


My guide, my pattern, and my friend I' 


And envy with their wonder rose, 




To see such well-appointed foes ; 


Such inmatrel lesson to bestow 


Such length of shafts, such mighty bows,* 


Be long thy pleasing task, — but, 1 


So huge, that many simply thought. 


N^o more by thy example teach. 


But for a vaunt such weapons wrought 


—What few can practise, aU can preach, — 


And httle deem'd their force to feel. 


With even patience to endure 


Through links of mail and plates of steel. 


Lingermg disease, and painful cure. 


When rattling upon Flodden vale. 


And boast aiSiction's pangs subdued 


The cloth-yai-d arrows flew like hai],' 


By mild and manly fortitude. 




Enough the lesson has been given : 


II. 


Forbid the repetition. Heaven 1 


Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 




Glance every line and squadron through' 


Come listen, then I for thou hast known, 


And much he marveU'd one small land 


And loved the Minstrel's varying tone. 


Could marshal forth such various band: 


Who, hke his Border sires of old, 


For men-at-arms were here. 


Waked a wild measm-e rude and bold, 


Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 


Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain. 


Like iron towers for strength and weight. 


With wonder heard the northern strain.' 


On Flemish steeds of bone and height. 


Come listen ! bold in thy applause, 


With battle-axe and spear. 


The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 


Young knights and squires, a lighter train, 


And, as the ancient art could stain 


Practised their chargers on the plain,' 


Acliievements on the storied pane. 


By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 


Irregularly traced and plann'd, 


Each warhlie feat to show. 


But yet 80 glowing and so grand, — 


To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 


So shall he strive, in changeful hue. 


And high curvett, that not in vain 


Field, feast, and combat to renew, 


The sword sway might descend amain 


And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 


On foeman's casque below.'' 


And all the pomp of chivalry. 


He saw the hardy burghers there 




March arm'd, on foot, with faces bare,' 
For visor they wore none. 






Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 


iUar m ion. 


But bumish'd were their corslets bright, 




Their brigautines, and gorgets light. 
Like very silver shone. 




CANTO FIFTH. 


Long pikes they had for standing fight, 
Two-handed swords they woro. 




SEjje Court. 


And many wielded mace of weight,' 


L 


And bucklers bright they bore. 


TffE train has left the hills of Braid ; 


HI 


The barrier guard have open made 


On foot the yeoman too, but dress'd 


(So Tiindesay bade) the palisade, 


In liis steel-jack, a swarthy vest, 


Tliat closed the tented groimd ; 


With iron quilted well ; 


Their men the warders backward drew. 


Each at liis back (a slender store) 


fi iid carried pikes as they rode through, 


His forty days' provision bor«. 


Into its amj^le boimd.* 


As feudal statutes telL 


Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 


His arms were halbert, axe, or spear * 


' ' Come thpii, my friend, my genins, come along. 


And IMarmion with his tram rode throogh, 


Oil masler of tlie poet and ttie song I" 


/.cross its ample bound." 


Pope to Bolingbroke. 


* MS. — " So long their shafts, so large their bowf." 


» At Sanning-iiill, Mr. Ellis's seat, near Windsor, part of the 


» See Appendix, Note 3 L. 


■; two cantos of Marmion were written. 


e MS. — " There urged their chargers on the plain.' 


MS — " Tiie barri£r guard the T-ion knew. 


' See Appendix, Note .3 M. » Ibid. Note 3 N 


Advanced their pikes, and soon withdrew 


» MS.—" And malU did many \ ""^'"^ \ of -r sight. 


The slender palisades and few 


( bear i 


Thai closed the te" 'ed groand ; 


"1 See ApDCDdix. Note 3 O. 



I 



OANTO V 



ARMION. 



127 



A crossbo-w there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-kiiife, and brand. 
Sober hs seem'd, and sad of cheer, 
As lotL to leave his cottage dear, 
And naarch to foreign strand ; 
Or musing, who would guide his steer. 

To till the fallow land. 
Fet deem not in his thoughtf al eye 
Did aught of dastard tenor lie ; 

More dreadful far his ire 
fhan theirs, who, scorning danger's name. 
In eager mood to battle came, 
rbeir valor hke light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 

Not so the Borderer : — bred to war. 
He knew the battle's din afar, 

And joy'd to hear it swell 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp, nor pipe, liis ear could please 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade, 
The Ught-arm'd pricker plied his trade, — 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead, 
Burghers to guard their townships bleed. 

But war's the Borderer's game. 
Their gain, their glory, their delight. 
To sleep the day, maraud the night, 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their way, 
Scarce caring who might win the day, 

Their booty was secm-e. 
Thf «e. vs Lord Manuion's train pass'd by, 
Look'a on at first with careless eye, 
Nor marvell'd aught, well taught to 

know 
The form and force of English bow. 
But when they saw the Lord array'd 
In splendid arms and rich brocade. 
Each Borderer to lus kinsman said, — 

" His< , Ringan I seest thou there 1 
C^nst guess which road they'll homeward 

nde ?— 
!)! e>vld we but on Border side, 
Jy Eusedale gl ^n, or Liddell's tide. 

Beset a prize so tiir ! 
iTiat fangless Lion, too, tlieir guide, 
ilight chance to lose his glistering hide ;' 
Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied. 

Could make a kirtle rare." 



M8. — " Hist, Ringan ! seest thon there ! 

Canst guess what liomevvard road they take — 
By Ensedaie gien, or Yetholm lake 7 
O ' eonld we but by bnsh or brake 
8eset a pjize so fair ! 



V. 

Next, Marmion mark'd the Ceitic rac«. 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the Cliiefs their tribes array'd, 
And wild and garish semblance made, 
The checker'd trews, and belted plaid, 
And varying notes the war-pipes bray'd, 

To every varying clan ; 
"Wild through their red or sable hair 
Look'd out their eyes with pavage stare,* 

On Marmion as he pass'd ; 
Their legs above the knee were bare ; 
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 

And harden'd to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undress'd hide 
Their haiiy buskins well supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet deck'd their head : 
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid 
A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edgeimd strength, 

A studded targe they wore. 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, 1 
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow, 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondering cry. 
As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
Loud were their clamoring tongues, as when 
The clanging sea-fowl leaves the fen. 
And, with their cries discordant mix'd. 
Grumbled and yell'd the pipes betwixt. 

VL 
Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd, 
And reach'd the City gate at last, 
"Where all around, a wakeful guard, 
Arm'd bm-ghors kept their watch and ward. 
"Well had they cause of jealous fear, 
"Wlien lay encamp'd, in field so near. 
The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
As tlu-ough the bustling streets they go, 
All was alive with martial show : 
At every turn, with dinning clang, 
Tlae armorer's anvil dash'd and rang: 
Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel 
The bar that arms the charger's heel,' 
Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
Of jarring grindstone was applied. 



The fangless Lion, too, his gnidts, 
Might chance to lose his glittering hiJe. 

' MS. — " Wild from their red and swarthy hair 

Look'd throQsh their eyes with savaee stat* 



128 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



cisrrf ^ 



Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, 
rhrough street, and lane, and market-place, 

Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
Wliile biu-ghers, with important face, 

Described each new-come lord, 
Discuss'd his lineage, told liis name, 
His following,' and his warlike fame. 
Tlie Lion led to lodging meet, 
Wliich high o'erlook'd the crowded street ; 

There must the Baron rest, 
Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 

Such was the King's behest. 
Meanwlule the Lion's care assigns 
A banquet rich, and costly "sdnes, 

To Marmion and his train ;* 
And when the appointed hour succeeds, 
Tlie Baron dons his peaceful weeds. 
And following Lindesay as he leads, 

The palace-halls they gain. 

vn. 

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily, 
Tliat night, with wassell, mirth, and glee : 
King James within her princely bower, 
Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power, 
Summon'd to spend the parting hour ; 
For he had charged, that liis array 
Should southward march by break of day. 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song, 
By day the tourney, and by night 
The merry dance, traced fast and light, 
Tlie maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 

The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past ; 
It was liis blithest — and liis last. 
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay. 
Cast on the Court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the harp did minstrels sing ; 
Tliere ladies touch'd a softer string ; 
With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest. 
The licensed fool retail'd his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler pUed ; 
At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 
Wliile some, in close recess apart. 
Courted the ladies of their heart. 

Nor courted them in vain ; 
For often, in the parting hour, 
Victorious Love asserts his power 

O'er coldness and disdain ; 

> Folloviing — Fendal retainers. — This word, ny the way, 
>kaj been, since the Author of Marmion need it, and thonght it 
«»lted for explanation, completely adopted into Ei:glish, and 
woecially into Parliamentary parlance, — Ed. 

» See Appendix, Note 3 P. 
MS.— ' Bearing the badge of Scotland's crown." 



And flinty is her heart, can view 
To battle march a lover true — 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 
Nor own her share of pam. 

VIIL 
Through this mix'd crowd of glee and g» 
The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 

Wlnle, reveient, all made room. 
An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly form to know ; 
Although, his courtesy to show. 
He doff 'd, to Marmion bending low 

His broider'd cap and plume. 
For royal was his garb and mien, 

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 

Trimm'd with the fur of martin wild ; 
His vest of changeful satin sheen, 

The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's ctdwh,* 
The thistle brave, of old renown : 
His trusty blade, Toledo right,* 
Descended from a baldric bright ; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair, 
Was button'd with a ruby rare : 
And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 

IX. 

The Monarch's form was middle size , 
For feat of strength, or exercise, 

Sliaped in proportion fair ; 
And hazel was his eagle eye. 
And auburn of the darkest dye 

His short curl'd beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance, 

And firm his stirrup in the Hsts ; 
And, oh ! he had that merry glance, 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
And loved to plead, lament, and sue ;— 
Suit lightly won, and short-Uved pain, 
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 

I said he joy'd in banquet bower ; 
But, 'mid his mirth, 'twas often strange^ 
How suddenly liis cheer would change. 

His look o'ercast and lower, 
If in a sudden turn, he felt 

« M8.— " His tro«',7 blade, Toledo right, 

Descenicd from a baldric bright, 

And dangled at his knee : 

White were his buskinB ; from their bMi 

His spurs inlaid > „ , , , , 
„■ / „ J \ of gold and stael 

HiB fretted spurs ) ° 

Wf e jingling merrilv." 



OIKTO y. 



MARMION. 



I2h 



The pressure of his iron belt, 
That bound Ms breast in penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain.' 
Even so 'twas strange how, evermore, 
Soon as the passing pang was o'er. 
Forward he rush'd, witli double glee, 
Into the stream of revelry : 
Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
Startles the courser in his flight, 
And half he halts, half springs aside ; 
But feels the quickening spur applied. 
And, straining on the tighten'd rein, 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. 



O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway :' 

To Scotland's Court she came, 
To be a hostage for her lord. 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored, 
\nd with the King to make accord. 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay King allegiance own ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Rent him a turquois ring and glove, 
An(* charged him, as her knight and love, 

For her to break a lance ; 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,' 
And march three miles on Southron land. 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's Queen ho drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 
And thus admitted English f<ur 
His mmost counsels still to shary ; 
And thus, for both, he ma-Iiy plann'd 
The ruin of himself and land 1 

And yet, the sooth to tell, 
Nor England s fair, nor France's Queen,* 
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen, 

i'rom Margaret's eye that fell, — 
His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's 

bower. 
All ioneiy sat, and wept the weary hour. 

XI 

Th«i Queen sits lone In Lithgow pile, 

Aiid weeps the weary day. 
The war against Ler native soil, 

• See Appendix, Note 3 Q, 

• Ibid. Note 3 R. a ibid. Note 3 8. 

• MS. — " Nor France's Queen, nor England's fair. 

Were worth one pe^rl-drop, passing rare, 
From Margaret's eyes that fell." 
T.ie MS. has only — 

" For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimpled hood and gorget's pride ; 
)7 



Her Monarch's risk in battle broU : — 
Ajid in gay Holy-Rood, the while, 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flow ; 
And as she touch'd and tuned them all, 
Ever her bosom's rise and fall 

Was plainer given to view ; 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied.* 
And first she pitch'd her voice to sing, 
Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 
And then aroimd the silent ring ; 
And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say 
Her pretty oath, by Tea, and Nay, 
She could not, would not, durst not play' 
At length, upon the harp, with glee, 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet hvely, air she rung. 
While thus the wily lady sung : — 

XII. 

LOCHINVAR." 

Hatrg 5B|eron's Song. 
0, young Lochinvar is come out of the west. 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best 
And save his good broadsword he weapons had 

none. 
He rode all unarm' d, and he rode aU alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvai. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there wa 

none ; 
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came lato • 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So Doldly he enter'd the Netherby HaU, 

Aanong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brotliers ami 

all; 
Then spoke the bride's father, liis hand on liis sw ot i 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) 
" come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar t"- ' 

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;- - 

And on the righted harp with glee. 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet lively, air she rang. 
While thns her voice attendant sang." 

8 The ballad of Lochinvar is in a very slight degree fontieo 
on a ballad called " Katharine Janfarie," which may be fuoni 
in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," v*l. iii. 



180 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. ckvro » 


Love swells like the Sol-vray, but ebbs like its 


He whisper'd praises in her ear. 


tide—' 


In loud applause the courtiers vie ? ; 


Ajid now a.m I come, with this lost love of mine, 


And ladies wink'd, and spoke asid^. 


To lead but one measure, druik one cup of wine. 


The witcliing dame to Marmion thj-*iw 


There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 


A glance, where seem'd to reign 


Tliat would gladly be bride to the young Locliin- 


The pride that claims applauses due. 


"or." 


And of her ro) al conquest too. 




A real or feign'd disdain : 


riie bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up. 


Familiar was the look, and told. 


He quaff 'd off the wuie, and he threw down the 


Marmion and she were friends of old. 


cup. 


The King observed their meeting eyes. 


She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to 


With something Uke displeased surprise 


sigh. 


For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 


With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 


Even in a word, or smile, or look. 


He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 


Straight took he forth the parchment .jroad 


" Now tread we a measure 1" said young Lochin- 


Which Marmion's high commission show'd : 


var. 


" Our Borders sack'd by many a raid. 




Our peaceful liege-men robb"d," he said : 


So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 


" On day of truce oiu- Warden slain. 


That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 


Stout Barton kill'd, his vassals ta' en- 


Wliile her mother did fret, and her father did 


Unworthy were we here to reign. 


fume, 


Should these for vengeance cry in vain 


And the bridegroom stood dangling Iiis bonnet and 


Our full defiance, hate, and scorn. 


plume ; 


Our herald has to Hemy borne." 


^d the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere better 




1 by far. 


XIV. 


To have match'd our fair cousin with young Loch- 


He pausea, and led where Douglas stood 


invai." 


And with stern eye the pageant viewd : 




I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 


One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 


Who coronet of A ngus bore. 


When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger 


And, when his blood and heart were higlt,' 


stood near ; 


Did the third James in camp defy. 


So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 


And all his minions led to die 


So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 


On Lauder's dreary flat : 


" She is won 1 we are gone, over bank, bush, and 


Pruices and favorites long grew tame. 


scaur ; 


And trembled at the homely name 


They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 


Of Archibald Bell-the Cat ;' 


Lochinvar. 


The same who left the dusky vale 




Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 


There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Neth- 


Its dungeons, and its towers, 


er by clan ; 


Where BothweU's turrets brave the air, 


Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 


And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, 


they ran : 


To fix liis princely bowers. 


riiere was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 


Tliough now, in age, he had laid dowu 


3ul the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 


His armor for the peaceful gown, 


9p daring in love, and so dauntless m war, 


And for a staff his brand, 


Hive ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochin- 


Yet often would flash forth the fire, 


va' i 


That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 




And minion's pride withstand ; 


XIII 


And even that day, at council board, 


Tlie Monarch o'er the sirer nung 


Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, 


And beai the measure as she sung; 


Against the war had Angus stood. 


And, pressing closer, and more near; 


And chafed liis royal lord* 


• See the novel of ReHpanntlet, for a detailed pictnreof some 


Kins James's minions led to die, 


tl the extraordinary pi enomena of the spring-tides in the Sol- 


On Lander's dreary flat." 


riy Frith. 


= Bdl-the-Cat, see Appendix, Note ? T. 


• MS — Ant' whei his hlood and heart were high 


« See Appendix, Note 3 U. 



:antc v. 



MARMION. 



13 1 



XV 

His giant-form, like ruin'd tower, 
Tbjugh fall'n its muscles' brawny vamit, 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, 

Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower : 
His locks ind beard in silver grew ; 
His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
Neai Douglas when the Monarch stood, 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
" Lord Marmioc, since these letters say 
That in tLs ^orth you peeds must stay. 

While slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, 
To say — Return to Lmdisfarne, 

Until my herald come again. — 
rhen rest you in Tantallon Hold ;' 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A chief unlike liis sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade,' 
Their blazon o'er his towers display'd ; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
More than to face his country's foes. 

And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen, 

But e'en this morn to ir"; was given' 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dmibar, 

A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades. 
And, while they at Tantallon stay, 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." 
And, with the slaughter'd favorite's name, 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
\. cloud of ire remorse, and shame. 

XVI. 

In answer naught could Angus speak ; 
His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break 
He turn'd aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the Monarch sudden took, 
Tliat sight his kind heart could not brook 

" Now, by the Bruce's soul,* 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive 1 
For sure as doth his spirit live, 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
riiat never king did subject hold, 
Ii. apeech more free, m war more bold. 
Mure tender and more true :* 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again." 
And, while the King his hand did strain, 
The old man's tears feU down like rain. 

See App-nilix, Note 3 V. 
' See Apiiendix, Note 3 W. 
MS. — " Bnt yester morn was hither driven." 
1 *i« oeit two lines are not in the original MS. 



To seize the moment Mairmion tried. 
And whisper'd to the King aside ; 
" Oh 1 let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed 1 
A cliild will weep a bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow par^. 
A stripling for a woman's h^art : 
But woe awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and liigh, 
When Douglas wets his manly eye 1" 

XVII. 
Displeased was James, that stranger vieVd 
And tamper'd with his changing mood. 
" Laugh those that can, weep those that may, ' 
Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 
" Southward I march by break of day ; 
And if within Tantallon strong, 
The good Lord Marmion tarries long. 
Perchance our meeting next may fall 
At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." — 
The haughty Marmion felt the taunt. 
And answer' d, grave, the royal vaunt : 
" Much honored were my humble home. 
If in its halls King James should come ; 
But Nottingham has archers good. 
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ■ 
Northumbrian prickers wild £Hid rude. 
On Derby HiUs the patlis are steep ; 
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 
And many a banner will be torn. 
And manya knight to earth be borne, 
And many a sheaf of arrows speL t. 
Ere Scotland's King shall cross tht Trent : 
Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may !"- 
The Monarch lightly timi'd away. 
And to his nobles loud did call, — 
" Lords, to the dance, — a haU 1 a hall !'" 
Himself liis cloak and sword flung by. 
And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 
And minstrels, at the royal order, 
- Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border.' 

XVIIL 
Leave we these revels now, to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
Whose galley, as they sail'd again 
To Wliitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 
Till James should of their fate decide ; 

And soon, by liis command. 
Were gently summon'd to prepare 

6 " O, Dowglas ! Dowglaa ! 
Tendir and trew." 

The Uoulate. 
» MS. — " A maid to see het love depart." 
'' The ancient cry to make room for a dance or Mf sau 



132 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASIO > 



To journey under Marmion's care, 
As escort honor'd, siife, and fair, 

Again tu English land. 
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, 
Nor knew which saint she siiould implore ; 
Fur, when she thought of Constance, sore 

She fear'd Lord Marmion's mood. 
And judge what Clara must have feltl 
Thi; jword, that hung in Marmion's belt, 

Had flrunk De Wilton's blood. 
Un'n i< tingly, King James had given, 

As guard to Wliitby's shades, 
The man most dreaded under Heaven 

By these defenceless maids : 
Yet what petition could avail, 
Or who would hsten to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 
'Mid bustle of a war begmi ? 
Thej deem'd it hopeless to avoid 
The conroy of their dangerous guide. 

XIX. 
Their lodging, so the King assign'd. 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, join'd ; 
And thus it fell, that, passing nigh. 
The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 

Who warn'd him by a scroll. 
She had a secret to reveal, 
Tliat much concem'd the Church's weal. 

And health of sinner's soid ; 
And, with deep charge of secrecy, 

She named a place to meet. 
Within an open balcony, 
That hiuig from dizzy pitch, and high, 

Above the stately street : 
To which, as common to each home, 
At night they might in secret come. 

XX. 

At night, in secret, there they came, 
T?ie Palmer and the holy Dame. 
The moon among the clouds rose liigh, 
And all the city hum was by. 
Upon the street, where late before 
Did din of war and warriors roar. 

You might have heard a pebble faJl, 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 
An owlet flap liis boding wing 

On Giles's steeple talL 
The antique buildings, climbing high; 
Whose Gotliic frontlets sought tlie sky, 

Were here wrapt deep in shade ; 



• "There are passages in which the flatness and tedionsness 
I'the narrative is relieved by no sort of beauty nor elegance of 
iictior, and which form an extraordinary contrast with the 
ncre animated and finislied portions of the poem. We shall 
»«i Blticl our iftaUers with irore than one specimen of this fall- 



There on their brows the mo n beam 

broke. 
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke. 
And on the casements play'd. 
And other light was none to see. 

Save torches gliding far. 
Before some chieftain of degree. 
Who left the royal revelry, 
To bowne him for the war. — 
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 

A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 

« 

XXI. 

" 0, holy Palmer 1" she began, — 
" For sure he must be sainted man, 
Wliose blessed feet have trod the groimd 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 
For liis dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avaO, 
Though I must speak of worldly love,-— 
How vain to those who wed above ! — 
De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd' 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 
(Idle it were of AVliitby's dame. 
To say of that same blood I came) ; 
And once, when jealous rage was high, 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart, 
And had made league with Martin Swart, 
Wlien he came here on Suimel's part ; 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
And down he threw his glove : — the thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the King ; 
Where frankly did De Wilton own. 
That Swart in Gueldres he had known ; 
And that between them then there went 
Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
For this he to his castle sent ; 
But when his messenger return'd, 
Judge how De Wilton's fury biu-n'd 1 
For in his packet there was laid 
Letters that claim'd disloyal aid. 
And proved King Henry's cause betray'd. 
His fame, thus blighted, in the field 
He strove to clear, by spear and shield ' — 
To clear his fame, m vain he strove. 
For wondrous are His ways above 1 
Perchance some form was unobserved ; 
Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved ,-* 
Else how could guiltless champion quail. 
Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 



mg off. We select it from the Abbess's explanation to Di 
Wilton :— ' De Wilton and Lord Marmio-: woo'd,' 8lo. (tat 
twenty-two following lines)." — Jeffrey. 

> See Appendi.x, Note 3 X. 

3 Ibid. Note 3 Y. 



9 A mo V. 



MARMION. 



13a 



XXIL 


Traced quaint and varying character. 


"His squire, ■who now De Wilton saw 


Perchance you may a marvpl deem. 


As recreant doom'd to suffer law, 


That Marmion's paramour 


Repentant, own'd in vain, 


(For such vile thing she was) should schema 


That, while he had the scrolls in care, 


Her lover's nuptial hour ; 


A. stranger maiden, passing fair. 


But o'er liim thus she hoped to gain. 


Had drench'd him with a beverage rare : 


As privy to liis honor's stain. 


His words no faith could gain. 


niiTuitable power: 


With Clare alone he credence won, 


For tliis she secretly retain'd 


Who, rat?>er than wed Marmion, 


Each proof that might the plot reve^ 


Did to Samt Hilda's shrine repair, 


Instructions with his hand and seal 


To give our house her Uvings fair 


And thus Saint Hilda deign'd. 


And die a vestal vot'ress there. 


Through sinner's perfidy impure, 


The impulse from the earth was given, 


Her house's glory to secure. 


But bent her to the paths of heaven. 


And Clare's immortal weal. 


A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 




Ne'er shelter'd her in Wiitby's shade. 


XXIV. 


No, not since Saxon Edelfled; 


" 'Twere long, and needless, here to teil. 


Only one trace of earthly strain, 


How to my hand these papers fell ; 


That for her lover's loss 


With me they must not stay. 


She cherishes a sorrow vain, 


Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true ! 


And murmurs at the cross. — 


Who knows what outrage he might do, 


And then her heritage ; — ^it goes 


W hile journeying by the way ? — 


Along the banks of Tame ; 


0, blessed Saint, if e'er again 


Deep fields of grain the reaper mows, 


I venturous leave thy calm domain. 


In meadows rich the heifer lows. 


To travel or by land or main, 


The falconer and huntsman knows 


Deep penance may I pay 1 — 


Its woodlands for the game. 


Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer • 


Hhame were it to Saint Hilda dear, 


I give this packet to thy care, 


And I, her humble vot'ress here, 


For thee to stop they will not dare ; 


Should do a deadly sin, 


And ! with cautious speed. 


Her temple spoil'd before mine eyes, 


To Wolsey's hand the papers bring, 


If this false Marmion such a prize 


Tliat he may show them to the king : 


By my consent should win ; 


And, for thy well-earn'd meed. 


Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn 


Thou holy man, at Wliitby's shrine 


That Clare shall from om- house be torn ; 


A weekly mass shall still be thine, 


And grievous cause have I to fear. 


While priests can sing and read. — 


Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear.. 


Wliat ail'st thou?— Speak !"— For as he took 




The charge, a strong emotion shook 


XXIII. 


His frame ; and, ere reply, 


" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd 


They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone. 


To evil power, I claim thine aid, 


Like distant clarion feebly blown, 


By every step that thou hast trod 


That on the breeze did die ; 


To holy shrine and grotto dim, 


And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear. 


By every martyr's tortured limb, 


" Saint Withold, save us 1 — What is here I 


By angel, saint, and seraphim, 


Look at yon City Cross 1 


And b) the Church of God 1 


See on its battled tower appear 


For mark: — When Wilton was betray'd, 


Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, 


And with his squire forged letters laid. 


And blazon'd banners toss I" — 


She was, alas ! that sinful maid, 




By whom the deed was done, — 


XXV. 


1 shame and horror to be said 1 — 


Dun-Edin's Cross, a pUlar'd stone,' 


She was a perjured nun ! 


Rose on a turret octagon ; 


No (lerk in all the land, like her, 


(But now is razed tJiat monument 



' MS. ■ ■ ' Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd sUrne 
Rose on a tuiret hexagon : 
(Dus^ unto dust, lef d unto lead, 



On its destroyei'B Jrowsy \ u_^ ■_ 

Upon its base destroyer's ^ 

The Minstrel's malison is gaid."> 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAUTf V 



WTience royal edict rang, 
And roice of Scotland's law was sent 

In glorious trumpet-clang. 
! be liis tomb as lead to lead, 
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malison' is said.") — 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing Nature's law, 

Sti'ange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures that seem'd to rise and die, 
Gibber and sign, advance and fly, 
While naught coufirm'd could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and Pm-suivants prepare. 
With trumpet sound and blazon fair, 

A suimnons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud. 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud, 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 

A wavering tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
From midmost of the spectre crowd, 

Tills awful summons came : — ^ 

XXVI. 

* Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 

Whose names I now shall call, 
Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ; 
Subjects of him who sent me here, 
At liis tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin. 
That e'er hath soil'd yotu" hearts within : 
I cite you by each brutal lust, 
Tliat e'er defiled your eartlily dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear,* 
By each o'ermastering passion's tone. 
By the dark grave, and dying groan ! 
When forty days are pass'd and gone,* 
I cite you, at yom- Monarch's throne, 

To an.swer and appear." 
Tlien thmider'd forth a roll of names : 
The first was thine, unliappy James I 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
Wliy should I tell their separate style ; 

Each cliief of birth and lame, 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile, 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marniion, Lord of Foutenaye, 

( i. e. Curse. 
See Appendix, Note 3 Z. * Ibid. Note 4 A. 

' ?18.— '• Bv wrath , by fraud, by fear." 



Of Lutterward, and Scrivtlbaye ; 

De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 

The self-same thundering voice did say. — * 

But then another spoke : 
" Thy fatal summons I deny. 
And tliine infernal Lord defy. 
Appealing me to Him on high, 

Who burst the siimer's yoke." 
At that dread accent, with a scream. 
Parted the pageant like a dream. 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell ; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 

And found her there alone. 
She mark'd not, at the scene aghast, 
What time, or how, the Palmer pass'd. 

XXVIL 
Shift we the scene. — The camp doth mova, 

Dim-Edin's streets are empty naw, 
Save when, for weal of those they love, 

To pray the prayer, and vow the vow. 
The tottering child, the anxious fair, 
The gray-hair'd su'e, with pious care, 
To chapels and to shrines repair — 
Where is the Palmer now ? and where 
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — 
Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge : 
Lord Marmion rode on liis right hand, 
The Pahner still was with the band ; 
Angus, like Lindesay, did conmiand, 

That uims should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer's alter'd mien 
A wondrous change might now be «eea 

Freely he spoke of war. 
Of marvels wrought by single baotl, 
When lifted for a native land ; 
And still look'd high, as if he plami'i 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His coiu-ser would he feed and stroke 
And, tucking up his sable frocke, 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Tlien sooth or quell liis pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

XXVIIL 
Some half-hour's march beliind, there caiOH 

By Eustace govern'd fair, 
A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 

» MS. — " Ere twenty days are pass'd and gon«, 
Before the mighty Monarch's throne, 
I cite you to appear." 
» MS. — " In thundering tone the voice did Mf." 



BANTO V 



MARMION. 



ISft 



With all her nuns and Clare. 
N"o audience had Lord Marmiou sought; 

Ever he fear'd to aggravate 

Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 
^d safer 'twas, he thought, 

Tc -vait till, from the nuns removed, 

Tl.o influence of kinsmen loved, 

And suit by Henry's self approved, 
fler slo\» consent had wrought. 

His was no flickering flame, that dies 

Unless when fann'd by looks and sighs. 

And Hghted oft at lady's eyes ; 

He long'd to stretch his wide command 

O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 

Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 

Although the pang of humbled pride 

The place of jealousy supphed. 
Yet conquest by that meamiess won 
He almost loath'd to think upon, 
Led him, at times, to hate the cause. 
Which made Imn bm-st tlu-ough honor's lawa. 
If e'er he lov'd, 'tw.as her alone, 
Who died within that vault of stone. 

XXLX. 

And now, when close at hand they saw 
North Berwick's town, and lofty Law,' 
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while, 
Before a venerable pile,' 

Wliose tm'rets view'd, afar, 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,' 
The ocean's peace or war. 
A.t toUiug of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable Dame, 
And pray'd Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 
With her, a loved and honor'd guest, 
Till Douglas should a bai"k prepare 
To waft her back to Wliitby fair. 
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, 
And thank'd the Scottish Prioress* 
And tedious were to tell, I ween, 
The courteous speech that pass'd between, 

O'erjoy'd the nuns their palfreys leave ; 
But when fair Clara did intend. 
Like them, from horseback to descend, 

F'*z-E'.v3tace said, — " I grieve. 
Fair ady, grieve e'en from my heai't, 
S.'cL gentle company to part ; — 

TLjik ncit discourtesy, 
But lo.'ds' ecmmands must be obey'd; 
And Marmion and the Douglas said, 

ITiat you nmst wend with me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, 
Wliich to the Scottish Earl he show'd, 

MS.— " MuTth Berwick's town, and conic Law." 

The convent alluded to is a foandation of Cistertian nans. 



Commanding, that, beneath his care, 

Without delay, you shall repair 

To your good kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clare.'* 

XXX. 

The startled Abbess loud exclaim'd ; 
But she, at whom the blow was aim'd, 
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 
She deem'd she heard her death-doom read 
" Cheer thee, my cliild 1" the Abbess said, 
" They dare not tear thee firom my hand. 
To ride alone with armed band." — 

" Nay, holy mother, nay," 
Fitz-Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 
WiU be in Lady Angus' care. 

In Scotland whUe we stay ; 
And, when we move, an easy ride 
WlU bring us to the English side. 
Female attendance to provide 

Befitting Gloster's heir ; 
Nor thinks nor dreams my noble lord. 
By shghtest look, or act, or word, 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be, 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 

That e'en to stranger falls, 
TlU he shall place her, safe and free, 

Within her kinsman's halls." 
He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace*, 
His faith was painted on his face, 

And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 

Entreated, threaten'd, grieved ; 
To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd. 
Against Lord Marmion inveigh' d. 
And call'd the Prioress to aid. 
To ciu-se with candle, bell, and book. 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 
" The Douglas, and the King," she said, 
" In their commands wiU be obey'd ; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in TantaUon haU." 

XXXL 

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again, — 

For much of state she had, — 
Composed her veil, and raised her head. 
And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said, 

" Thy master, bold and bad, 
I'he records of his house turn o'er. 

And, when he shall there written see, 

That one of his own anrostry 



near North Berwick, of which the e are itill some remsioi, 4 
WM founded by Duncan, Earl of Fife, in 1216. 
8 MS.—" The lofty Bass, the Lamb's ereen isla " 



136 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto v 


Drove the monks forth of Coventry,' 


Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 


Bid him his fate explore ! 


Remember your luihappy Clare !" 


Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 


Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 


His charger hurl'd liim to the dust, 


Khid blessings many a one : 


And, by a base plebeian thrust. 


Weeping and wailing loud arose, 


He died his band before. 


Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 


God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; 


Of every simple nun. 


He is a Chief of high degree. 


His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 


/* nd I a poor recluse : 


And scarce rude Blount the sight could luda 


Yet oft, in holy ■writ, we see 


Then took the squire her rein. 


Even such weak minister as me 


And gently led away her steed. 


May the oppressor bruise : 


And, by each coiuteous word and deed, 


• For thus, inspu-ed, did Judith slay 


To cheer her strove in vain. 


The mighty in his sin, 




And Jael thus, and Deborah" 


XXXIIL 


Here hasty Blount broke in : 


But scant three miles the band had rodo. 


" Fitz-Eust ice, we must march our band : 


When o'er a height they pass'd, 


St. Anton fire thee ! wilt thou stand 


And, sudden, close before them show'd 


All day, with bonnet in thy hand. 


His towers, Tantallon vast f 


To hear the Lady preach ? 


Broad, massive, high, and stretching; far. 


By this good light ! if thus we stay, 


And held impregnable in war. 


Lord Marmion, for our fond delay. 


On a projectmg rock they rose. 


Will sharper sermon teach. 


And round three sides the ocean flows, 


Come, d'on thy cap, and moimt thy horse ; 


The fourth did battled walls enclose, 


The Dame must patience take perforiie," — 


And double mound and fosse.* 




By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong. 


XXXIL 


Through studded gates, an entrance long. 


" Submit we then to force," said Clare, 


To the main court they cross. 


" But let this barbarous lord despair 


It was a wide and stately squar« • 


His purposed aim to win ; 


Around were lodgings, fit and fair. 


Let him talce living, land, and life ; 


And towers of various form. 


But to be Marmion's wedded wife 


W liich on the court projected far. 


In me were deadly sin : 


And broke its lines quadrangular. 


And if it be the King's decree. 


Here was square keep, there turret high, 


That I must find no sanctuary, 


Or pinnacle that sought the sky. 


lu that inviolable dome," 


Wlience oft the Warder could descry 


Where even a homicide might come, 


The gathering ocean-storm. 


And safely rest his head. 




Tliougl: at its open portals stood. 


XXXIV. 


Thii-sting to pour forth blood for blood. 


Here did they rest. — The princely care 


The kinsmen of the dead ; 


Of Douglas, why should I declare. 


Yet one asylum is my own 


Or say they met reception fair J 


Against the dreaded hour ; 


Or why the tidings say. 


A low, a silent, and a lone. 


Which, varying, to Tantallon camCj 


Where kings have little power. 


By hurrying posts or fleeter fame, 


One victim is before me there. — 


With ever-varymg day '< 


■ bo«j Appendix, Note 4 B. 


witn the (tneu) Ean of Angus for his consent to the propoMX 


2 l-iifs Uiie, necessary to the rhyme, is now for the first time 


measure. He occupied himself, while she was spanking, ii 


■cstoreil from the MS. It must have been omitted by an over- 


feeding a falcon which sat upon his wrist, and only repbed bj 


■ght in the original printing. — Ed. 


addressing the bird, but leaving the Queen to make the appli 


3 For the origin of Marmion's visit to Tantallon Castle, in 


cation, ' The devil is in this greedy gled — she will never b( 


(he Poem, see Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 17. 


fou.' But when the Queen, without appearing to notice thii 


■• " During the regency (subsequent to the death of James 


hint, continued to press her obnoxious request, Angus replied, 


V.) the Dowager Queen Regent, M,ary of Guise, became desi- 


in the true spirit of a feudal noble, ' Yes, Madam, the castle ii 


lOUB of putting a French garrison into Tantallon, as she had 


yours: God forbid else. But by the might oi d'od. Madam 1 


nto Dunbar and Inchkeith, in order the better to bridle the 


such was his usual oath, ' I must be your Captain and Keepei 


ords and barons, who inclined to the reformed faith, and to 


for you, and I will keep it as well as any yon can plac< 


lecire by citadels the sea-coast of the Frith of Forth. For 


there.'" — Sir Walter Scott's Miscellanea is FroM 


•hip purpose the Regent, t4 use the phrase of the time, ' dealed 


Works, vol. vii. p. 436. 



SkSTO VI. 



MARMION. 



1S1 



And, fiiJt they heard King James had won 

Etall, aud Wark, and Ford ; and then, 

That Norham Castle strong was ta'en, 
At that sore marvell'd Marmion ; 
And Douglas hoped liis Monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland : 

But whisper'd news there came, 
That, while liis host inactive lay, 
Acd melted by degrees away, 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Heron's wily dame. 
Such acts to Chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there, and see ; 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their post, 

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gather'd in the Southern land. 
And march'd into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
That hears, without, the trumpet-call. 

Began to chafe, and swear : — 
" A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid. 

When such a field is near I 
Needs must I see this battle-day : 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fought, and Marmion away 1 
The Douglas, too, I wot not why. 
Hath bated of his com-tesy : 
No longer in his haUs I'll stay." 
Then bade his band they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 



iHarmton. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 



TO 
RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 

Mertoun-House,^ Christmas, 
Heap on more wood 1 — the wind is chill ; 
But let it whistle as it will, 
We'U keep our Christmas merry stilL 
Each age has deem'd the new-born year 
The fittest time for festal cheer : 



Mertonn-Honse, the seat of Hngb Scott, Esq., of Harden, 
f beantifnllj' eitoated en tlie Twet 1, about two miles below 
ftfvburgh Albey. 

18 



Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 

At lol more deep the mead did drain •* 

High on the beach his galleys drew, 

And feasted all his pirate crew ; 

Then in his low and pine-built hall, 

Where shields and axes deck'd the wall ; 

They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; 

Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 

While roimd, in brutal jest, were thrown 

The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone : 

Or listen'd all, in grim dehght, 

While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight. 

Tlien forth, in phrensy, would they lue, 

While wildly-loose their red locks fly. 

And dancing round the blazing pile. 

They make such barbarous mirth the wlul^ 

As best might to the mind recall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall 

And well our Christian sires of old 

Loved when the year its com"se had roll'd. 

And brought blithe Christmas back again. 

With all his hospitable train. 

Domestic and religious rite 

Gave honor to the holy night • 

On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 

On Christmas eve the mass was sung; 

That only night in aU the year, 

Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.* 

The damsel donn'd her Idrtle sheen ; 

The hall was dress'd with holy green ; 

Forth to the wood did merry -men go, 

To gather in the misletoe. 

Then open'd wide the Baron's hall 

To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; 

Power laid his rod of rule aside. 

And Ceremony doff'd his pride. 

The heir, with roses in his shoes. 

That night might vUlage partner choose ; 

The Lord, underogating, share 

The vulgar game of " post and pair." 

All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight. 

And general voice, the happy night. 

That to the cottage, as the crown, 

Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 
Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace. 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawiv 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 

3 See Appendix, Note 4 C. 
* Ibid. Note 4 D 



188 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKtO H 



Then the gr'un boar's head frown'd on high, 
Cresteti with bays and rosemary. 
Well can the greeu garb'd ranger tell, 
How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 
What dogs before his death he tore, 
And all the baiting of the boar.' 
The wassel romid, in good brown bowls, 
Gainish'd with ribbons, bhthely trowls. 
Th^re the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
Plum -porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
Nor ftvil'd old Scotland to produce. 
At such high tide, her savory goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in, 
And carols roar'd, with blithesome din ; 
If unmelodious was the song. 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 
Who lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery ;' 
White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
But, ! what maskers, riclily dight. 
Can boast of bosoms half so hght ! 
England was merry England, when 
Old Chi-istmas brought his sports again. 
'Twas Chi'istmas broach'd the mightiest ale ; 
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger, in our northern clime. 
Some remnants of the good old time ; 
And still, within our valleys here, 
We hold the kindred title dear. 
Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim 
To Southi'on ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.' 
And thus, my Christmas still I hold 
Wliere my great-grandsire came of old, 
With amber beard, and flaxen hair,* 
And reverend apostolic air — 
The feast and holy -tide to share. 
And mix sobriety with wine. 
And honest mii'th with thoughts divine : 
Small thouglit was his, in after time 

' MS. — " And all the hunting of the boar. 

Then round the merry wassel-bowl, 
Garnlsh'd with ribbons, blithe did trowl. 
And the large sirloin steam'd on high, 
Plum-porridge, hare, and savory pie." 
' Be* Appendix, Note 4 E. 

s " Blood is warmer than water," — a proverb meant to vin- 
licate our family predilections. 
« See Appendix, Note 4 F. 
» MS. — " In these fair halls, with merry cheer. 

Is bid larewell the dying year." 
• " A lady of noble German de8C«n», born Conntess Harriet 
Bruhl of Martinskirchen, married to H. Scott, Esq. of Harden 
Ipov Lord Polwarthj, the author's relative and much-valued 



E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast, 
That he was loyal to his cost ; 
The bauish'd race of kings : evered. 
And lost his land, — but kej. t his beard- 
In these dear halls, where welcome kiud 
Is with fair hberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendsliip gives the hand 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land.* 
Little we heed the tempest drear, 
While music, mirth, and social cheer, 
Speed on their wings the passmg year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again. 
As loath to leave the sweet domain. 
And holds his mirror to her face. 
And cUps her with a close embrace :— 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome, 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that, at this time of glee. 
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee I 
For many a merry hour we've Irnown, 
And heard the chimes of midnigbt's tone 
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease> 
And leave these classic tomes in peace 1 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore. 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as NoU Bluff might say, 
" Were pretty fellows in their day ;"• 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war — " Profane I 
What ! leave the lofty Latian strain. 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms. 
To hear the clash of rusty arms : 
In Fairy Land or Limbo lo-it, 
To jostle conjurer and ghcv.t. 
Goblin and witch !" — Nay Heber dear, 
Before you touch my char '".er, hear : 
Though Leyden aids, alas ' no more, 
My cause with many-langu-iged lore,* 

friend almost from infancy." — Pirder Silinstrelsy, vol ? 
p. 59. 
' The MS. adds :— " As boasts olo Sl.alltw to Sir Jthn. 
8 " Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir — ^ vei-y pretty feJow 
in his day." — Old Bachelor. 

8 MS. — " With all his many-langnagcd lo-e.' 
John Leyder M. D., who had been of great s«*nce to 8|| 
Walter Scoii in the preparation of the border MmK'i*jy 
sailed for India in April, 1803, and died at Ja.'S a. Aognd 
1811, before completing his 36th year. 

" Scenes sung by him who sings no mora i 
His brief and bright career is o'er 
Anrt mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quei.ch'd is his lamo of viried lore 



CANTO VI. MARMION. I8fi 


This may I say : — in realms of death 


Since twixt them first the strife begun. 


Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith; 


And neither yet has lost nor won. 


/flneas, upou Thracia's shore, 


And oft the Conjurer's words will mak» 


The ghost of murder'd Polydore ; 


The stubborn Demon groan and quake ; 


For omens, we in Livy cross, 


And oft the bands of iron break. 


At every turn, locutus Bos. 


Or bursts one lock, that still amain. 


As grave and duly speaks that ox, 


Fast as 'tis open'd, shuts again. 


As if he told the price of stocks ; 


That magic strife witliin the tomb, 


Or held, in Roma republican. 


May last until the day of doom. 


The (jlace of common-councilman. 


Unless the adept shall learn to tell 




The very word that clench'd the spell, 


All nations have their omens drear, 


When Franch'mont lock'd the treasure cell. 


Their legends wUd of woe and fear. 


An hundred years are pass'd and gone. 


Tu Cambria look — the peasant see, 


And scarce three letters has he won. 


Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 




And shun " the sphit's Blasted Tree.' * 


Such general superstition may 


The Highlander, whose red claymore 


Excusfc for old Pitscottie say ; 


The battle turn'd on Maida's shore, 


W hose gossip history has given 


WUl, on a Friday morn, look pale, 


My song the messenger from Heaven,* 


If ask'd to tell a fairy tale :' 


That warn'd, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 


He fears the vengeful Elfin Kinp^, 


Nor less the infernal summoning ;' 


Who leaves that day his grassy ring : 


May pass the Monk of Durha tn's tale. 


Invisible to human ken. 


Whose demon fought in Gotliic mail ; 


He walks among the sons of men. 


May pardon plead for Fordun grave, 




Who told of Gifford's Gobhn-Cavu 


Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along' 


But why such instances to you, 


Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 


Who, in an instant, can renew 


Which, Uke an eagle's nest m air. 


Your treasured hoards of various lore, 


Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair f* 


And fm-nish twenty thousand more ? 


Deep in their vaults, the peasants say 


Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes 


A mighty treasure buried lay, 


rest 


Amass'd through rapine and through "vrong 


Tjike treasures in the Franch'mont ahest, 


By the last Lord of Franchemont.' 


While gripple owners still refuse 


The iron chest is bolted hard, 


To others what they cannot use ; 


A huntsman sits, its constant guard ; 


Give them the priest's whole century. 


Around liis neck his horn is hung. 


They shaU not spell you letters three 


His hanger in his belt is slung ; 


- Their pleasure in the books the same 


Before his feet his blood-hounds lie : * 


Tlie magpie takes in pUfer'd gem. 


An 'twere not for his gloomy eye, 


Thy voltmies, open as thy heart. 


Whose withering glance no heart can brook. 


Delight, amusement, science, art. 


As true a huntsman doth he look. 


To every ear and eye mipart ; 


As bugle e'er in brake did soimd. 


Yet who of aU who thus employ them. 


Or ever halloo'd to a hound. 


Can like the owners self enjoy them?— 


Tj chase the fiend, and win the prize, 


But, hark ! I hear the distant drum 1 


Id that same dungeon ever tries 


The day of Flodden Field is come. — 


An aged necromantic priest ; 


Adieu, dear Heber 1 life and health. 


li is an hundred years at least, 


A nd store of Uterary wealth. 


That loved the light of song to poor: 


s This paragraph appears interpolated on the blank ^|;a • 


A distant and a deadly shore 


the MS. 


Has Leydkn's cold remains !" 


4 MS.—" Which, high in air, like eag'€ s D»rt, 


Lord of the Isles, Canto 'V. post. 


Hang from the dizzy moantain's breait. 


Bee a notice of his life in the Author's Miscellaieous Prose 


6 See Appendix, Note 4 I. 


Works. 


8 Ibid. Note 3 B. 


See Apperdii, Note 4 O. 


•> Ibid. Note 4 A. The foot liuet wbioh !« 3ow ue B«t Ib 


• Ibid. Note 4 H. 


the MS. 



UO SCOTT'S POETIC AT, WORKS. CA>-ro vi 




Bulwark, and bartizan, and Uxm, 


ill a r m i n . 


And bastion, tower, and vantage-ooigll ; 




Above the booming ocean leant 




The tir-projectinj battlement ; 




CA>TO SL2CTH. 


The billows burst, in ceasele^ flow. 
Upon the precipice below. 




C ti e 1> a 1 1 1 e. 


W here'er TantaUon &ced the land. 


Gate-works, and walls, were strcaiglv maca I j 


L 


No need upon the sea-girt side ; • 


Weile giwat events -were on the srale. 


The steepy rock, and frantic tide. 


And each hour brought a varvini: tale. 


Approach of human step deniad ; 


Aiivl thf liemeanor. rh.in^red and cold. 


And thus these lines and ramparts rude, 


Of Dou:jIas, fretted >[armion bold. 


"Were left in deepest solitude. 


^nd, like the impatient steed of -vrar. 




ne snuff "d the battle from afar ; 


ni 


And hopes were none, that back a^ain. 


And. for thev were so lonelv, Clare 


Herald should come from Terouenne, 


Would to these battlements repair, 


V\ here England's King in leaaner lav, 


And muse upon her sorrows there. 


Before decisive battle-day ; 


.And list the sea-bird's crv ; 


W hilst these things vere, the mournful Clare 


Or slow, like noontide ghost, would ^kla 


Did in the Dame's devotions share : 


Along the dark-gray bulwark's side. 


For the good C« -untess ceaseless pray'd 


And ever on the heaving tide 


To Heaven and Saints, her s«his to aid. 


Look dow u with weary eye. 


And. with short iutervaL did pass 


Oft did the cliff and swelling main. 


From prayer to book, from book to mass, 


KecaU the thoughts of U hitby's tane,— • 


And all ia hi'^h Baronial pride, — 


A home she ne'er miorht see again ; 


A life both dull and diniiried ; 


For she had laid adowu. 


Yet as Lord ilarmion nothing press'd 


So Douglas bade, the hood and veil. 


Upon her interraLj of rest. 


And frontlet of the cloister pale. 


Dejected Clara well could bear 


And Benedictine gv>wn: 


The formal state, the lengthened praver, 


It were tmseemly sight, he said. 


Though dearest to her -wounded heart 


A novice out of convent shade. — 


The hours that she mi^hi spend apart. 


Now her bright locks, with siinnv glow. 




Again adom'd her brow of snow ; 


IL 


Her mantle rich, whose borders, round. 


I said, TantallMi's dijtjiv steep 


A deep and fretted broidery bound. 


Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 


In golden foldin^rs sought the ground ; 


M:mv a rude lower and rampart there 


Of tolv ornament, alone 


RepeUd the instilt of the air. 


Rensain'd a cross with ruby stooe ; 


Whic}-, when the tempest vex'd the sky. 


And often did she look 


Half breeze, half sprav, came whij.tling bv 


On that which in her hand she bore. 


Above the rest, a turret square 


VV ith velvet bound, and broider d o a. 


Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 


Her breviary bool:. 


Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 


In such a place, so lone, so grim. 


rhe Bloody Heart was ia the Field, 


At dawnino- pale, or twilight dim. 


And in the chief three mullets stood. 


It fearful would have been 


Tht cognizance of Douglas blood. 


To meet a form so richly dress'd,* 


rhe turret held a narrow stair.* 


With book ID hand, and cross on breast, 


Which mounted, gave you access where 


And such a woeful mien. 


A parapet's embattled row 


Rtz-Etutace, loitering with lus bow, 


Did seaward round the castle ga 


To practice on the gull and crow. 


Sometimes in dizzy steps descending. 


Saw her. at distance, glidin«r slow, 


Sometimes in narrow circuit bending; 


And did bv >larv swear, — 


Sometimes in platform broad extending 


Some love-lorn Fav she mi^ht have been 


Its varying circle did combine 


Or, m Romance, some spell-bound Queen 


MS — " Tbe lower oootaia'd i maoow stmar. 


• MS.— ■■ To meet a fom so fair, and drcn'd 


Aeii jmr- aa open kcceas whefe," 


la aatkiKe rabes. with eroa oa hi—.** 



CANl't' VI. 



MARMION. 



14 



For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 
A form «o witching fair.' 

IV. 
Once walking thus, at evening tide, 
It clianced a gliding sail she spied, 
And, sigliing, thought — " The Abbess, there, 
Perchance, does to her home repair ; 
Fler peaceful rule, where Duty, free. 
Walks hand in hand with Charity ; 
Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 
Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, 
That the eiu-aptured sisters see 
High vision and deep mystery ; 
The very form of Hilda fair. 
Hovering upon the sunny air. 
And smiling on her votaries' prayer.' 
! wherefore, to my duller eye, 
Did still the Saint her form deny 1 
Was it, that, sear'd by sinful scorn. 
My heart could neither melt nor burn ? 
Or he ray warm affections low. 
With him that taught them first to glow ? 
Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew. 
To pay thy kindness grateful due. 
And well could brook the mild command, 
That ruled thy simple maiden band. 
How different now ! condemn'd to bide 
My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. — 
But Marmion has to learn, ere long. 
That constant mind, and hate of wrong, 
Descended to a feeble girl. 
From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl: 
Of such a stem, a sapling weak,^ 
He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 

V. 
" But see ! — what makes this armor here ?" — 

For in her path tliere lay 
Targe, corslet, helm ; — she view'd them near. — 
" The breast-plate pierced ! — Ay, much I fear. 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
That hath made fatal entrance here, 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corslet's ward, 
Jfot truth, as diamond pme and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 

On yon disastrous day !" — 
She raised her eyes in'mournful mood, — 
Wilton himself before her stood 1 

• MS. — " A form so sad and fair." 
» See Appendix, Note 4 K. 

» MS. — " Of such a stem, or branch, ] " i weak, 

( so i 

He ne'er shall bend me, though he break." 

* MS. — By many a short caress delay'd." 

•' When the surprise at meeting a lover rescued from the 
•end ii considered, the abtvi licture will not be thought over- 



It nught have seem'd his passing ghost. 

For every youthful grace was lost .; 

And joy unwonted, and surprise. 

Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.— 

Expect not, noble dames and lords, 

That I can tell such scene in words : 

What skilful Umner e'er would chooea 

To paint the rainbow's varying hues, 

Unless to mortal it were given 

To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? 

Far less can my weak hne declare 

Each changing passion's shade ; 
Brightening to rapture from despair. 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there, 
And joy, with her angelic air. 
And hope, that paints the futtu-e fair. 

Then- varying hues display'd : 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, 
TUl aU, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said, 
By many a tender word delay'd,* 
And modest blush, and bursting sigh, 
And question kind, and fond reply : — 

VI. 
©e fflZ^flton's Jfttstots.* 

" Forget we that disastrous day, 
When senseless in the Usts I lay. 

Thence dragg'd, — but how I cannot know 
For sense and recollection fled, — 

I foimd me on a pallet low. 

Within my ancient beadsman's shed.* 

Austin, — remember'st thou, my Clare, 
How thou didst blush, when the old man. 
When first our infant love began. 

Said we would make a matchless pair?-- 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — ' 
He only held my burning head. 
And tended me for many a day. 
While wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was his care. 
When sense return'd to wake despair 

For I did tear the closing woimd, 

And dash me frantic on the ground. 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length to calmer reason brought. 
Much by his kind attendance wrought, 

charged with coloring ; and yet the painter is so fatigued witk 
his exertion, that he has finally thrown away the bn-sh, nni 
is contented with merely chalking out the intervenmg adven 
tures of De Wilton, without bestowing on them any colun » 
all." — Critical Review. 
« MS. — " Where an old beadsman held my head." 

' MS.— " The banbh'd traitor's I ^^. ®|be<l 



142 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAlfTO W 



With him I left my native strand, 
And, in a palmer's weeds array'd, 
My hated name and form to shade, 

I journey'd many a land ; 
No more a lord of rank and birth, 
But mingled with the dregs of earth. 

Oft Austin f(ir my reason fear'd, 
When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood, 

Or wUd mad schemes uprear'd. 
My friend at length fell sick, and said, 

God would remove him soon : 
And while upon his dying bed, 

He begg'd of me a boon — 
If e'er my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquer'd lie, 
Even then my mercy should awake, 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 

VIL 

" Still restless as a second Cain, 

To Scotland next my route was ta'en : 

Full weU the paths I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various soimd, 
That death in pilgrimage I found, 
That I had perish'd of my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true : 
And Uving eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his Palmer's dress ; 
For now that sable slough is shed, 
And trimm'd my shaggy beard and head, 
I scai'cely know me in the glass. 
A chance most wondrous did provide. 
That I should be that Baron's guide — • 

I wUl not name his name ! — 
Vengeance to God alone belongs ; 
But, when I think on aU my wrongs, 

My blood is Uquid ilame I 
And ne'er the time shall I forget, 
^Tien, in a Scottish hostel set, 

Dark looks we did exchange : 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell ; 
But in my bosom muster'd Hell 

Its plans of dark revenge. 

VIIL 
■ A word of vulgar augury. 
That broke from me, I scarce knew why, 

Brought on a village tale ; 
Which wrought upon his moody sprite, 
And sent him armed forth by night. 

I borrow'd steed and mail, 
And weapons, from his sleeping band ; 

MS. — " But thonght of Austin staid my hand, 
And in the sheath I planged the brand, 

I left him there alone. — 
O good old man I even from tne grave 
Thy spirit coii 1 De Wilton save." 



And, passing from a postern door. 
We met, and 'comiter'd hand to hand,— 

He fell on Gilford moo'- 
For the death-stroke my brand I drew 
(0 then my helmed head he knew, 

The Palmer's cowl was gone), 
Tlien had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin staid , 

I left him there alone. — 
good old man ! even from the grave 
Thy spirit could thy master save : 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear. 
Given to my hand tliis packet dear. 
Of power to clear my injured fame. 
And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 

That broke our secret speech — 
It rose from the infernal shade, 
Or featly was some juggle play'd, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was beet, 
When my name came among the rest. 

IX. 

" Now here, within TantaUon Hold, 
To Douglas late my tale I told. 
To whom my house was known of old. 
Won by my proofs, his falcliion bright 
This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
These were the arms that once did turn 
The tide of fight on Otterburne, 
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 
WTien the Dead Douglas won the field.' 
These Angus gave — his armorer's care, 
Ere morn shall every breach repair ; 
For naught, he said, was in his halls. 
But ancient armor on the walls. 
And aged chargers in the stalls, 
And women, priests, and gray-hair'^ men. 
The rest were all in Twisel glen.' 
And now I watch my armor here, 
By law of arms, till midnight's near ; 
Then, once again a belted knight, 
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of fight. 

X. 

" Tliere soon again we meet, my Clare ! 
This Baron means to guide thee there : 
Douglas reveres his King's command. 
Else would he take thee from his band 

« See the ballad of Otterbourne, in the Border Minstrelty 
vol. i. p. 345. 

3 Where James encamped before takirg post on F.oddM 
The MS. has— 

" The rest were all on Flodden plain." 



0A.NTO VI. 



MARMION. 



148 



And there thy kmsman, Surrey, too, 
Will give De WUton justice due. 
Now mceter far for martial broil. 
Firmer niy limbs, and strung by toil, 
Once mora" — " Wilton ! must we then 
Bisk new -found happiness again, 

Tiust fats of arms once more ? 
And is there n( t an humble glen, 

"VVliere we, content and poor, 
night build a cottage in the shade, 
4 shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor ? — 
That reddening brow 1 — too well I know, 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, 

While falsehood stams thy name : 
■ Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 

And weep a warrior's shame ; 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, 
And belt thee with thy brand of steel. 

And send thee forth to fame 1" 

XL 

That night, upon the rocks and bay. 
The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay. 
And pour'd its silver light, and pure. 
Through loop-hole, and through embrasure, 

Upon Tantailon tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride. 

The sober glances faU. 
Much was there need ; though seam'd with scars, 
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars, 

Though two gray priests were there, 
And each a blazuig torch held high, 
You could not by their blaze descry' 

The chapel's carving fair. 
Amid that dim and smoky light, 
Checkering the silver moonshine brigh 

A bishop by the altar stood,'' 

A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. 
Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye 
But Httle pride of prelacy ; 
More pleased that, in a barbarous age, 
He ga^ rude Scotland Virgil's page, 
Than that beneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dimkeld. 
Beside lum ancient Angus stood, 
Doff 'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood : 
O'er his huge form and visage pale, 

' MS. — " Yon might not ty their shine descry." 
3 Tlie well-known Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunlfeld, son 
«f Archibald Bell-the-Cat, Earl of Angus. He was author of 
1 Scottish metrical version oi" the iEneid, and of many other 
poetical pieces of great merit. He had not at this period at- 
iJDed the mitre 



He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand 
Wliich wont of yore in battle fray. 
His foeman's limbs to shred away. 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.* 

He seem'd as, from the tombs around 
Rising at judgment-day. 

Some giant Douglas may be found 
In all his old array ; 
So pale his face, so huge liis limb, 
So old his arms, his look so grim. 

XII. 

Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels ; 
And think what next he must have felt, 
At buckling of the falchion belt 1 

And judge how Clara changed her hue, 
Wlule fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried, 

He once had found imtrue ' 
Then Douglas struck him with his blade : 
" Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid« 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir I 
For King, for Church, for Lady fair. 

See that thou fight."—* 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose, 
Said — " Wilton 1 grieve not for thy woea. 

Disgrace, and trouble ; 
For He, who honor best bestows, 

May give thee double." — 
De Wnton sobb'd, for sob he must — 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 

That Douglas is my brother !" — 
" Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou me»t'st them under shield. 
Upon them bravely — do thy worst ; 
And foul fall him that blenches first !" 

XIIL 
Not far advanced was morning day 
When Marmion did his troop array 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe conduct for his band. 
Beneath the royal seal and hand. 

And Douglas gave a guide : 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 

• See Appendix, Note 4 L. 

4 " The following (five lines) are a sort of mongrel bei-frea 
the school of Sternhold and Hopkins, and the latnroneofMt 
Wordsworth." — Jbffrby. 



144 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



t'AMO Tl 



f 



Would Clara on her palfrey place, 

Ajid whisper'd in au under tone, 

" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." — 

The train from out the castle da-ew,' 

But Maxmion stopp'd to bid adieu :— 

" Though something I might plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
Sent hithf^r by your King's behest, 

While n TantaUon's towers I staid ; 
Part we m friendship from your land, 
And, noble EarL receive my hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded liis arms, and thus he spoke : — 
" My man6rs, halls, and bowers, shall stiU 
Be open, at my Sovereign's will. 
To each one whom he Usts, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer." 
My castles are my King's alone. 
From turret to foxmdation stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
llie hand of such as Marmion clasp."— 

XIV. 
Bum'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire. 

And—" This to me !" he said, — 
" An 'twere not for thy iioary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

J o cieave the Douglas' head 1 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Altliough the meanest in her. state. 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
And, Douglas, more I teU thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride, 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near 
(Nay, never look upon your lord, 
And lay yoiu- hands upon your sword), 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" — * 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth, — " And dar'st thou then 
To beard the Uon in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hope St thou hence unscathed to go ! 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ? 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what. Warder, ho 1 

Let tlie portcullis fall." — * 

1 MS.—" Tne train the portal arch paas'd through." 
» MS.—" Unmeet they be to harbor here." 
« MS.—" False Donglas, thon hast lied." 
• <l«e Appendix, Note 4 M. 



Lord Marmion turn'd — well was his need, 

And dash'd the rowels in his stood. 
Like arrow through the archway spnmg, 
The ponderous grate behind him rung : 
To pass there was such scanty room. 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 

XV. 
The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Nor lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level brim : 
And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band; 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand. 
And shout of loud defiance pours. 
And shook las gauntlet at the tow&rs. 
" Horse 1 horse 1" the Douglas cried, " aoL 

chase 1" 
But soon he rein'd his fury's pace : 
" A royal messenger he came. 
Though most unworthy of the name, — 
A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed 1 
Did ever knight so foul a deed 1' 
At first in heart it liked me ill, 
Wlien the King praised his clerkly skilL 
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,* 
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a Ime : 
So swore I, and I swear it still. 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay him where he stood. 
'Tis pity of him too," he cried : 
" Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, 
I warrant him a warrior tried." 
With this his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 

XVL 
The day in Marmion's jotu-ney wore ; 
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er. 
They cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor 
His troop more closely there he scann'd. 
And miss'd the Palmer from the band.— 
" Palmer or not," yoimg Blount did say, 
" He parted at the peep of day ; 
Good sooth, it was in strange array." — 
" In what array ?" said Marmion, quick. 
" My Lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
But all night long, with clink and bang, 
Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang. 
And from a loop-hole while I peep, 

» See Appendix, Note 4 N. 

• MS. — " Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of miM 
Could never pen a written line. 
So swear I, and f swear it still. 
Let brother Gawain fret his fill ' 



CAXIO VI. 



MARMION. 



146 



Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep, 

Wrapp'd in a g'ovn of sables fair, 

As fearful cf *he morning air ; 

Beneath, wh'ju that was blown aside, 

A rusty sliirt of mail I spied, 

By Archibald won in bloody work, 

Against the Saracen and Turk : 

Last night it hung not in the hall ; 

I thought some marvel would befalL 

And next I saw them saddled lead 

Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; 

A matchless horse, though something old. 

Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 

I heai'd the Sheriff Sholto say. 

The Earl did much the Master' pray 

To use him on the battle-day ; 

But he preferr'd" — " Nay, Henry, cease I 

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace.^ 

Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray. 

What did Blouni pe at break of day ?" — 

XVIL 
■' In brief, my lord, we both descried 
(For then J s* jod by Henry's side) 
The Palmer p ount, and outwards ride, 

Upon the j'^arl's own favorite steed : 
All sheathe'* he ws,s in armor bright, 
And much resembled that same knight, 
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight : 

Lord Angus wish'd him speed." — 
The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke ;— 
" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost !" 
He mutter'd ; " 'twas nor fay nor ghost 
I met upon the moonlight wold. 
But living man of earthly mould. — 

dotage blind and g.-'isl 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust, 

My path no more to cross. — 
How stand we now ? — he told his tale 
To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 

'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow. — 
Will S'jrrey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ? 

Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 
Must separate Constance from the Nun — 
O, what a tangled web wc weave, 
(^ When first we practise to deceive 1 1 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why ,' 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 
I might have known there was but one. 
Whose look could quell Lord Marmioa" 

> His eldest eon, the Master of Ang09. 
• See Appendix, Note 4 O. 

' "From this period to the conclusion of the poem, Mr. 
Ba«tt'B genla<, so long overclouded, bursts forth in full lustre. 
lit 



xvin. 

Stimg with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed, 
Where Lennel's convent" closed their march 
(There now is left but one frail arch, 

Yet mourn thou not its cells , 
Our time a fair exchange has made ; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
Well worth the whole BeroardiD'! brood. 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair, 
And lodging for his train and Clare.' 
Nest morn the Baron chmb'd the tow«r. 
To view afar the Scottish power, 

Encamp'd on Flodden edge ; 
The white pavilions made a show, 
Like remnants of the winter snow. 

Along the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion look'd : — at length his eye 
Unusual movement might descry 

Amid the shifting lines : 
The Scottish host drawn out appears, 
For, flashing on the hedge of spears 

The eastern sunbeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending: 
Their flank inclining, wheehng, bending. 
Now drawing back, and now descending, 
The skilful Marmion well could know, 
They watch'd the motions of some foe, 
Who traversed on the plain below. 
• 

XIX. 
Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 

The Scots beheld the English host 

Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post. 

And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd 
The TUl by Twisel Bridge." 

High sight it is, and haughty, whilo 

They dive mto the deep defile ; 

Beneath the cavern'd cUff they fall, 

Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 

Troop after troop are disappearing , 

Troop after troop their banners rea w^. 
. Upon the eastern bank you see. 
Still pom-ing down the rocky den, ! 

Where flows the sullen Till, . 

And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
Standards on standards, men on men. 

In slow succession still, 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 

and eveo transcends itself. It is impossible to do uira jasUet 
by making extracts, when all is equally aitracti»e.' — Ahntktt 
Review. 
« See Ajipendii Note 4 P. 



146 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



CANTO VI 



To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
And m;iny a chief of birth and rank, 
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, wliich now we see 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 
Had then from many an axe its doom. 
To give the marching columns room. 

XX. 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow, 
Sinc( England gains the pass the while. 
And struggles through the deep defile i 
What checks the fiery soul of James ? 
Why sits that champioL of tlie dames 

Inactive on his steed, 
And sees between him and his land, 
Between liim and Tweed's southern strand, 

His host Lord Sun-ey lead ? 
What 'vaQs the vain knight-errant's brand \ 
— O, J)ouglas, for thy leading wand 1 

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed 1 

for one hour of Wallace wight. 

Or well-skill'd Bruce, to rule the fight. 
And cry — " Saint Andrew and om- right !" 
Another sight had seen that morn, 
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn. 
And Flodden had been Baimockbom-ne ! 
The precious horn- has pass'd in vain. 
And England's host has gain'd the plain ; 
Wheeling their marcli, and curding still. 
Around the base of Flodden hill. 

XXI. 

i^Jre yet the bands met Marmion's eye,' 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 
•• Hark 1 hark 1 my lord, an English drum 
And see ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hill 
Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what hap, 
My basnet to a prentice cap, 

Lord Surrey s o'er the Till ! — 
Tet mors ! yet more ! — how far array'a 
They file from out the hawthorr shade, 

Ar d sweep so gallant by !'' 
\S kh al' their banners bravely spread. 

And all their armor flashing high. 
Saint G-sorge might waken from the dead, 

1 MS. — " Ere first they met Lord Marmion's eye." 
' MS. — " And all go sweeping by." 

' " The speeclies of Squire Blount are a great deal too an- 
.olished for a noble youth aspiring to knighthood. On two 
•<H:ai)ion9, to specify no more, he addresses his brother squire 
■ these cacophonous lines, — 

' St. Anton fire thee I wilt thon «tand 
All day with bonnet iu thy hand ;' 



To see fair England's standards fly." 
" Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount, " thon'dst 

best. 
And listen to our lord's behest." — ' 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,— 
" This instant be oiu" band array'd ; 
The river must be quickly cross'd, 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I tru.st. 
That fight he will, and fight he must, — • 
The lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry while the battle joins." 

XXIL 

Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
Far less would listen to his prayer. 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew. 
And mutter'd as the flood they view, 
" The pheasant in the falcon's claw. 
He scarce will yield to please a daw : 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe. 

So Clare shall bide with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep,* 

He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide. 
Till squire, or groom, before him ride 
Headmost of all he stems the tide. 

And stea s it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse. 

Old Hubert led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's course. 
And, though far downward driven per 
force. 

The southern bank they gain ; 
Behind them straggUng came to shore, 

As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er Ms head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain : 
Deep need tliat day that every string. 
By wet imharm'd, shoidd sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion stay'd, 
And breathed his steed, his men array'd, 

Tlien forward moved his baud. 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won. 
He halted by a Cross of Stone, 
That, on a hiUock standing lone, 

Did all the field commaiict 

And, 

' Stint in thy prate,' quoth Blount, 'tkou'ir\, bett, 
And listen to our lord's behest.' 
Neither can we be brought to admire the simple dignity of 8» 
Hugh the Heron, who thus encourageth his nephew, — 

' By my fay, 
Well hast thon spoke — say forth thy say.' "— JbffRIT 
* MS. — " Where to the Tweed Leafs trihutei creep •' 



04HTO VI. MARMION. 14i 


XXIIl. 


But, parting like a thimderbolt, 


Hence might they see the fiill array 


First in the vanguard made a halt, 


Of either host, for deadly fray ;' 


VV here such a shout there rose 


Their marshall'd lines stretch'd east and -west,' 


Of " Marmion ! Marmion !" that the cry 


And fronted north and south, 


Up Flodden mountain shrilling high. 


And distant salutation pass'd 


Startled the Scottish foes. 


From the loud cannon mouth 




Not in tha close successive rattle. 


XXV. 


That lireathes the voice of modern battle, 


Bloimt and Fitz-Eustace rested still 


But slow and far between. — 


With Lady Clare upon the lull ! 


The hiUock gain'd, Lord Mai-mion staid : 


On which (for far the day was spent) 


' Here, by this Cross," he gently said, 


The western sunbeams now were bent. 


" You well may view the scene. 


The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 


Here shalt thou tnrry, lovely Clare : 


Could plain their distant comrades view ; 


1 think of Marn^ion in thy prayer 1 


Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 


Thou wilt not ? — well, — no less my care 


" Unworthy office here to stay ! 


Shall, watchfid, for thy weal prepare. — 


No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 


Tou, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 


But see ! look up — on Flodden bent 


With ten pick'd archers of my train ; 


The Scottish foe has fired his tent." 


With England if the day go hard, 


And sudden, as he spoke, 


To Berwick speed amain. — ■ 


From the sharp ridges of the hill,* 


But if we conquer, cruel maid, 


AU downward to the banks of Till 


My spoils shall at your feet be laid, 


Was wreathed in sable smoke. 


When here we meet again." 


Volumed and fast, and rolling far. 


He waited not for answer there. 


The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 


A nd would not mark the maid's despair,* 


As down the hill they broke 


' Nor heed the discontented look 


Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, 


From either squire ; but spurr'd amain, 


Announced their march ; their tread alona. 


And, dashing through the battle plain, 


At times one warning trumpet blown. 


HJH way to Surrey took. 


At times a stifled hum, 




Told England, from his mountain-throne 


XXIV. 


King James did rushing come. — 


" The good Lord Marmion, by my life . 


Scarce could they hear, or see their foes, 


Welcome to danger's hour 1 — 


Until at weapon-point they close. — ^ 


Short greeting serves in time of strife : — 


They close, in clouds of smoke and dust. 


Thus have I ranged my power : 


With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; 


Myself wiU ride this central host. 


And such a yell was there. 


Stout Stanley fronts then right. 


Of sudden and portentous birth, 


My sons command the vaward post. 


As if men fought upon the earth, 


With Brian TunstaU, stainless kuiglit ;* 


And fiends in upper air ;' 


Lord Dacre, with liis horsemen Ught, 


Ufe and death were in the shout, 


Shall be in i ear- ward of the fight. 


Recoil and rally, charge and rout, 


ii ?d succor those that need it most. 


And triumph and despair. 


Now, gaUant Marmion, well I know, 


Long look'd the anxious squires ; their ey e 


Wfiuld gladly to the vanguard go 1 


Could in the darkness naught descry. 


Edmimd, the Admiral, Tunstall there, 




With thee their charge will bUthely share , 


XXVL 


There fight thine own retainers too, 


At 1 ength the freshening western blast 


Beneath De Biu-g, thy steward true." — * 


Aside tb8 3I roud of battle cast ; 


" Tlianks, noble Surrey !" Marmion said, 


And, fir*4, the ridge of mingled spears* 


Ko- farther greeting there he paid ; 


Above the brightening cloud appears; 


See Appendix, Note 4 G. 


the days of Homer to those of Mr. Sonthey, there is none, « 


I MS. — " Their lines were form'd, stretch'd east and west." 


our opinion, at all comparable, for interest and animation,— 


MS. — " Nor mark'd the lady's aeep despair, 


for breadth of drawing and magnificence of effect, — with tW 


Nor heeded discontented look." 


of Mr. Scott's." — Jeffrey. 


» See Appendix, Note 4 R. 


7 This couplet is not in the MS. 


MS.—" Beneath thy seneschal, Fitz-Hngh." 


8 The next three lines are not in the MS- 


Of sU the poeacal battles whicii have been foaght, from 


9 MS. — " And firs*, 'he broken ridge of sot-an 



148 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CLSTO n 



Ajid ill the smoke tlie peniions flew, 
As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
Then mark'd tliey, dashing broad and far, 
Tlie broken billows of the war, 
And plumed crests of cliieftains brave, 
Floating like foam upon the wave ; 

But naught distinct they see : 
Wide' raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook and falcliions flash'd amain 
Fell England' s arrow-flight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stoop'd, and rose again 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
Tliey f aw Lord Marmion's falcon fly : 
And stainless Tunstall's banner whitr 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
Still bear them bravely in the fight 

Although against them come. 
Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
And many a stubborn Badenoch /nd,p. 
And many a rugged Border cUu, 

With Himtly, and with Hjme. 

XXVII. 
Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle ; 
Thouffh there the western mountameer* 
Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear. 
And flung the feeble targe aside, 
And with both hands the broadsword plied. 
Twas vain : — But Fortune, on the right. 
With fickle smile, cheer'd Scotland's fight. 
Then fell that spotless baimer white,' 

The Howard's hon fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle-yell. 
The Border slogan rent the sky 1 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, 

The pennon sunk and rose ; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, 

It waver'd 'mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could bear : 
" By Heaven, and all its saints 1 I swear 

I wiU not see it lost ! 
Fitz-Eu tace, yon with Lady Clare* 
May bid your beads and patter prayer, — 



' In all former editions, Highlandman. Badenoch is the cor- 
•ction of the Author's interleaved copy of the edition ol 1830. 
' MS. — "Though there the danntle.sa mountaineer." 
> MS. — " Fell stainless Tunstall's banner white, 

Sir Edmund's lion fell." 
< M8. — " Fitz-Eustace, you and Lady Clare 

May for its safety ji-in in prayer." 



I gallop to the host" 
And to the fray ne lode <unaiii, 
Follow'd by ail tLe ai<;her crair- 
The fier^ youlh, v/ith uesp'.rate charge 
Made, for u space, an opening larjje, — 

TLe rdsc'.ed banner rose, — 
Eat darldy closed the war around. 
Like pine-tree, rooted from the grooDd,* 

It sunk among the foes. 
Tflien Eustace moimted too : — yet staid 
As loath to leave the helpless maid. 

When, fast as shaft can fly. 
Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils sj^read, 
The loose rein dangUng from liis head, 
Housing and saddle bloody red. 

Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by ; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 

A look and sign to Clara cast 

To mark he would return in haste,* 
Tlien plunged into the fight. 

XXVIIL 
Ask me not what the maiden feels. 

Left in that dreadful hotir alone : 
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 

Perchance a cotirage, not her own. 

Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 
Tlie scatter'd van of England wheels ; — '' 

She only said, as loud in air 

The tumult roar'd, " Is WUton there ?"— 

They fly, or, madden'd by despair, 

Fight but to die,—" Is Wilton there ?" 
With that, straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen di-ench'd with gore. 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hand still straui'd the broken brand , 
ilis arms were smear'd with blood and sand , 
Dragg'd from among the horses' feet, 
With dinted sliield, and hehnet beat, 
Tlie falcon-crest and plumage gone, 
Can that be haughty Marmion 1 . . .' 
Young Blount liis armor did unlace, 
And, gazing on liis ghastly face, 

Said — ". By Saint George, he's gone I 
Tliat spear-wound has our master sped, 
And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marmion." — 
" TJnnurtur'd Blount ! thy brawling cease , 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace I* 

• MS.—" Like pine np-rooted from the ground." 

• MS.—' And cried he would return in haste." 

' MS.— Repulsed, the band ) , _ , , . ,_ - 
^, ' ,j • f of England wbeeB." 

the scatter'd wing < ^ 

9 MS.—" Can that be | }^™"g | Lord Marmioo i" 



CANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



141 



XXIX. 

When, doff 'd his casque, he felt free air,' 
Aro'ind 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
" Where's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ? 
liinger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
Redeem my pennon, — charge again 5 
Cry — '■ Marmion to the rescue !' — Y^hi 1 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again I — 
Yet my last thought is England's — fly,* 
To Dacre bear my signet-ring : 
Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
Fitz -Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie ; 
Tunstall hes dead upon the field, 
His life-blood stains the spotless shield : 
Edmimd is down : — my life is reft ; 
The Admiral alone is left. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
Full upon Scotland's central host,* 
Or victory and England's lost. — 
Must I bid twice ? — whence, varlets ! fly 1 
Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
They parted, and alone he lay : 
Clare drew her from the sight away, 
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, 
And half he muj-mur'd, — " Is there none, ' 
Of aU my halls have nurst, / 

Page, sqnire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessfe 1 water from the spring, 
To slake my dying thirst 1" 



XXX. 

O, Woman 1 in our hours of ease. 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
Ajid variable as the shade 
By the hght quivering aspen made ; 
When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou 1 — 



/ 



/ 



Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
When, with the Baron's casque, the maid " 

To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears. 

Sees but the dying man.* 

* MS — And when he felt the fresher air." 

• MS. — " Yet my last thought's for England — hie. 

To rjacre give my signet-ring. . . . 
Fitt-Eustace, to Lord Surrey yZj/." 

MP. — ' Full ou King James's central host." 

" The hero of the piece, Marmion, who has been guilty of 
leducing a nun, and abandoning her to be buried alive, of 
forgery to ruin a friend, and of perfidy in endeavoring to 
leduce away from him the object of his tenderest affections, 
Sghts and dies gloriously, and is indebted to the injured Clara 
"or the last drop of water to cool his dying thirst. This last 
tal of disinterested attention e.xtorts from the Author the 
moolhest, sweetest, and tenderest lines in tlie wliole poem. 
• is with pleasure that we extract numbers so harmonious 



She stoop'd her by the rvmnel's side,* 

But in abhorrence backward drew ; 
For, oozing from the mountain's side, 
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn? — behold her maik 

A httle fountain cell. 
Where water, clear as diamond-spark 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half- worn letters say, 
J^rinft. toear^). pflflrtm. tJtfnft. anti. praB. 
iFoc. tlbe. fefirt. soul. of. Ssb'l. CSrcj. 

EJSFJio. ijuflt. t!)is. cross, anti. toell. 
She fill'd the helm, and back she liieo. 
And with surprise and joy espied 

A monk supportmg Marmion's head: 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead 

XXXL 
Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
And, as she stoop'd his brow to lave— 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
" Or mjured Constance, bathes my head 8' 

Then, as remembrance rose, — 
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to spar«» 
Forgive and hsten, gentle Clare !"- • 

" Alas !" ,she said, " the while, — 
0, think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She died at Holy Isle."— 

Lord Marmion started from the groimd, 
As light as if he felt no wound ; 
Though in the action burst the tide. 
In torrents, from his wounded side. 
" Then it was truth," — he said — " I knew 
That the dark presage must be true. — 
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
The vengeance due to all her wrongs. 

Would spare me but a day ! 
For, wasting fire, and dying groan,' 
And priests slain on the altar stone, 

from the discords by which they are surrounded.' - •OtfioB 
Review. 
s MS. — " She stoop'd her by the runnel's tide, 

But in ablionence soon withdrei" ^ 
iir, oozing fror: the mountains wioo 
Where raged the war, a darli-red tide 
Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn "i behold, she mark 

A little vaulted cell, 
Wiiose water, clear as diamond sparki. 

In a rude basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 
Drink, passing pilgrim, drink and pray. 
MS. — " Fire, sacrilege, ajid dying groan, 

And priests gorged on the altar stone 



!60 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CiKTO n 



Might bribe him for delay. 
It ma}- not be 1 — tliis dizzy trance — 
Curse on you base marauder's lance, 
Ai d doubly cursed my failing brand 1 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." 
Then, faulting, down on earth he simk, 
Supported bj the trembling Monk. 

XXXII. 
With fruitless labor, Claia bound 
And strove to stanch the gushing wound : 
I'he Monk, with unavailing cares. 
Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 
Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
A lady's voice was in liis ear. 
And that the priest he could not hear ; 

For that she ever smig, 
" In the lost battle, borne down by thejlying. 
Where mingles war's rattle with groaics of the 
dying l" 

So the notes rung ; — 
" Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
Shake not the dying simier's sand 1 — 
0, look, my son, upon you sign' 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

0, think on faith and bliss ! — 
By many a deatli-bed I liave been, 
And many a sumer's partmg seen. 

But never aught like this." — 
Tlie war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thmidermg swell'd the gale, 

And — Stanley ! was the cry ; 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye :" 
With dyuig hand, above his head, 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted " Victory 1 — 
Chiirge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on 1 " 
Were the last words of M;irmion.' 

XXXIII. 
By tliis, though deep the evening fell. 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell, 

Miglit bribe him for delay, 

J] ltd all by whom the deed was done, 
Should with myself become his own. 

It may not be" 

J My. — " O look, my Bon, upon this cross, 
O, think upon the grace divine, 

On saints and licavenly bliss ! — 
By many a sinner's bod I've been, 
And many a dismal parting seen. 
But never aught like this." 
» MS — " And sparkled in his eye." 

> The I.!idy of the Lake has nothing so good as the death of 
Marmioi. — Mackintosh. 
■" MS. — " In vain the wish — for far they stray, 

And spoil and havoc mark'd their way. 
' O, Lat'v,' cried the Monk, 'away I' " 
M?, — " But Mtil 'pon the darkening heath." 



For still the Scots, around their King, 
Unbroken, fcught in desperate ring. 
Where's now their victor vaward wing, 

Where Huutly, and where Home ? — 
0, for a blast of that dread horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

That to King Charles did come, 
Wlien Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer, 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blast might warn them, not in vain 
To quit the plunder of the slain. 
And tiu-n the doubtful day again, 

While yet on Flodden side. 
Afar, the Royal Stimdard flies, 
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies. 

Our Caledonian pride 1 
In vam the wish — for far away, 
While spoil aiid havoc mark their way. 
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray.— 
" 0, Lady," cried the Monk, " away 1"* 

And placed her on her steed, 
And led her to the chapel fair. 

Of Tilraouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer, 
And at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman. Lord Fitz-Chire. 

XXXIV. 

But as they left the dark'ning heath,* 
Mtire ilesperate grew tlie strife of deatL 
The English shafts in volleys hail'd, 
In headlong charge then' horse assail'd ; 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 
To break the Scottish circle deep, 

That fought around their King. 
But yot, though thick the sliafts as snow. 
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 
Thougli bill-men ply the ghastly blow. 

Unbroken was the ring ; 
The stubborn spear-men still made goc-i* 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each steppuig where iiis comrade stood, 

• MS. — " Ever the stubborn spears made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood ; 
Each Scotstepp'd where his comrade rtood. 

The instant that lie I'cll, 
Till the last ray of parting light. 
Then ceased perforce the dreadful Cgbt 

And sunk the battle's yell. 
The skilful ^^urrey's sage commands 
Drew from the strife his shatter'd bands. 

Their loss his foeman knew ; 
Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low 
They melted from the field as snow, 
When streams are swoln and south wituif V^M, 

Melts from the mountain blue. 
By various march their scatler'd bandi, 
Disorder'd, gain'd the Scottish lands. — 
Day dawns on F'oddeo's dreary side, 



PANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



16J 



The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight ; 
Link'd in the sfrried phalanx tight, 
Groom fought hke noble, squire like imight, 

As fearlessly and well ; 
Till atter darkness closed her wing 
O'er thair tliin host and wounded King 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
liCd back from strife his shatter'd bands ; 
And from the charge they dreW; 
As Jiiountain-waves, from wasted lands, 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foeman know ; 
Tlieir King, their Lords, their mightiest low, 
They melted from the field as snow, 
When streams are swoln and south winds blow, 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 

While many a broken band, 
Disorder'd, through her currents dash. 

To gain the Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to town and dale, 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale. 
And raise the imiversal wail.* 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song. 
Shall many an age that wail prolong : 
Still from the she the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife, and carnage d^ear, 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear, 

And broken was her shield 1 

XXXV. 
Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — * 
There, Scotland 1 lay thy bravest pride, 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one: 
Tlie sad survivors all are gone. — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully, 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
Nor to yon Border castle liigh. 
Look northward ^ith upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish Ivtpe in vain. 
That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to liis land 

May yet return again. 
He eav the wreck liis rashness wrought ; 

And sliow'd tlie scene of carnage wide ; 

There, Scotland, lay thy bravest pride 1" 
1 The powerful poetry of these passages can receive no il- 
nrtrs 'io» f-oin any praises or observations of ours. It is supe- 
lior, t^ apprehension, to all that this author has hitherto 

produced ; and, with a few faults of diction, equal to any 
Jiing that has ever been written upon similar subjects. From 
the moment the author gffts in sight of Flodden Field, indeed, 
to the end of the poem, there is no tame writing, and no inter- 
vejition of ordinary passages. He does not once flag or grow 
odious ; and neither stops lo describe dresses and ceremonies, 
nor to commemorate the harsh names of feudal barons from the 
Border. There is a flight of five or six hundred lines, in short, 
which be never stoops his wing, nor wavers in his coune ; 



Reckless of hfe, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clench'd within liis manly hana 

Beseem'd the monarch slain.* 
But, 1 how changed since yon blithe 

night ! — 
Gladly I turn me from the sight. 

Unto my tale again. 

XXXVL 
Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 
A pierced and mangled body bare 
To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 
And there, beneath the southern aisle 
A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, 
Did long Lord Marmion's image beaj' 
(Now vauily for its sight you lock ; 
'Twas levell'd wnen fanatic Brook 
The fair cathedral storm'd and took ; 
But, thanks to Heaven and good Sauit Chad, 
A guerdon meet the spoiler had !)* 
There erst was martial Marmion fo'ind, 
His feet upon a couchant homid. 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet carved, and fretted nicho, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair, 
And priest for Marmion breathed the prayar, 
The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods a peasant swain 
Follow'd his lord to Flodden plain, — 
One of those flowers, w hom plaintive lay 
Li Scotland mourns as " wede away :" 
Sore woimded, Sybil's Cross he spied. 
And dragg'd him to its foot, and died, 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers etripp'd and gash'd the slain, 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb. 
The lowly woodsman took the room. 

XXXVIL 

Less easy task it were, to show 

Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low.' 

but carries the reader forward with a more rapid, (uatainect, 
and lofty movement, than any epic bard that we can at preaeiU 
remember." — Jeffuey. 

2 " Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, 

The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head," &c. 

Byron's iMra. 

8 See Appendix, Note 4 S. * Ibid. Note 4 T. 

" " A corpse is afterwards conveyed, as that of Marmion, Ui 
the Cathedral of Lichfield, where a magnificent tomb is erer.iarf 
to his memory, and masses are instituted for tlie reiice of hit 
soul ; but, by an admirably-imagined act of poetical j police, w« 
are informed that a peasant's body was placed beneath thai 
costly monument, while the haughty Baron himself was harietf 
like a vulgar corpse, on the spot ou vhich he died. - Mon, tie* 



162 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ▼% 



They dug his grave e'en where he lay,' 

But every majfk is gone ; 
Time's -wasting hand has done away 
The simple Cross of Sybil Grey, 

And broke her font of stone : 
But yet from out the Uttle MU'' 
Oozes the slender springlet stilL 

Oft halts the stranger there, 
/or thence may best his cm-ious eye 
The memorable field descry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush. 
And rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their garlands fair •, 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave, 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave.— 
VVTien thou shalt find the Uttle hill,' 
With thy heart conmiune, and be still. 
If ever, in temptation strong, 
Thou left'st the light path for the wrong ; 
If every devious step, thus trod. 
Still led thee farther from the road ; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, " He died a gallant knight, 
With sword in hand, for England's right." 

XXXVIII. 
I do not rhyme to that dull elf. 
Who cannot image to himself, 
That all through Flodden's dismal night, 
Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 
That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 
Twas Wilton mounted him again ; 
Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd,* 
Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 
Umiamed by Holliushed or HaU, 
He was the living soul of aU : 
Tliat, after fight, his faith made plain, 
He won liis rank and lands again : 
And charged his old paternal shield 

1 MS. — " They dug his bed e'en where he lay." 

* MS. — " But yet where swells the little hill." 

• MS. — " If thou shouldst find this little tomb, 

Beware to speak a hasty doom." 

* MS. — " He hardest press'd the Scottish ring ; 

'Twas thought that he struck down the King." 

• Used eenerally for tale or discourse. 

" We have dwelt longer on the beauties and defects of 
ji\i poem, than, we are afraid, will be agreeable either to the 
Wtrtial or the indifferent ; not only becau.se we look upon it as 
t misapi.lication, in some degree, of very extraordinary talents, 
but because we cannot help considering it as the foundation 
9f a new school, which may hereafter occasion no little an- 
Boyance both to ns and to the public Mr. Scott has hitherto 
6lled the whole stage himself; and the very splendor of his 
lUicess has probably operated as yet rather to deter than to 
tncourage the herd of rivals and imitators ; but if, by the help 
of the good parts of his poem, he succeeds in suborning the 
»erdict of tlie public in favor of the bad parts also, and es- 
ftblishes sr indiscriminate taste for chivalrous legeuds and 



With bearings won on Flodden Field. 

Nor sing I to that simple maid. 

To whom it must in terms be said. 

That King and kinsmen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 

Who cannot, imless I relate. 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke, 

More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke ', 

That bluff King Hal the curtain drew. 

And Catherme's hand the stocking threw ; 

And afterwards for many a daj , 

That it was held enough to say, 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they like Wilton and like Clai'e '*' 



- a ' 15 n b s 

TO THE ElAi/tE. . 

Why then a final note prolong. 

Or lengthen out a closing song; 

Unless to bid the gentles speed, 

Who long have Usted to my rede ?• 

To Statesmen grave, if such may d jign 

To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, 

And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 

A garland for the hero's crest, 

And twined by her he loves the best ; 

To every lovely lady bright, 

What can I wish but faithful knight ? 

To every faithful lover too. 

What can I wish but lady true ? 

And knowledge to the studious sage ; 

And pillow to the head of age. 

To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play, 

Light task, and merry holiday 1 

To all, to each, a fak good-night. 

And pleasing di-eams, and slumbers Ught 1* 

romances in irregular rhyme, he may depend upon having 41 
many copyists as Mrs. Radclift'e or Schiller, and upon becomin| 
the founder of a new schism in the catholic poetica church 
for which, in spite of all our exertions, there will probably "m 
no cure, but in the extravagance of the last and lowest of iti 
followers. It is for this reason that we cojioeive it to be ov 
duty to make one strong efi'ort to bring back tlie great *pi«Ui 
of tiie heresy to the wholesome creed of his instructors and U 
stop the insurrection before it becomes desperate and sens* 
less, by persuading the leader to return to his duty an '. iMa 
glance We admire Mr. Scott's genius as much as auy^l 
those who may be misled by its perversion ; and, like t.h» 
curate and the barber in Don Q,uixote, laruent the d.\v vhen a 
gentleman of such endowments was corrupted by the *irke<! 
tales of knight-errantry and enchantment." — Jeffrey 

" We do not flatter ourselves that Mr. Soott will pay to otu 
advice that attention which he has refused to his acute friend 
Mr. Erskine ; but it is possible that his own good sense may ip 
time persuade him not to abandon his 'oved fairy ground (1 
province over which we wish him a long and prosperoui guv 



CANTO VI. 



MARMION. 



Ida 



•mment), but to combine the charms of lawful poetry with 
those of wild aad romantic fiction. As the first step to this 
itaMrable end, we would beg him to reflect that his Gothic 
Dodels will not bear him out in transferring the loose anr* 
ihaffling ballad metre to a poem of considerable length, and 
of complicated interest like the present. It is a very easy thing 
le vrrite five hundred ballad verses, stans pede in una ; but 
Ml ft^tt needs not to be told, that five hundred varses writ- 
ten on nne foot have a very poor chance for immortality." — 
Mtnthl^ Revieie. 



"The story," writes Mr. Sonthey, " is made of better mate- 
rials than the Lay, yet they are not so well fitted togetlier. 
As a whole, it has not pleased me so much, — in parts, it has 
(leased me more. There is nothing so finely conceived in 
your former poem as the death of RIarmion : there is nothing 
finer in its conception anywhere. The introductory epistles 
I did not wish away, because, as poems, they gave me great 
pleasure ; but I wished them at the end of the volume, or at 
the beginning, — anywhere except where they were. My taste 
is perhaps peculiar in disliking all interruptions in narrative 
poetry. When the poet lets his story sleep, and talks in his 
own person, it has to me the same sort of unpleasant effect 
Jiat is produced at the end of an act. You are alive to know 
what ibllows, and lo — down comes the curtain, and the fiddlers 
Degin with their abominations. The general opinion, however, 
IS with me, in thb particular instance." — Life of Scott, vol. 
di. p. 44. 

"Thank yon," says Mr. Wordsworth, "for Marmion. I 
Jhink your end has been attained. That it is not the end 
which I should wish you to propose to yourself, you will be 
iiell aware, from what you know of my notions of composi- 
jon, both as to matter and manner. In the circle of ray ac- 
juaintance, it seems as well Uked as the Lay, though I have 
Heard that in the world it is not so. Had the poem been 
much better than the Lay, it could scarcely have satisfied the 
public, wliich has too ranch of the monster, the moral monster, 
■n its composition." — Ibid. p. 45. 

"My own opinion," says Mr. George Ellis, "is, that both 
Me productions are equally good in their different ways : 
ret. upof the whole, I had rather be the author of Marmion 
than of the Lay. !>eeaDse I think its species of excellence of 
'*j:3 store difficult attainment. What degree of bulk may 
08 essentially necessary to the corporeal part of an Epic poem, 
I know not ; but sure I am that tlie story of Marmion might 
*avi.' furnished twelve^ books as easily as six — that the mas- 
srly 'taracter of Constance would not have been less be- 
witutng had it been much more minutely painted -and that 
De Wilton might have been dilated with great ease, and even 
Lo cowiderabie advantage ; — in short, that had it been your 
iBtenticn merely to exhibit a spirited romantic story, instead 
Df myking that story subservient to the delineation of the 
nanners which jv-evatled at a certain period of our history, 
IhenLJiber lad variety of yout characters wonl'l have suited 
30 



any scale of painting. On the whole 1 can sincerely assaH 
yon, that had I seen Marmion withort knowing the antlior 
I should have ranked it with Tlieodore and Honoria, — that 
is to say, on the very top shelf of English poetry." — I bid. vol 
iii. p. 46. 

" I shall not, after so much of and about criticism, say any 
thing more of Marmion in this place, than that 1 have always 
considered it as, on the whole, the greatest of Scott's poems 
There is a certain light, easy, virgin charm about the Lay, 
which we look for in vain through the subsequent volumes oi 
his verse ; but the superior strength, and breadtii, and bohi 
nesa, both of conception and execution, in the Marmion, a;y- 
pear to me indisputable. The great blot, the combination ol 
mean felony with so many noble qualities in the chciractero( 
the hero, was, as the poet says, severely commented on at the 
time by the most ardent of his early friends, Leyden ; but 
though he admitted the justice of that criticism, he chose ' to 
let the tree lie as it had fallen.' He was also sensible that 
many of the subordinate and connecting parts of the narra 
tive are flat, hajsli, and obscure — but would never make any 
serious attempt to do away with these imperfections ; and 
perhaps they, after all, heighten by contrast the effect of the 
passages of high-wrought enthusiasm which alone he con- 
sidered, in after days, with satisfaction. As for the ' episto- 
lary dissertations,' it must, I take it, be allowed that they ia- 
terfered with the flow of tlie story, when readers were turn 
ing the leaves with the first ardor of curiosity ; and thej 
were not, in fact, originally intended to be interwoven in any 
fashion with the romance of Marmion. Though the author 
himself does not allude to, and had perhaps forgotten the 
circumstance, when writing the Introductory Essay of 183C 
— they were announced, by an advertisement early in 1807, as 
' Six Epistles from Ettrick Forest,' to be published in a sepa- 
rate volume, similar to that of the Ballads and Lyrical Pieces ; 
and perhaps it might have been better thai this first plan had 
been adhered to. But however that may be, are tliere an) 
pages, among all he ever wrote, that one would be more sorry 
he should not have written ? They are among the most de- 
licious portraitures that genius ever painted of itself, — buoyant 
virtuous, hajipy genius — exulting in its own energies, yet pos- 
sessed and mastered by a clear, calm, modest mind, and happy 
only in diffusing happiness around it. 

" With what gratification those Epistles were read by the 
mends to whom they were addressed, it would be superfluot^ 
to show. He had, in fact, painted tliem almost as fully as 
himself; and who might not have been proud to find a place 
in such a gallery 1 The tastes and habits of six of those men, 
in whose intercourse Scott found the greatest pleasure when hie 
fame was apjiroaching its meridian splendor, are thus preserveii 
for posterity ; and when I reflect with wliat avidity w c catch 
at the least hint which seems to aftbrd us a glimpse of the in 
timate circle of any great poet of former ages, I cannot bu' 
believe that posterity would have held tlrU record preciouo 
even had the individuals been in themsel Fes far less rerowk 
able than a Rose, an Ellis, a Heber, a Sk« ne a Marriott, an 
an Erskine." — Locehart, vol. iii. p. S5. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A- 

Jit ichen the Champion of the Late 
Entt^s Morgana' s fated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Deap-^tng spells and demons' force, 
Holds converse with the uiiburied corse.- 



-P. 86. 



Thb romance of ihe Morte Arthur contains a sort of abridg- 
uent of tlie most celebrated adventures of the Round Table ; 
md, being written in comparatively modern language, gives 
the general reader an excellent idea of what romances of 
chivalry actually were. It has also the merit of being written 
In pure old Englisli ; and many of the wild adventures which 
it contains are told with a simplicity bordering upon the sublime. 
Several of tiiese are referred to in the text ; and I wquld have 
illustrated them by more full extracts, but as this curious work 
i» about tc be republished, I confine myself to the tale of the 
(Jhapel Perijous, and of the quest of Sir Launcelot after tlie 
'^angreal. 

" Right so Sir Launcelot departed, and when he came to 
the ChapeU Perilous, he alighted downe, and tied his horse to 
a little gate. And as soon as he was witliin the cliurch-yard, 
he saw, on the front of the ciiapell, many faire rich shields 
turned upside downe ; and many of the shields Sir Launcelot 
had seene knights have before ; with that he saw stand by him 
thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than any man that ever 
he had seene, and all those grinned and gnished at Sir Laun- 
celot ; and when he saw their countenance, hee dread them 
sore, and so put his shield afore him, andtooke his sword in his 
hand, ready to doe battaile ; and they were all armed in black 
liarneis, ready, with their shields and swords drawn. And 
when Sir Launcelot would have gone through them, they scat- 
tered on every side of him, and gave him the way ; and there- 
with he waxed all bold, and entered into the chapell, and then 
hee saw no light but a dimme lampe burning, and then was he 
ware of a corps covered with a cloath of silke ; then Sir Laun- 
celot stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloth away, and 
•hen it fared under him as tlie earth had quaked a Httle, whereof 
lie was afeard, and then hee saw a faire sword lye by the dead 
tnight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied him out of the 
chappell. As soon as he Wcis in the chappell-yerd, all the 
tinights sjioke to liiui with a grimly voice, and said, ' Knight, 
iii Lau'icelot, lay that sword from thee, or else thou shilt die.' 
— ' Whether I live or die,' said Sir Launcelot, ' with no great 
«0'-U get yee it again, therefore fight for it and yee list.' 
Therewith he passed through them ; and, beyond the chappell- 
f«rd, there met him a faire damosell, and said, ' Sir Launcelot, 
save that sword behind thee, or tlioB wilt die for it.' — ' I will 
not leave it,' said Sir Launcelot 'or no threats.' — 'Nol' 
•aid she ' and ye did leave thui sword, Clueen Guenever should 
ye neve see.' — ' Then were I a fool and I would leave this 
iword,' said Sir Lanncelot. ' Now, gentle knight,' said the 
iamieel'i, ' I require thee to kiss me once.' — 'Nay,' said Sir 
Launcelot, 'that God forbid!' — 'Well, sir,' said she, 'and 
thou haddest kissed me thy life dayes had been done, but now, 
^ !' s?id she, ' 1 have lost all my labour ; for I ordeined this 
ehappell for thy sake, and for Sir Gawaine : and once I had 
9ir Gawaine within it ; and at that time he fought with that 
knight which there lieth deau in yonder ehappell. Sir Gilbert 
ihe bastaid. and at that time hee smote olT Sir Gilbert the 
•kstard's left hand And so. Sir Launcelot, now I tell thee, 



that I have loved thee this seaven yeare ; b'll t' » rs may r^ »«• 

man have thy love but (Aueene Guenev*^ ; 'nat sithen f mtj 
not rejoyice thee to have thy body alive, t li id kept ae. qom 
joy in this world but to have had thy dead iKi'y ; m J 1 woUd 
have balmed it and served, and so have kept ''t in d/ 'ife dsiea, 
and daily I should have clipped thee, and k\ix<f thee, in th* 
despite of Q.ueen Guenever.' — ' Ye say we'.l,' tu 1 Jjii Laanoa* 
lot >' Jesus preserve me from your subtill unfr.' And thei*' 
with he took his horse, and departed from h«i," 



Note B. 

jj sinful man, and unconfess'd. 

Me took the SangnaJ,' s holy qutil, 

And, slumbering, saw the visic- 1 high, 

He might not view with waking eye. — P. 87. 

One day, when Arthur was holding a high feast with hit 
Knights of the Round Table, the Sargreal, or vessel out of 
wliich the Izist passover was eaten (a precious relic, which had 
long remained concealed from human eyes, because of the sinj 
of the land), suddenly appeared to him and al'. his chivalry. 
The consequence of this vision was, that all the knights took 
on them a solemn vow to seek the Sangreal. But, aias I it 
could only be revealed to a knight at once accomplished in 
earthly chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil conversation. 
All Sir Launcelot's noble accomplishments were therefore ren- 
dered vain by his guilty intrigue with Queen Guenever, or 
Ganore ; and in his holy quest he encountered only such dis- 
graceful disasters as that which follows : — 

" But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild 
forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him ; and 
at the last, he came unto a stone crosse, which departed twf 
wayes, in wast land ; and, by the crosse, was a stone that wa« 
of marble ; but it was so dark, that Sir Launcelot might not 
well know what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, 
and saw an old ehappell, and there he wend to have found 
people. And so Pir Launcelot tied his horse to a tree, and 
there he put off his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and then 
hee went unto the ehappell doore, and found it wasted and 
broken. And within he found a faire altar, full richly arrayed 
with cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candlestick, which 
beare six great candles, and the candiesticke was of silver. 
And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, hee had a j^eat wil 
for to enter into the chapjiell, but he could find no place when 
hee might enter. Then was he passing heavie and lisraaied. 
Then he returned, and came againe to his horse, and tooke pfl 
his sad lie and his bridle, and let him pasiurt, and unlaced hit 
helme, ind ungirded his sword, and laid i.im down to sleep« 
upon his shield, before the crosse. 

" And so hee fell on sleepe ; and, halfe waking and halt* 
sleeping, he saw come by him two palfreys, both faire and 
white, the which beare a litter, therein lying a sicke knight 
And when he was nigh the crosse, he there abode still. AU 
this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for hee slept no* verily, nnd 
hee heard hira say, ' O sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow 
leave me, and when shall the holy vessell come by me, wliere 
through I shall be blessed, for I have endured thus long for lit- 
tle trespasse !' And thus a great while complained the knight, 
and allwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. With that Sir Launcelol 
saw the candiesticke, with the fire tapers, cooie hotbre \h* 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



151 



rrosse ; bnt he could see nobody that brought it. Also there 
ranie a table of silver, and the holy vessell of the Sancgreall, the 
which Sir Launcelot had seen before that time in King Pet- 
chour's house. And tlierewithall the sicke knight set him up- 
right, and held up both his hands, and said, ' Faire sweete 
Lord, which is here within the holy vessell, take heede to mee, 
that I may bee hole of this great malady !' And therewith 
upon his hands, and upon his knees, he went so nigh, that he 
louclied the holy vessell, and kissed it : And anon he was hole, 
tnd then he SEiid, ' Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of 
this malady.' Poo when the holy vessell had been there a 
jreat while, it went into the chappelle againe, with the can- 
ilesticke and the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not where it 
Lecarae, for he was overtaken with sinue, that hee had no 
power to arise against the holy vessell, wherefore afterward 
many men said of him shame. But he tooke repentance after- 
ward. Then the sicke knight dressed him upright, and kissed 
the crosse. Tiien anon his squire hvought him his armes, and 
asked his lord how he did. ' Certainly,' said hee, ' I thanke 
God right heartily, for through the holy vessell I am healed : 
But I have right great mervaile of this sleeping knight, which 
hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time 
that this holy vessell hath beene here present.' — ' I dare it right 
well say,' said the squire, ' that this same knight is defouled 
with some manner of deadly sinne, whereof he has never con- 
fessed.' — ' By my faith,' said the knight, ' whatsoever he be, 
he is unhappie ; for, as I deeme, hee is of the fellowship of the 
Round Table, the which is entered into the quest of the Sanc- 
greall.' — 'Sir,' said the squire, 'here I have brought you all 
your armes, save your helme and your sword ; and, therefore, 
by mine assent, now may ye take this knight's helme and his 
Bword ;' and so he did. And when he was cleane armed, he 
took Sir Launcelot's horse, for he was better than his owne, 
and so they departed from the erosse. 

" Then anon Sir Launcelot awaked, and set himselfe up- 
right, and he' thought him what hee had there scene, and 
whether it were dreames or not ; right so he heard a voice that 

' Sir Launcelot, more hardy than is the stone, and more 
than ib the wood, and more naked and bare than is the 

of tjie f.g-tree, therefore go thou from hence, and with- 
draw tliCi frjm this holy place;' and when Sir Launcelot 
keard thia, be was passing heavy, and wist not what to doe. 
And so h« f^eparted sore weeping, and cursed the time that he 
»as bor je ; for then he deemed never to have had more wor- 
hip ; for the words went unto his heart, till that he knew 
•herefore that hee was so called." 



Note C. 



^nd Dryden, in immortal strain. 

Mad raised the Table Round again. — P. 87. 

Drydea's melancholy account of his projected Epic Poem, 
•lasted by the selfish and sordid parsimony of his patrons, is 
lOBtained in an " E-'SEiy on Satire," addressed to the Earl of 
JoTBet, and prefixed to the Translation of Juvenal. After 
aentioning a plan of supplying machinery from the guardian 
«Bg2ls of kingdoms, mentioned in the Book of Daniel, he 
■dds : — 

" Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given your 
lonlship, ai.d by you the world, a rude draught of what I have 
«en long labosmgin my imagination, and what I had intended 
jO have put in practice (though far unable for the attempt of 
•nch a poem) ; and to have left the stage, to which my genius 
never much inclined me, for a work which would have taken 
np my life in the performance of it. This, too, I had intended 
chiefly for the honor of my native country, to which a poet is 
particnlfcTly ouiig'-d Of two subjects, both relating to it, I 
*as d'jubtful whether I should choose that of King Arthur 
tonqneung the Saxons, which, being farther distant in time, 
live* vhe greater scope to my mvention ; or that of Edward the 



Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restoring it to the law 
ful prince, though a great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel ; wnich, 
for the compass of time, including only the expedition of on* 
year, for the greatness of the action, and its answerable event, 
for the magnanimity of the English hero, opposed to the in 
gratitude of the person whom he restored, and for the many 
beautiful episodes which I had interwoven with 'he principal 
design, together with the characters of the chiefest English per> 
sons (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, I would have takea 
occasion to represent my living friends and patrons of the no- 
blest families, and also shadowed the events of future agea ii. 
the succession of our imperial line), — with these hel])s, and 
those of the machines which I have mentioned, I might [jer" 
haps have done as well as some of my predecessors, or at least 
chalked out a way for others to amend my errors in a like da- 
sign ; but being encouraged only with fair worde by Kin| 
Charles II., my Httle salary ill paid, and no prospect of «l faiur* 
subsistence, I was then discouraged in the beginning of "nj 
attempt ; and now age has overtaken me, and want, a il^on 
insutTerable evil, through the change of the times, has wholli 
disabled me." 



Note D. 



'Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. — P. 87. 

The " History of Bevis of Hampton" is abridged by my frie»<t 
Mr. George Ellis, with that liveliness which eitracts aranee" 
ment even out of the most rude and unpromising of our old 
tales of chivalry. Ascapart, a most important personage in tbi 
romance, is thus described in an extract : — 

" This geaunt was mighty and strong 
And full thirty foot was long, 
He was bristled like a sow ; 
A foot he had between each brow ; 
His lips were great, and hung aside ; 
His eyen were hollow, his mouth was wide ; 
Lothly he was to look on than, 
And liker a devil than a man. 
His staft" was a young oak, 
Hard and heavy was his stroke." 
Speciviens of Metrical Romances, vo.. li. p. 136 

I am happy to say, that the memory of Sir Bevis is still fra 
grant in his town of Southampton ; the gate of which is senti 
nelled by the effipies of that doughty knight-errant and bis gi 
g&ntic associate. 



Note R 



Day set on JVorham's castled steep 

Aiid Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, Sre. — P. ?7. 

The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called I'bbinforn^ 
is situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about sn -nxlrn 
above Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary bfr 
tween England and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well 
as its historical importance, shows it to have been a place tA 
magnificence, as well as strength. Edward I. resided there 
when he was created umpire of the dispute concerning the 
Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken du 
ring the wars between England and Scotland ; and, indeet^ 
scarce any happened, in which it had not a princijial share 
Norham Castle is situated on a steep bank, which overhang* 
the river. The repeated sieges which the castle had sustained, 
rendered frequent repairs necessary. In 1164, it was almoil 
rebuilt by Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of Durham, who added a lings 
keep, or donjon ; notwithstanding which. King Henry II , it 
1174, took the castle from the bishop, and committed the keep 
ing of it to William de Neville. Afttf 'iaa oeriod it seems tas 



156 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



have been chiefly garrisoned by the King, and considered aa a 
loyal fortress. The Greya of Chillingham Castle were fre- 
quently the castellans, or captains of the garrison : yet, as the 
eastle was situated in the patrimony of St. Cuthbert, the prop- 
erty was it the see of Durham till the Reformation. After 
tha^ period, it passed through various hands. At the union of 
the crowns, it was in the possession of Sir Robert Carey (after- 
wards Earl of Monraonth), for his own life, and that of two 
ef his sons. After King James's accession, Carey sold Nor- 
ham Castle to George Home, Earl of Dunbar, for £6000. See 
hi* onno is Memoirs, published by Mr. Constable of Edinburgh. 

According to Mr. Pinkerton, there is, in tlie British Museum, 
Cal. B. 6, 216, a curious memoir of the Dacres on the state of 
Noriiam Castle in 1522, not long after the battle of Flodden. 
The innei ward, or keep, is represented as impregnable : — 
" The provisions are three great vats of salt eels, forty-four kine, 
three hogsheads of salted salmon, forty quarters of grain, be- 
lides many cows, and four hundred sheep, lying under the cas- 
tle-wall nightly ; but a number of the arrows wanted feathers, 
and a good Fletcher [i. e. maker of arrows] was required." — 
History of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 201 , note. 

The ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well 
as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, with 
many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, enclosed within 
an outward wall of great circuit. 



Note F. 



The battled towers, the donjon keep. — P. 87. 

It is perhaps unnecessary ro remind my readers, that the 
donjon, in its proper signification, means the strongest part of 
a feudal castle; a high square tower, with walls of tremen- 
dous thickness, situated in the centre of the other buildings, 
from which, however, it was usually detached. Here, in case 
«f the outward defences being gained, the garrison retreated 
to make their last stapd. The donjon contained the great liall, 
snd principal rooms of state for solemn occasions, and also the 
prison of the fortress ; from which last circumstance we derive 
the modern and restricted use of the word dungeon, Dncange 
{voce DuNJo) conjectures plausibly, that the name is derived 
from these keeps being usually built upon a hill, which in Cel- 
tic is called Dun. Borlase supposes the word came from the 
darkness of the apartments in these towers, which were thence 
figuratively called Dungeons ; thus deriving tlie ancient word 
htosa the modern application of it. 



Note Or. 

Well was he arm'' d from head to heel, 
In mail and plate of Milan steel. — P. 88. 

The artists of Milan were famous in the middle ages for their 
ikill in armory, jis appears from the following passage, in 
*hich Froissart gives an account of the preparations made by 
Henry, Ear! of Hereford, afterwards Henry IV., and Thomas, 
Dti^ of Norfolk, Earl Marischal, for their proposed combat in 
the lists ttt Coventry : — " These two lords made ample provi- 
lion of all things necessary for the combat ; and the Earl of 
Derby sent otf mewengers to Ijombardy, to have armor from 
Sir Galeas, Dufce of Milan. The Duke complied with joy, and 
gave the knight, called Sir Francis, who had brought the mes- 
<age, the choice of all his armor for the Earl of Derby. When 
he had selected what he wished for in plated and mail armor, 
the Lord of Milan, oiv of his abundant love for the Eari, or- 
dered four of the best armorers in Milan, to accompany the 
knight to England, that the Eari of Derby might be more com- 
oletely armed.' —J >hnbs' Froissart, vol. iv. p. 597. 



Note H. 

Who checks at me to death is dight, P. 88. 

The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed from the fo. 
lowing story : — Sir David de Lindsay, first Earl of Crauford 
was, among other gentlemen of quality, attended, during a 
visit to London, in 1390, by Sir William Dalzell, who was, ac- 
cording to my authority. Bower, not only excelling in wisdom 
but also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he there 
saw Sir Piers Courtenay, an English knight, famous for skill ir 
tilting, and for the beauty of his person, parading the palaoe, 
arrayed in a new mantle, bearing for device an embioideraJ 
falcon, with this rhyme, — 

' I bear a falcon, fairest of flight. 
Whoso pinches at her, his death is dight,l 
In graith."a 

The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared next day is « 
dress exactly similar to that «f Courtenay, but bearing a msg 
pie instead of the falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrive*; 
to rhyme to the vaunting inscription of Sir Piers ; — 

" I bear a pie picking at a piece. 
Whoso picks at her, I shall pick at his nese,3 

In faith." 

This alfront could only be expiated by a just with shar| 
lances. In the course, Dalzell left his helmet unlaced, so that 
it gave way at the touch of his antagonist's lance, and he thuii 
avoided the shock of the encounter. This happened twice : — 
in the third encounter, the handsome Courtenay lost two of hi.- 
front teeth. As the Englishman complained bitterly of Dal- 
zell's fraud in not fastening his helmet, the Scottishman agreed 
to run six courses more, each champion staking in the hand of 
the King two hundred pounds, to be forfeited, if, on entering 
the lists, any unequal advantage should be detected. This be- 
ing agreed to, the wily Scot demanded that Sir Piers, in addi- 
tion to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the extinction ol 
one of his eyes, he himself having lost an eye in the fight ol 
Otterbum. As Courtenay demurred to this equalization of op 
tical powers, Dalzell demanded the forfeit ; which, after much 
altercation, the King appointed to be paid to him, saying, he 
surpassed the English both in wi and valor. This must ap- 
pear to the reader a singular spetimen of the humor of that 
time. I suspect the Jockey Club would have given a different 
decision from Henry IV. 



Note L 

They hail'd Lord Marvi on ; 
They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterwnrd, and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamworth tower and town. — P. 89. 

Lord Marmion, the principal character of liie present K» 
mance, is entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, io 
deed, the family of Marmion, Lords of Fontenay, in Normandy 
was highly distinguished. Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fon 
tenay, a distinguished follower of the Conqueror, obtained 8 
grant of the castle and town ot . ..mworth, and also of the 
manor of Scrivelby, in Lincolnshire. One, or both, of these 
noble possessions, was held by the honorable service of beinj 
the royal champion, as the ancestors of .Marmion had formerly 
been to the Dukes of Normandy. But after the castle and 
demesne of Tamworth had passed through four succcssiva 
barons from Robert, the family became extinct in the person 
of Pliilip de Marmion, who died in 20th Edward I. without 
issue male. He was succeeded in his castle of Tamworth by 
Alexander de Freville, who married Mazera, his grand-daugh 
ter. Baldwin de Freville, Alexander's descendant, in the reio 



1 Prepared. 



S Armor. 



3 I«<M 



»f Richard I., by the supposed tenure of his castle of Tam- 
worth, claimed tlie otflce of royal champion, and to do the 
lervice appertaining ; namely, on tlie day of coronation, to 
lide, comoletely armed, upon a barbed horse, into Westmin- 
iter H».U, and there tc challenge the combat against any who 
would gainsay the King's title. But this office was adjudged 
to &ir John Dymoke, to whom the manor of Scrivelby had de- 
scended by another of the co-heiresses of Robert de Marmion ; 
sjid it remains in that fai^Hy, whose representative is Heredi- 
itary Cliampion of England at the present day. The family 
iiid (jossessions of Freville have merged in the Earls of Fer- 
%T». I have no* therefore, created a new family, but only 
«vired the titlpi uf an old one in an.maginary personage. 

It «as one of the Marmion family, who, in the reign of Ed- 
ward IT , performed that chi<'alrous feat before the very castle 
of Norham, which Bishop Percy has vvoven into his beautiful 
ballad, ' The Hermit of Warkworth." — Tlie story is thus told 
by Lelanj — 

" The Scottes cam yn to the marches of England, and de- 
Btroyed the castles of Werk and Herbotel, and overran much 
of Northumberland marches. 

" At this tyrae, Thomas Gray and his friendes defended 
Norham from the Scottes. 

" It were a wonderful processe to declare, what mischefes 
cam by hungre and asseges by the space of xi yeres in Nor- 
thumberland ; for the Scottes became so proude, after they had 
^ot Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the Englishmen. 

" About this tyme there was a greate feste made yn Lincoln 
shir, to which came many gentlemen and ladies ; and amonge 
them one lady brought a heaulme for a man of were, with a 
very rich creste of gold, to William Marmion, knight, with a 
«tter of commandement of her lady, that he should go into 
the daungerest place in England, and ther to let the heaulme 
be seene and known as famous. So he went to Norham ; 
whither, within 4 days of cumming, cam Philip Moubray, 
guardian of Berwicke, having yn his bande 40 men of armes, 
the very flour of men of the Scottish marches. 

" Thomas Gray, capitayne of Norham, seynge this, brought 
bis garison afore the barriers of the castel, behind whom cam 
William, richly arrayed, as al glittering in gold, and wearing 
the heaulme, his lady's present. 

" Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' Sir Knight, ye be 
cum hither to fame your helmet : mount up on yowr horse, 
and ride lyke a valiant man to yowr foes even here at hand, 
»nd I forsake God if I rescue not thy body deade or alyve, or 
; myself wyl dye for it.' 

" Whereupon he toke his cursere, and rode among the throng 
)f ennemyes ; the which layed sore stripes on him, and pulled 
Um at the last out of his sadel to the grounde. 

*' Then Thomas Gray, with al the hole garrison, lette prick 
yn among the Scottes, and so wondid them and their horses, 
ihat iHey were overthrowan ; and Marmion, sore beten, was 
\oni agayn, and, with Gray, persewed the Scottes yn chase. 
thf were taken 50 horse of price ; and the women of Noi^ 
'itiii brotight them to the foote men to follow the chase." 



Note K. 



- — Largesse, largesse. — P. 89. 

Ihuwas the cry with which heralds and pursuivants were 
iTont to acknowledge the bounty received from the knights. 
Btewart of Lorn distinguishes a ballad, in which he satirizes 
the nam iwness of James V. and his courtiers, by the ironical 
bniden — 

" Lerges, lerges, lerges, hay, 
I.erges of this new-yeir day. 
First lerges of the King, my chief, 
Q,ahilk come als quiet as a theif, 



ITwo. 



SProot 



And in my hand slid schillingis tway,' 
To put his lergnes to the prief,* 
For lerges of this new-yeir day.'" 

The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to hav» 
great claims upon the liberality of the knights, of whi se feaJj 
they kept a record, and proclaimed them aloud, as in J»e tei 
upon suitable occasions. 

At Berwick, Norham, and other Border fortreeses of imp» 
tance, pursuivants usually resided, whose inviolable charsoU 
rendered them the only persons that could, with perfect Ben 
ranee of safety, be sent on necessary embassies into Sootlacd 
This is alluded to in stanza xxi. p. 91. 



Note L. 



Sir Hugh the Herun hold. 
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 
,Snd Captain of the Hold.— P. 90. 

Were accuracy of any consequence in a fictitious narrative 
this castellan's name ought to have been William ; for Wil- 
liam Heron of Ford was husband to the famous Lady Ford 
whose siren charms are said to have cost our James IV. so dev 
Moreover, the said William Heron, was, at the time supposed 
a prisoner in Scotland, being surrendered bj Henry VIII., o> 
aciOUE', of his share ic tha slaughter of Sir Robert Ker a! 
Cessford. His wife, represented in the text as residing at the 
Court of Scotland, was, in fact, living in her own Castle at 
Ford. — See Sir Richard Heron's curious Genealogy of th* 
Heron Family. 



Note M. 



The whiles a JVorlhern harper rude 

Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud,— 

" How the fierce Thirwalls, and RiJleys all,'' irc. — P. M> 

This old Northumbrian ballad was taken down from the 
recitation of a wc^inan eighty years of age, mother of one of tne 
miners of Alston-moor, by an agent foi the lead mines ther» 
who communicated it to my friend and correspondent, R. Sur- 
tees. Esquire, of Mainsforlh. She had not, she said, heard i» 
for many years ; but, when she was a girl, it used to be suaf 
at the merry-makings " till the roof rung again." To preserve 
this curious, though rude rhyme, it is here inserted. The ludi- 
crous turn given to the slaughter marks that wild and disorderly 
state of society, in which a murder was not merely a casual cir- 
cumstance, but, in some cases, an exceedingly goiid jest. Th« 
structure of the ballad resembles the " Fray ol Sup»>rt,"* bai^ 

ing the same irregular stanzas and wild chorus. 

t 

I. 

Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa', 

Ha' ye heard how the Ridleys, and Thirwalb, U)d • 

Ha' set upon Albany4 Featherstonhaugh, 

And taken his life at the Deadmanthaugh I 

There was Willimoteswick, 

And Hardriding Dick, 
And Hughie of Hawden, and Will of tha Wt 

I canno' tell a', I canno' tell a', 
And mony a mair that the dei may kixaw. 

II. 

The auld man went down, but Nicol, his aoB, 
Ran away afore the fight was begun ; 

And he run, and he run, 

And afore they were done, 

a See MimtTtlry of Vie ScoUith Bordtr, vol i^ p. IM 
4 Pronoanced Avbont/t 



168 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



There was many a FeatheretoH jat sic a stnn, 
As never was seen siacp thp world begun. 

III. 
I canno' tell a', I eanno' tell a' ; 
Some gat a skelp,' and some gat a claw ; 
But they gard the Featherstons hand their jaw, — 9 

Nicol, and Alick, and a'. 
Some gat a hurt, and some gat nane ; 
Uotne had hartxess, and some gat sta'en.' 

fV. 

Ane gat a twist o' the craig ;* 
Ane gat a bunch^ o' the wame ;b 
Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg, 
And syne ran wallowing' harae. 

V. 

Haot, hoot, the old man's slain outright 1 

iiay him now wi' his face down : — he's a sorrowful iight. 

Janet, thou donot,8 

I'll lay my best bonnet, 
Thon g^ts a new gude-man afore it be night. 

VI. 

Hoo away lads, hoo away, 
We's a' be hangid if we stay. 

Tak up the dead man, and lay him ahint the biggin. 
Here's the Bailey o' Haltwhistle,' 
Wi' his great bull's pizzle. 

That sup'd up the broo', — and syne in the piggin.i" 

In explanation of this ancient ditty, Mr. Surtees has fur- 
nished me with the following local memorandum : — Willi- 
moteswick, the chief seat of the ancient family of Ridley, is 
litnated two miles above the confluence of the AUon and 
Tyne. It was a house of strength, as appears from one ob- 
long tower, still in tolerable preservation." It has been long 
m possession of the Blacket family. Hardriding Dick is not 
an epithet referring to horsemanship, but means Richard Rid- 
ley of Hardriding,!- the seat of another family of that name, 
which, in the time of Charles I., was sold on account of ex- 
penses incurred by tlie loyalty of the proprietor, the imme- 
ilste ancestor of Sir Matthew Ridley. Will of the Wa' seems 
to be William Ridley of Walltown, so called from its situa- 
tion on the great Roman wall. Thirlwall Castle, whence 
whe clan of Thirlwalls derived their name, is situated on the 
email river of Tippel, near the western boundary of Northum- 
berland. It is near the wall, and takes its name from the 
rampart having been thirled, i. e. pierced, or breached, in its 
vicinity. Featherston Castle lies south of the Tyne, towards 
\Iston-raoor. Albany Featherstonhaugh, the chief of that 
ancient family, made a figure in the reign of Edward VI. A 
fend did certainly exist between the Ridleys and Feather- 
iiOns, productive of such consequences as the ballad narrates. 
84 Oct. 22do Henrici 8«t. Jnquisitio capt. apud Hnutwhis- 
Ue svp visum corpus Alexandri Featherston, 6en. apud 
Orensilhaugh felonice interfecti, 22 Oct. per J\ricolaum 
Kidlet/ de Unthanke, Gen. Hugun Ridle, JVicolaum Ridle, 
(t alios ejusdem ndminis. Nor were the Featherstans without 
their revenge ; it: J6to Henrici 8vi, we have — Utlagatio Jfico- 
lai Fetherston, ac Thome J^Tijxson, i-c. <5-c. pro homicidio 
Will. Ridle de Morale. 

\ sk-ftp signifies slap, or rather is the aame word which wa« ori^nally 
ip«Ued -^r- lap. 

2 liuld their Javj, a \TiIgar expression Qtill in use. 

t Got stolen, or, were plundered ; a very likely termination of the 
Iray. 

« Neck. 5 Punch. 6 Belly. T Bellowing. 

b Siiiv tlut. The border bard calls ber so, because she was weeping 
Br her slain husband; a loss which he f.eems to think might be soon 
•j aired. 

Tks BaCitf of Haltwhiatle eeei-u to have amved when the fray was 



Note N. 

James back'd the cause of that mock prince, 
Wurbcck, that Flemish counterfeit. 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then did I march with Surrey's power. 
What time we razed old Jlyton tower. — P. 91. 

The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richard, Duke of York 
is well known. In 1496, he was received honorably in Scot 
land; and Jan%£s IV., after conferring upon him in marriag* 
his own reliitiop, the Lady Catharine Gordon, made war oa 
England in behalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an Idt* 
sion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwickshire at the 
head of considerable forces, bui retreaiea, after taking th« fc- 
considerable fortress of Ayton. Ford, in his Dramatic Chronv 
cle of Perkin Warbeck, makes the most of this inroad ; 
" Surrey. 
" Are all our braving enemies shrunk back. 
Hid in the fogges of their distemper'd climate 
Not daring to behold our colors wave 
In sjjight of this infected ayre ? Can they 
Looke on the strength of Cundrestine defac't ; 
The glorie of Heydonhall devasted ; that 
Of Edington cast downe ; the pile of Fulden 
Orethrowne : And this, the strongest of their forll, 
Old Ayton Castle, yeelded and demolished. 
And yet not peepe abroad ? Tlie Scots are bold, 
Hardie in battayle, but it seems the cause 
They undertake considered, appeares 
Unjoynted in the frame on't." 



Note O. 



/ trow, 

J^'nrkam can find you guides enow ; 

For here be some have pricked as far. 

On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 

Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, 

And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 

Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, 

And given them light to set their hoods. — F. 91. 

The garrisons of the Engli.sh castles of Wark, Korhara, and 
Berwick, were, as may be easily sn])posed, very jr jblesome 
neighbors to Scotland. Sir Richard Maitland of I ?dington 
wrote a poem, called "The Blind Baron's Co'iff^rt," wlien 
his barony of BIythe, in Lauderdale, was harri.d jy Rowland 
Foster, the English cajitain of Wark, with hi? ctm^any, to the 
number of 300 men. They spoiled the poetical l.night of 5OO0 
sheep, 200 noil, 30 horses and mares ; the whole furniture ot 
h(is house of BIythe, worth 100 pounds Scots (£8 &s. 8d.), and 
every thing else that was portable. " This spoil was committed 
tlie 16th day of May, 1570 (and the saij ^ir Richard was three- 
score and fourteen years of age, and grown blind), in time of 
peace ; when nane of that country lippcncd [expected}'§ach a 
thing." — " The Blind Baron's Comfort" consists in a string i4 
puns on the word BIythe, the name of the laniis thns despoiled. 
Like John Littlewit, he had " A conceit left in his m'jerv^ * 
miserable conceit." 

The last line of the text contains a phrase, ty which Vtm 
Borderers jocularly intimated the burning a \miaa. Wh.fl 

over. This supporter of social order is treatod with characteristic irrevsi- 
ence by the moss-trooping poet. 

10 An iron pot with two ears. 

11 WilliDioteswick was, in prior editions, nnfound'-.d with Ridley H,>4, 
eitnnted two nules lower, on the same side of the Tyne, the hereditaiv 
seat of William C. Lowes, Esq. 

13 Ridley, the bishop and martvr, y^Bt. according to some authorrtiei 
bora at Hardriding, where a chair w>»i ^ ».erved, called the Bishop' 
Chair. Others, and particularly hie bioj r>'» nr and namesake. Dr. Oloce* 
ter Ridley, aiaign the honor of the mar.yr'* birth *«* W Ullmoteswick 



the Maxwels, in 1685, burned the Castle of Lochwood, they 
laid they did so .o give the Lady Johnstone " light to set Her 
hood." Nor was the phrase inapplicable ; for, in a letter, to 
ivhich I have mislaid the reference, the Earl of Northiimbar- 
and writes to tiie King and Council, that he dressed himself 
M midnight, at Wariiworth, by the bla-je of the neighboring 
'^Utkge: '} Jinei \ / thb Scottish marauders. 



Note P. 

The priest of Shoreswood — ke could rein 
1 he wildest war-horse in your train. — P. 91. 
Thli churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the 
near o." St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish 
msDFgeats in 1549. "This man," says HoUinshed, "had 
m&ny good things in him. He was of no great stature, but 
well set, anu mightilie compact : He was a very good wrest- 
ler; shot well, both in the long bow and also ia the cross- 
Dow ; he handled his hand-gun and peece very well ; he was 
a very good woodman, and a bardie, and such a one as would 
oot give his head for the polling, or his beard for the washing. 
He was a companion in any exercise of activitie, and of a 
courteous and gentle behaviour. He descended of a good honest 
parentage, being borne at Peneverin in Cornwall ; and yet, in 
this rebellion, an arch-captain and a principal doer." — Vol. iv. 
p. 958. 4to. edition. This model of clerical talents had the 
misfortune to be hanged upon the steeple of hLs own church.i 



Note Q. 

that grot where Olives nod, 

Where, darling of each heart and eye. 
From all the youth of Sicily, 

Saint Rosalie retired to Ood. — P. 92. 

" Sante Bosalia was of Palermo, .and born of a very noble 
family, and, when very young, abhorred so much the vanities 
of this world, and avoided the converse of mankind, resolving 
to dedicate herself wholly to God Almighty, that she, by 
divine inspiration, forsook her father's house, and never was 
more heard of till her body was found in that cleft of a rock, 
on that almost inaccessible mountain, where now the chapel 
is built ; and they afBrm she was carried up there by the 
hands of angels ; for that place was not formerly so accessible , 
(as now it is) in the days of the Saint ; and even now it is a 
very bad, and steepy, and breakneck way. In this frightful 
place, this holy woman lived a great many years, feeding only 
on what she found growing on that barren mountain, and 
creeping into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a rock, which 
ivaa always dropping wet, and was her place of retirement as 
well as prayer ; having worn out even the rock with her knees 
in a certain place, which is now open'd on purpose to show it 
h Uiose who come here. This chapel is very richly adorn'd ; 
VdA on the spot where *.he Saint's dead body was discover'd, 
iir*«ich ^ just beneath the hole in the rock, which is open'd 
to purpose, as I said, there is a very fine statue of marble, 
l^e«nting her in a lying posture, railed in all about with 
\3» iron and brass work ; and t!ie altar, on which they say 
■aes, it built just over it, "^ — Voyage to Sicily and Malta, 
ly Mk -ohn Dryden (son to the poet), p. 107. 



Note R. 



Friar John ■ 



Himself still sleeps before his beads 
Have mark'd ten aves and two creeds. — P. 92. 
Fnar Join understood the soporific virtue of his beads and 
^ eviary, as well as his namesake in Rabelais, "But Gar- 

1 The reader needs hardly to be remiiide'' nf Ivfinhoe. 



gantna could not sleep by any means, on which side soevei 
he turned himself. Whereupon the monk said to him, ' I 
never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon oi prayers • 
Let us therefore begin, you and I, the seven penitential psalms, 
to try whether you shall not quickly fall asleep.' The conceil 
pleased Gargantua very well ; and beginning the first of thee* 
psalms, as soon as they came to Beati quorum, they fell asleep 
both the one and the other." 



Note S. 



The summoned Palmer caia^e '.^■p.ace. — P. 92 

A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it bb 

sole business to visit different holy shrines ; travelling incessant- 
ly, and subsisting by charity ; whereas the Pilgrim retired to his 
usual home and occupations, when he had paid his devotiom 
at the particular spot which was the object of his pilgrimage 
The Palmers seem to have been the Que.-itionarii of the ae- 
cient Scottish canons 1242 and 1296. There is in the BanrA- 
tyne MS. a burlesque aocouut of two such persons, entitles, 
" Simmy and his brothef-' Their accoutrements are thus lodi 
crously described (I discard the ancient spelhng) — 
" Syne shaped them up, to loup on leas, 
Two tabards of the tartan ; 
They counted naught what their clouts were 

When sew'd them on, in certain. 
Syne clampit up St. Peter's keys, 

iVIade of an old red gartane ; 
St. James's shells, on t'other side, shows 
As pretty as a partane 

Toe, 
On Syraraye and his brother." 



Note T. 



To fair St. Andrews bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 
Sung to the billows' sound. — P. 93. 
St. Regulus (Scottici, St. Rule), a monk of Patrae, in Acha- 
ia, warned by a vision, is said, A.D. 370, to have sailed west- 
ward, until he landed at St. Andrews in Scotland, where he 
founded a chapel and tower. The latter is still standing ; and, 
though we may doubt the precise date of its foundation, is cer- 
tainly one of the most ancient edifices in Scotland. A cave, 
nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. An- 
drews, bears the name of this religious person. It is difficult oi 
access ; and the rock in which it is hewed ia washed by the 
German Ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet in diameter, 
and the same in height. On one side is a sort of stone altar , 
on the other an aperture into an inner den, where the miserabl» 
ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably slept. At ful 
tide, egress and regress are hardly practicable. As Regula«!«f* 
colonized the metropolitan see of Scotland, and converted th( 
inhabitants in the vicinity, he has some reason to complain 
that the ancient name of Killrule (Cella Reguli) should liavi 
been superseded, even in favor of the tutelar saint of Scotland 
The reason of the change was, that St. Rule is said to havn 
brought to Scotland the relics of Saint Andrew. 



Note U. 



-aaint Fillan's blessed well. 



Whose spring can phrensied dreams 
And the crazed brain restore. — P. 93. 

I St. Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. AUhongb 



160 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Popery is, with ns, matter of abomination, yet the common 
people still retain some of rtie superstitions connected with it. 
There are in Perthshire several wells and springs dedicated to 
St. Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and offerings, 
even among the Protestants. They are held powerful in cases 
)f madness ; and, in some of very late occurrence, lunatics have 
"leen left all night bound to the holy stone, in confidence that 
"he Baint would cure and unloose them before morning. — [See 
"nrJous notes to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.'] 



Note V. 

The scenes are desert now, and bare, 
Where flourished once a forest fair. — P. 94. 

Eltrick Forest now a range of mountainous sheep-walks, 
was anciently reserved for tlie pleasure of the royal chase. 
Since it was disparked, the wood has been, by degrees, almost 
totally destroyed, although, wherever protected from the sheep, 
copses soon arise vtiUiout any planting. When the King hunt- 
ed there, he often summoned the array of the country to meet 
and assist his sport. Thus, in 1528, James V. " made procla- 
mation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, landward-men, and 
freeholders, that they should compear at Edinburgh, with a 
month's victuals, to pass with the King where he pleased, to 
danton the thieves of Tiviotdale, Annandale, Liddisdale, and 
olhar parts of that country ; and also warned all gentlemen that 
had good dogs to bring them, that he might Jiunt in the said 
country as he pleased : The whilk the Earl of Argyle, the Earl 
of Huntley, the Earl of Athole, and so all the rest of the gen- 
tlemen of the Highland, did, and brought their hounds with 
them in like manner, to hunt with the King, as he pleased. 

" The second day of June the King past out of Edinburgh 
10 the hunting, with many of the nobles and gentlemen of 
Scotland with him, to the number of twelve thousand men; 
and then past to Meggitland, and hounded and hawked all the 
country and bounds ; that is to say, Crammat, Pappertlaw, St. 
Mary-laws, Carlavrick, Chapel, Ewindoores, and ^unghope. 
I heard say, he slew, in these bounds, eighteen score of harts."j 

These huntings had, of course, a military character, and at- 
tendance upon them was a part of the duty of a v.assal. The 
act for abolishing ward or military tenures in Scotland, enu- 
merates the services of hunting, hosting, vi'atching, and ward- 
ing, as those which were in future to be illegal. 

Taylor, the water-poet, has given an account of the mode in 
which these huntings were conducted in the Highlands of Scot- 
land, in the seventeenth century, having been present at Brae- 
mar upon such an occasion : — 

" There did I find the truly noble and right honourable 
ords, John Erskine, Earl of Mar ; James Stuart, Earl of Mur- 
ray ; Georg> Gordon, Earl of Engye, son and heir to the Mar- 
quis of Hunt.^y ; James Erskine, Earl of Buchan ; and lohn. 
Lord Erskine, so«i and heir to the Earl of Mar, and their ( ount- 
esses, with my much honoured, and my last assured ai.d ap- 
prcved fnend, Sir William Murray, knight of Abercarney, and 
hundreds of others, knights, esquires, and their followers; all 
and every man, in general, in one habit, as if Lycnrgus had 
been there, and made laws of equality ; for once in the year, 
which IS the whole month of August, and sometimes part of 
iefUirJft KiTiv of the nobility and gentry of the kingdom 
(for their pleasure) do covue into these Highland countries to 
hunt; where they do conform themselves to the habit of the 
Highlandmen, who, for the most part, si)eak nothing but Irish ; 
and, in former time, were those people wiiich were called the 
Redshanks. Their habit is — shoes, with but one sole a-piece ; 
ttockings (which they call short hose), made of a warm stuff 
of diverse colours, which they call mrtan ; as for breeches, 
many of them, nor their forefathers, never wore any, but a jei^ 
kin of the same stuff that their hose is of; their garters being 
tanda or wreaths of hay or straw ; with a plaid about their 

I Pitacottie'i Hintoni nf Scotland, folio edition, p. 141. 



shoulders ; which is a mantle of diverse colonTs, much finer &d( 
lighter stuff than their hose ; with blue flat caps on their lieads 
a handkerchief, knit with two knots, about their necks • a.zi 
thus are they attired. Now their weapons are— long bowM 
and forked arrows, swords and targets, harquebusses, muskets 
durks, and Lochaber axes. With these arms I found many of 
them armed for the hunting. As for their attire, any man, ol 
what degree soever, that comes amongst them, most not dis- 
dain to wear it ; for, if they do, then they will disdain to hunt 
or willingly to bring in their dogs ; but if men be kind nnt« 
them, and be in their habit, then are they conquered with kind- 
ness, and the sport will be plentiful. This was the reason thai 
I found so many noblemen and gentlemen in those shapes 
But to proceed to the hunting : — 

" My good Lord of Marr having put me into that shape, I 
rode with him from his house, where I saw the ruins of an old 
castle, called the Castle of Kindroghit. It was built by King 
Malcolm Canmore (for a hunting-house), who reigned in Scot- 
land when Edward the Confessor, Harold, and Norman Wil- 
liam, reigned in England. [ speak of it, because it was the 
last house I saw in those parts ; for I was the space of twelve 
days after, before I saw either house, corn-field, or habitation 
for any creature, but deer, wild horses, wolves, and such like 
creatures, — which made me doubt that I should never have 
seen a house again. 

"Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, where there 
were small cottages, built on purpose to lodge in, which they 
call Lonquhards. I thank my good Lord Erskine, he com- 
manded that I should always be lodged in his lodging : the 
kitchen being always on the side of a bank : many kettles and 
pots boiUng, and many spits turning and winding, with great 
variety of cheer, — as venison baked; sodden, rost, and stewed 
beef; mutton, goats, kid, hares, fresh salmon, pigeons, hens, 
capons, chickens, partridges, muir-eoots, heath-cocks, capep 
kellies, and termagants ; good ale, sacke, white and claret 
tent (or allegant), with most potent aquavitje. 

" All these, and more than these, we had continually in sn 
perfluous abundance, caught by falconers, fowlers, fishers, ano 
brought by my lord's tenants and purveyors to V|jctual oui 
camp, which consisteth of fourteen or fifteen hundred men and 
horses. The manner of the hunting is this : Five or six hun 
dred men do rise early in the morning, and they do disperse them 
selves divers ways, and seven, eight, or ten miles compass, thej 
do bring, or chase in, the deer in many herds (two, three, o. 
. four hundred in a herd), to such or such a place, as the noble- 
men shall appoint them ; then, when day is come, the lordi 
and gentlemen of their companies do ride or go to the said 
places, sometimes wading up to the middles, through bums 
and rivers ; and then, they being come to the place, do lie dowc 
on the ground, till those foresaid scouts, which are called the 
Tinkhell, do bring down the deer ; but, as the proverb says ol 
the bad cook, so these tinkhell men do lick their own fingers ; 
for, besides their bows and arrows, which they carry with them, 
we can hear, now and then, a harquebnss or jl musket go of^ 
which they do seldom discharge in vain. Then, after we had 
staid there three hours, or thereabouts, we might perceive ihm 
deer appear on the hills round about us (their heads making n 
show like a wood), which, being followed close by the tinkhell, 
are chased down into the valley where we lay , then all t.'ie 
valley, on each side, being way-laid with a hundred couple ol 
strong Irish greyhounds, they are all let loose, as occsiion 
serves, upon the herd of deer, that with dogs, guns, arrows, 
durks, and daggers, in the space of two hours, fourscore fa( 
deer were slain ; which after are disposed of, some one way, 
and some another, twenty and thirty miles, and more thai 
enough left for us, to make merry withall, at our rendezvous.'' 



Note W. 
By lone Saint Mary's sileiU lake. — P. 95 
This beautiful slieet of water forms the reservoir from whioa 



APPENDIX TO MARMIOI^. 



161 



.he Yarrow :akes its source. It ia connected with a smaller 
ake, called Ihe Loch of the Lowes, and surrounded by moun- 
tains In the winter, it is still frequented by flights of wild 
»wa*f • hence my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines : — 

" ■) he swan on sweet St. Mary's lake 
Hoats double, swan and shadow." 

'J lar th." lower extremity of the lake, are the ruins of Dry- 
i j].e tower the birth-place of Mary Scott, daughtw of Philip 
•icott, of Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name of the 
Flower of Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of Har- 
'len, no less renowned lor his depredations, than his bride for 
her beauty. Her rogiantic appellation was, in later days, with 
equal justice, conferred on Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of 
ihe elder branch of the Harden family. The author well re- 
members the talent and spirit of the latter Flower of Yarrow, 
though age had then injured the charms which procured her 
lie name. The words usually sung to the airof " Tweedside," 
jeginning, " What beauties does FIAa disclose," were cora- 
aosed in her honor. 



Note X. 



-tn feudal strife, a foe, 



tiath laid Our Lady's chapel low. — P. 96. 

The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes (de lacuous) was situ- 
ated on the eastern side of the lake, to which it gives name. 
It was injured by the clan of Scott, in a feud with the Cran- 
§toTins ; but continued to be a place of worship during the 
seventeenth century. The vestiges of the building can now 
ecarceiy be traced ; but the burial-ground is still used as a cem- 
etery. A funeral, in a spot so very retired, has an nncommon- 
■y striking effect. The vestiges of the chaplain's house are yet 
visible. Being in a high situation, it commanded a full view 
of the lake, with the opposite mountain of Bourhope, belong- 
ing, with the lake itself, to Lord Napier. On the left hand is 
'tie tower of Dryhope, mentioned in a preceding note. 



Note Y. 



-the Wizard'' s grave ; 



That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 
From company of holy dust. — P. 96. 

At one corner of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, 
hut without its precincts, is a small mound, called Binram's 
Corse, where tradition deposits the remains of a necromantic 
priest, the former tenant of the chaplainry. His story much 
resembles that of Ambrosio in "The Monk," and has been 
made the theme of a ballad, by ray friend Mr. James Hogg, 
more poetically designed the Ettrick Shepherd. To his vol- 
ime, entitled "The Mountain Bard," which contains this, 
and many other legendary stories and ballads of great merit, I 
refer the curious reaaer. 



Note Z. 



Some ruder and more savage scene. 

Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene. — P. 96. 

Loch dkene is a mountain lake, of consi^rable size, at the 
dead of the Moffat-water. The charactei* of the scenery is 
uncommonly savage ; and the earn, or Scottish eagle, has, for 
many ages, built its nest yearly upon an islet in the lake. 
Loch-skene discharges itself into a brook, which, after a short 
tnd precipitate course, falls from a cataract of immense height, 
«ud gloomy grandeur, called, f-om its appearance, the " Gray 
1i 



Mare's Tail." The " Giant's Grave," afterwards mentioned. 
is a sort of trench, which bears that name, a little way frees 
the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance of a battery 
designed to command the pass. 



Note 2 A. 



high Whitby's cloister' d vile. — P. 97. 



The Abbey of Whitby, in the Archdeaconry of Cleavelaufl 
on the coast of Yorkshire, was founded A. D. 657, in cons* 
quence of a vow of Oswy, King of Northumberland. It con 
tained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order ; but, 
contrary to what was usual in such establ^hraents, the abbess 
was sujierior to the abbot. The monas ery was afterwards 
ruined by the Danes, and rebuilt by William Percy, in the 
reign of the Conqueror. There were no nuns there in Henry 
the Eighth's time, nor long before it. The ruins of Whitby 
Abbey are very magnificent. 



Note 2 B. 



St. Cuthbert's Holy Isle.— P. 97. 

Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumberland, wn 
called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, 
and from its having been the episcopal seat of the see of Dn 
ham during the early ages of British Christianity. A succes- 
sion of holy men held that office ; but their merits were swal 
lowed up in the superior fame of St, Cuthbert, who was sixth 
Bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " patri- 
mony" upon the extensive property of the see The ruins of 
the monastery upon Holy Island betoken great a.itiquity. The 
arches are, in general, strictly Saxon ; and the pillars which 
support them, short, strong, and massy In some places 
however, there are pointed windows, which indicate that the 
building has been repaired at a period long subsequent to the 
original foundation. The exterior ornaments of the building, 
being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, as described 
in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, but rather, 
as the venerable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle ; for, although 
surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry 
between it and the opposite coast of Northumberland, from 
which it is about three miles distant. 



Note 2 0. 

Then Whitby's nuns exulting told 
How to their house three Barons bold 
Must menial service do. — P. 99. 

The popular account of this curious service, which wis 
probably considerably exaggerated, is thus given in " A Tme 
Account," printed and circulated at Whitby : " In the fifth 
year of the reign of Henry II,, after the conquest of Englaiui 
by William, Duke of Normandy, the Lord of Uglebarauy 
then called William de Bruce : the Lord ot Smeaton, callei' 
Ralph de Percy ; with a gentleman and freeholder called Af- 
latson, did, on the I6th of October, 1159, appoint to meet ani* 
hunt the wild boar, in a certain wood, or desert place, ociong 
ing to the Abbot of Whitby ; the place's name was Eskdale- 
side ; and the abbot's name was Sedman. Then, these young 
gentlemen being met, with their hounds and boar-staves, in the 
place before mentioned, and there having found a great wild- 
boar, the hounds ran him well near about the chapel and her 
milage of Eskdale-side, where was a monk of Whitby, wha 
was an hermit. The boar, being very sorely pursued, and 
dead-run, took in at the chapel door, there laid him dowti, and 
presently died. The hermit shut the hounds out of the (.napel 



»nd kept himself within at his meditations and prayers, the 
hounds standing at bay without. The gentlemen, in the thick 
of the wood, being just behind their game, followed the cry of 
tlieir nouiids, and so came to ihe hermitage, calling on the her- 
mit, who opened the door and came forlli ; and within tliey 
found llie boar lying dead : for which, the gentlemen, in a very 
great fury, because the hounds were put IVom their game, did 
most violently and cruelly run at Ihe hermit with their boar- 
•taves. whereby he soon after ilied. Tliereuj)on the gentle- 
men, jierceiving and knowing that they were in peril of death, 
took sanctuary at Scarborough : But at that time the abbot 
being i; very great favor with the, King, removed tnem out of 
the sanctuary ; whereby they came in danger of the law, and 
not to he |)rivileged, but likely to have the severity of the law, 
which was death for death. But the hermit, being a holy and 
devout man, and at the point of death, sent for the abbot, and 
desired ium to,s?nd for the gentlemen who had wounded him. 
The abbot .so doing, the gentlemen came; and the hermit, 
being very sick and weak, said unto them, ' I am sure to die 
of those wounds you have given me.' — The abbot answered, 
' Tliey shall as surely die for the same.' — But the hermit an- 
swered, ' Not so, for 1 will freely forgive them my death, if 
they will be content to be enjomed the penance I shall lay on 
them for the .safeguard of their souls.' The gentlemen being 
present, bade him save their lives. Then said the hermit, 
' You and yours shall hold your lands of the Abbot of Whitby, 
and liis successors, in this manner ; That, upon Ascension-day, 
you, or some of yon, shall come to the wood of the Stray- 
heads, which is in Eskdale-side, the same day at sun-rising, 
and there shall the abbot's officer blow his horn, to the intent 
that you may know where to find liim ; and he shall deliver 
nnto you, William de Bruce, ten stakes, eleven slrout stowers, 
a.nd eleven yothers, to be cut by you, or some of you, witli a 
knife of one penny price : and you. Ralph de Percy, shall take 
',wenty-one of each sort, to be cut in the same manner ; and 
yon, AUatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as afore- 
«aid. and to l)e taken on your backs and carried to the town of 
Whitby, and to be there before nine of the clock the same day 
before mentioned. At the same hour of nine of the clock, if 
it be full sea, your labor and service shall cease ; and if low 
water, each of you shall set your stakes to the brim, each 
Btake one yard from the other, and so yether them on each side 
with your jr.Mhers ; and so stake on each side with your strout 
Btowers, that they may stand three tides without removing by 
the force thereof. Each of you shall do, make, and execute 
the said service, at that very hour, every year, except it be full 
eea at that liour : but when it shall so fall out, this service 
Bhall cease. You shall faithfully do this, in remembrance 
that you did most cruelly slay me ; and that you may the bet- 
ter call to God for mercy, repent unfeignedly of your sins, and 
do good works. The officer of Eskdale-side shall blow. Out on 
you : Out on you ! Out on you! for this heinous crime. If 
you. or your successors, shall refuse this service, so long as it 
ehail not be full sea at the albre.said hour, you or yours shall 
forfeit )our .ands to the Abbot of Whitby, or his successors. 
This entreat, and earnestly beg, that you may have lives and 
I (ods preserved lor this service ; and I request of you to prom- 
we, by your parts in Heaven, that it shall be done by you and 
youT snccesEiors, aa i< aforesaid requested : and I will confirm 
il by the faith of an lionest man.' — Then the hermit said, ' My 
tool longeih for the Lord : and I do as freely forgive these 
men my death as Christ forgave the thieves on the cross.' And, 
in the presence of the abbot and the rest, he said moreover 
these woi-ds : ' In maniis tvos, Domine. commcndo spiritum 
meitm, a vinculis enivi mortis redcmisti me, liomine verita- 
tis. Amen.' — So he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of 
De'iember, anno Domini 1159, whose soul God have mercy 

pon. Amen. 
" This service," it is added, " still continues to be performed 

with the prescribed ceremonies, though not by the proprietors 

B person Part of the lands charged therewith are now held 

■ y a ijecileman of the name of Herbert." 



NOTK 2 D 



in their cimvent cell 



A Saxon princess once did dwell. 
The lovely Edeljled.—V. 99. 
She was Jie daughter of King Osivy, who, in gratitude U 
Heaven for the great victory wliich lie won in 655, agains" 
Penria, the ?agan King of Mercia, dedicated Edelfleda, the» 
but a year old, to the service of God, in the monastery ol 
Whitby, of which St. Hilda was then abbess. She afterwAru* 
adorned the ulace of her education with great magnificenoi" 



Note 2 E 



• of thousand snakes, each one 



Was changed into a coil of stone, 

When holy Hilda pray' d ; 
They told,, how sea-fowls' pinions fail, 
As over Whitby's towers they sail. — P. 99. 

These two miracles are much insisted upon by all ancient 
writers who have occasion to mention either Whitby or St. 
Hilda. The relics of the snakes which infested the precincts 
of the convent, and were, at the abbess's prayer, not only be- 
headed, but petrified, are still found about the rocks, and are 
termed by Protestant fossilists, Ammonitw. 

The other miracle is thus mentioned by Camden : " It is 
also ascribed to the power of her sanctity, that these wild 
geese, which, in the winter, fly in great flocks to the lakes and 
rivers unfrozen in the southern parts, to tlie great amazemeni 
of every one, fall down suddenly upon the ground, whei; 
they are in their flight over certain neighboring fields here 
abouts : a relation I should not have made, if I had not re- 
ceived it from some credible men. But tho.se who are less in- 
clined to heed superstition, attribute it to some occult quality 
in the ground, and to somewhat of antipathy between it and 
the geese, such as they say is betwixt wolves and scyllaroots : 
For that such hidden tendencies and aversions, as we call 
sympathies and antipathies, are implanted in many things by 
provident Nature for the preservation of them, is a thing so 
evident that everybody grants it." Mr. Charlton, in his His- 
torj of Whitby, points out the true origin of the fable, from 
the number of sea-gulls that, when flying from a storm, often 
alight near Whitby ; and from the woodcocks, and other birds 
of passage, who do the same upon their arrival on shore, after 
a long flight. 



Note 2 F. 



His body's resting-plate, of ocd. 

How oft their Patron changed, they told. — P. 99. 

St. Cuthbert was, in the choice of his sepulchre, one of the 
most mutable and unreasonable saints in the Calendar. He 
died A D. 688, in a hermitage upon the Fame Islands, having 
resigned the bishopric of Lindisfarne, or Holy Island, abon 
two years before. i His body was brought to Lindis.arn* 
where it remained until a descent of the Danes, about tS3, 
when the mona-stery was nearly destroyed. The monks fled 
to Scotland with what they deemed their chief treasure, the 
relics of St. Cuthbert. The Saint was, however, « most capri- 
cious fellow-traveller; which was the more intolerable, as, 
like Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, he journeyed upon thu 
shoalders of his companions. They parade<l him through 
Scotland for severilyears, and came as far west as Wliithern, 
in Galloway, whence they attempted to sail for Ireland, but 
were driven back by tempests. He at length made a halt at 
Norham ; from thence he went to Meirose, where he remained 

1 He resumed the bishopric of LindUfame, which, owing to bai" healta. 
he a;nin relinqiiishp)! withiii less than t}irea months b* fore bia demth- 
R.icvk's St. CutMm-t, 



— -~^- 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



16a 



lUijrjnary for a short jme, and then caused himself to be 
aanched npon the Tweed in a stone coffin, which landed him 
at Tilmouth, in Northumberland. This boat is finely shaped, 
len feet long, three feet and a half in diameter, and only four 
'nches thick ; so tha.% with very little assistance, it might cer- 
jiioly have swam : It still lies, or at least did so a few years 
»go, in two pieces, beside the ruined chapel of Tilmouth. 
From Tilmouth, Cuthbert wandered Into Yorkshire; and at 
£ngth made a long stay at Chester-.e-street, to which the 
bishop's set was transferred. At length, the Danes, continu- 
ing ta infest ihe country, the monks removed to Rippon for a 
99a»5<j ; ana it was in return from thence to Chester-le-street, 
I's-i'., passing through a forest called Dunholme, the Saint and 
lis carriage became immovable at a place named Wardlaw, 
ar Wardilaw. Here the Saint chose his place of residence ; 
and all who have seen Durham must admit, that, if difficult 
in his choice, he evinced taste in at length fixing it. It is said 
that the Northumbrian Catholics still keep secret the precise 
ipot of the Saint's sepulture, which is only intrusted to three 
persons at a time. When one dies, the survivors associate to 
.hem, in his room, a person judged fit to be the depository of 
to valuable a secret. 

[The resting-place of the remains of this saint is not now 
matter of uncertainty. So recently as 17th May, 1827, 1139 
years after his death, their discovery and disinterment were 
effected. Under a blue stone, in the middle of the shrine of 
St. Cuthbert, at the eastern extremity of the choir of Durham 
Cathedral, there was then found a walled grave, containing 
the coffins of the Saint. The first, or outer one, was ascer- 
tained to be that of 1541, the second of 1041 ; the third, or in- 
ner one, answering in every particular to the description of 
that of 698, was found to contain, not indeed, as had been 
svened then, and even until 1539, the incorruptible body, but 
the entire skeleton of the Saint ; the bottom of the grave being 
^rfectly dry, free from offensive smell, and without the slight- 
est symptom that a human body had ever undergone decom- 
position within its walls. Thft .keleton was found swathed in 
five silk robes of emblema'jfpl embroidery, the ornamental 
parts laid with gold leaf, ai.d 'nsse again covered with a robe 
ef lin a. Beside the sk«ie'i>>. were also deposited several gold 
»nd silver insignia, anJ f J.er relics of the Saint. 

The Roman Catholif s / jw al'ow that the coffin was that of 
Bt. Cuthbert. # 

The bones of thp ? »'• ^l were again restored to the grave in 
a new coiiin, amia '.ir fragments of the former ones. Those 
portions of iho i' n>.f coffin which could be preserved '^elu- 
ding onp of Its ,1' gf , with the silver altar, golden c-^ss, stole, 
eomb, two Piat^ip^js, bracelets, girdle, gold wire of ti% skele- 
ton, and fragments of the five silk robes, and some of the rings 
of the outer >;offin made in 1541, were deposited in the library 
of the Dean and Chapter, where they are now preserved. 

Fci7 ample details of the life of St. Cuthbert, — his coffin- 
joUTneys, — an account of the opening of his tomb, and » de- 
scKDtion of the silk robes and other relics found in it the reader 
icterested in such matters >s referred to a work entitled " Saint 
Uuthbert, by James Raine, M. A." (4to, Durham. 1828), 
where he will find much of antiquarian history, ceremonies, 
• ad St: perstilions, to gratify his curiosity.] — Ed. 



Note 2 G. 



Even Scotlani^' t dauntless Icing and heir, Src 
Before his standard Jled. — P. 100. 

Every one has he^rd, that when David I., with his son 
Benry, invaded /lorthumberland in 1 136, the English host 
marched agains-. .(.em under the holy banner of St. Cuthbert ; 
U> tlie efficacy t i which was imputed the great victory which 
Jiey o' >air id >r. ,he bloody battle of Nortliallerton, or Cuton- 
*ooi The ccit^aerors were at least as much indebted to the 



jealousy and intractability of the different tjibes who composed 
David's army ; among whom, as mentioned in the text, wer« 
the Galwegians, the Britons of Strath-Clyde, the iren of Te 
viotdale and Lothian, with many Norman a\.d German war 
riors, who asserted the cause of the Empress Maud. See 
Chalmers' Caledonia, vol. i. p. 622; a most laborioi.8. cu 
rious, and interesting publication, from which considerabl* 
defects of style and manner ought not to tarn aside t)te Scot 
tish antiquary. 



Note 2 K 



' Twas he, to vindicate his reign, 

Edged .Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 

And turned the Conqueror back again.' — P. 100. 

Cuthbert, we have seen, had no great reason to spare tbj 
Danes, when opportunity offered. Accordingly, I find, in 
Simeon of Durham, that the Saint appeared in a vision to 
Alfred, when lurking in the marshes of Glastonbury, and 
promised him assistance and victory over his heathen enemies ■ 
a consolation, which, as was reasonable, Alfred, after the vic- 
tory of Ashendown, rewarded, by a royal offering at the shnnt 
of the Saint. As to William the Conqueror, the terror spread 
before his army, when he marched to punish the revolt of the 
Northumbrians, in 1096, had forced the monks to fly oncf 
more to Holy Island with the body of the Saint. It was, how 
ever, replaced before William left the north ; and, to balanct 
accounts, the Conqueror having intimated an indiscreet curios- 
ity to view the Saint's body, he was, while in the act of com- 
manding the shrine to be opened, seized with heat and sickness. 
accompanied with snob a panic terror, that, notwithstanding. 
there was a sumptuous dinner prepared for him, he fled with 
out eating a morsel (which the monkish historian seems to havt 
thought no small part both of the miracle and the penauc«i 
and never drew his bridle till he got to the river Tees 



Note 2 L 



Saint Cuthbett sits, and toils to frame 

The sea-born beads that bear his name. — P. 100. 

Although we do not learn that Cuthbert was, during his lile 
such an artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, yet, since 
his death, he has acquired the reputation of forging those En- 
trochi which are found among the rocks of Holy Island, and 
pass there by the name of St. Cuthbert's Beads. While ai 
this task, he is supposed to sit during the night upon a certaiu 
rock, and use another as his anvil. This story was perhapn 
credited in former days ; at least the Saint's legend contaitw 
some not more probable. 



Note 2 K. 

Old Colwulf.—?. 100. 

Ceolwulf, or Colwulf, King of Northumberland, flonriAt 
in the eighth century. He was a man of some learning ; foi 
the venerable Bede dedicates to him his " Ecclesiasti sal His- 
tory." He abdicated the throne about 738, and relired tc 
Holy Island, where he died in the odoi of sanctity. Saint ai | 
Colwulf was, however, I fear the foundation of the penance 
vault does not correspond with his character ; for it is recordei^ 
among his memorabilia, that, finding the air of the island raw 
and cold, he indulged the monks, whose rule had hitherto con- 
fined them to milk or water, with the comfortable privilege ol 
using wine or ale. If any rigid antiquary insists on this objec- 
tion, he is welcome to suppose the penance-vault was interded 
by the founder, for the more genial purposes of a cellar 



164 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



These penitential vaults were the Oeissd-gew'ulbe of Ger- 
nan convents. In the earlier and more riyid times of monastic 
iiscipline, they were sometimes used as a cemetery for the lay 
Denet'aciors of the convent, wliose unsanctitied corpses were 
then veldom permitted to pollute the choir. They also served 
u ,) sees of meeting for the chapter, when measures of uncom- 
n »n severity were to be adopted. But their most frequent 
l<e, a.s implied by the name, was as places for performing pen- 
vc«3 01 undergoing punishment. 



Note 2 L. 



Tynemouth's haughty Prioress. — P. 100. 

That there was an ancient priory at Tynemouth is certain. 
ts ruins are situated on a high rocky point ; and, doubtless, 
many a vow was made to the shrine by the distressed mariners 
who drove towards the iron-bound coast of Northumberland 
m stormy weather. It was anciently a nunnery ; for Virea, 
abbess of Tynemouth, presented St. Cuthbert (yet alive) with 
a lare winding-sheet, in emulation of a holy lady called Tnda, 
who had sent him a coffin : But, as in the case of Whitby, and 
o'' Holy Island, the introduction of nuns at Tynemouth, in 
the reign of Henry VIII. is an anachronism. The nunnery at 
Holy Island is altogether fictitious. Indeed, St. Cuthbert was 
unlikely to permit such an establishment ; for, notwithstand- 
ing his accepting the mortuary gifts above mentioned, and his 
carrying on a visiting acquaintance with the Abbess of Col- 
dinghara, he certainly haled the whole female sex ; and, in 
revenge of a slippery trick played to him by an Irish princess, 
he, after death, inllicted severe penances on such as presumed 
to approach within a certain distance of his shrine. 



Note 2 M. 

On those the wall was to enclose, 
.Hlive, within the tomb. — P. 102. 

It is well known, that the religious, who broke their vows 
of chastity, were subjected to the same penalty as the Roman 
vestals in a similar case. A small niche, sufficient to enclose 
their bodies, was made in the massive wall of the convent ; a 
slender pittance of food and water was deposited in it, and the 
awful words, Vade in Pace, were the signal for immuring 
the criminal. It is not likely that, in latter times, this punish- 
ment was often resorted to ; but among the ruins of the Abbey 
of Coldingham, were some years ago discovered the remains 
of a female skeleton, which, from the shape of the niche, and 
position of the figure, seemed to be that of an immured nun. 

[The Edinburgh Reviewer, on st. xx.xii. post, suggests that 
the proper reading of the sentence is vade in pacem — not, part 
in peace, but^o into peace, or into eternal rest, a pretty intel- 
ligible •nittimus to another world.] 



Note 2 N. 



The village inn. — P. 107. 

The accommodations of a Scottish hostelrie, or inn, in the 
16tn century, may be collected from Dunbar's admirable tale 
jf "The Friars of Berwick." Simon Lawder, "the gay 
»stlier," seems to have lived very comfortably ; and his Avife 
decorated her person with a scarlet kirtle, and a belt of silk 
and si'ver, and rings upon her fingers ; and feasted her para- 
mour with rabbits, capons, partridges, and Bordeaux wine. 
At least, if the Scottish inns were not good, it was not for 
want of encouragement from the legislature ; who, so early as 
*jie reign of James I., not only enacted, that in all boroughs 
lad faus ther>> be hostellaries, having stablei) and chambers, 



and provision for man and horse, but by another stttnte, o* 
dained that no man, travelling on horse or foot, should pr» 
sume to lodge anywhere except in these liostellanes ; and tnal 
no person, save innkeeper, should receive such travellers, nn 
der the penalty of forty shillings, for exercising such hospi|p,t 
ity.i But, in spite of these provident enactments, the Scottisji 
hostels ate but indifferent, and strangers contiuue to find re- 
ception in tlie houses of individuals. 



Note 2 0. 



The death of a dear friend. — P. lo9. 

Among other omens to which faithful credit is given among 
the Scottish peasantry, is what is called the "dead-bell," ex- 
plained by my friend James Hogg, to be that tinkling in tha 
ears which the country people regard as the secret intelligenca 
of some friend's dai;ease. He tells a story to the purpose in 
the " Mountain Bard," p. 26. 

[" O lady, 'tis dark, an' I heard the dead-bell ! 
An' I darena gae yonder for gowd nor fee." 

"By the dead-bell is meant a tinkling in the ears, which oui 
peasantry in the country regard as the secret intelligence of 
some friend's decease. Thus this natural occurrence strikei 
many with a superstitious awe. This reminds me of a trifling 
anecdote, which I will here relate as an instance : — Our two 
servant-girls agreed to go on an errand of their own, one night 
after supper, to a considerable distance, from which I strovo 
to persuade them, but could not prevail. So, after going t» 
the apartment where I slept, I took a drinking-glass, and, 
coming close to the back of the door, made two or three sweepi 
round the lips of the glass with my finger, which caused a lond 
shrill sound. I then overheard the following dialogue : — 
' B. Ah, mercy 1 the dead-bell went through my liead just 
now with such a knell as I never heard.' — ' /. I heard it too.' 
— ' B. Did you indeed ? That is remarkable. I never knew 
of two hearing it at the same time before.' — ' /. We will not 
go to Midgehope to-night.' — ' B. I would not go for all the 
world ! I shall warrant it is my poor brother Wat ; who 
knows what these wild Irishes may have done to him?' "— 
flooo's Mountain Bard, 3d Edit. pp. 31-2.] 



Note 2 P. 



The Oohlin-Hall.—V. 110. 

A vaulted hall under the ancient castle of GifTord or Yestei 
(for it bears either name indifferently), the construction ot 
which has from a very remote period been ascribed to raagio. 
The Statistical Account of the Parish of Garvald and Baro 
gives the following account of the present state of this castle 
and apartment : " Upon a peninsula, formed by the water of 
Hopes on the. east, and a large rivulet on the west, stands the 
ancient castle of Yester. Sir David Dalrymple, in his Annal* 
relates, that ' Hugh Gilford de Yester died in 1267 ; tha? it 
his castle there was a capacious cavern, formed by magivjaJ 
art, and called in the country Bo-Hall, i. e. Hobgoblin Hall ' 
A stair of twenty-four stejjs led down to this apartment, which 
is a large and spacious hall, with an arched roof; and though 
it hath stood for so many centuries, and bee^ exposed to the 
external air for a period of fifty or sixty year% it is still as firm 
and entire as if it had only stood a few years. From the floor 
of this hall, another stair of thirty-six steps leads down to s 
pit which hath a communication with Hopes-water. A great 
part of the walls of this large and ancient castle are still stand- 
ing. There is a tradition, that the castle of Yester was th« 
last fortification, in this country, that surrendered to Genera 

1 Junes I. Fai< junent 1. cap. li ; Parlumient UI. cap. M. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



16£ 



firay, sent into Scotland by Protector Somerset." Statisti- 
iol Account, vol. xu\. — I have only to add, that, in 1737, the 
Soblin Hall was tenanted by the Marquis of Tweeddale's fal- 
coner, IS I learn from a poem, by Boyse, entitled "Retire- 
ment,' written upon visiting Yester. It is now rendered in- 
iccessible by tho fall of the stair. 

Sir David Dairy mple's authority for the anecdote is inT^or- 
dun, vifhose words are, — " A. D. mcclxvii. Hugo Oiffard 
ie Yester moritur ; cujus castrum, vel saltern caveam, et 
iongionem, arte damonicd antiques relationes ferunt fabri- 
f actus : nam ibidem, habetur mirabilis specus subterraneus, 
tpere mirifico constructus, magna terrarum spatio prote- 
laius, qui eommuniter SSo^^^all appellatus est." Lib. 
K. cap. 21.— Sir David conjectures that Hugh de Gilford must 
'ther have been a very wise man, or a great oppressor. 



Note 2 Q. 



There floated Haco's banner trim 
Move J^orweyan warriors grim. — 110. 

Tn 1263, Haco, King of Norway, came into the Frith of 
Clyde with a powerful armament, and made a descent at 
Largs in Ayrshire. Here he was encountered and defeated, 
on the 2d October, by Alexander III. Haco retreated lo Ork- 
ney, where he died soon after this disgrace to his arms. There 
are still e.xisting, near the place of battle, many barrows, some 
of which, having been opened, were found, as usual, to con- 
tain bones and urns. 



Note 2 R. 



fhe wizard habit strange. — P. 111. 

' Magicians, as is well known, were very curious in the 
ehiice and form of their vestments. Their caps are ovel, or 
like pyramids, with lappets on each side, and fur within. 
Their gowns are long, and furred with fo.x-skins, under which 
they have a linen garment reaching to the knee. Their girdles 
are three inches broad, and have many cabalistical names, 
with crosses, trines, and circles inscribed on them. Their 
(hoes should be of new russet leather, with a cross cut upon 
Ihem. Their knives are dagger-fashion ; and their swords 
have neither guard nor scabbard." — See these, and many other 
particulars, in the Discourse concerning Devils and Spirits, an- 
nexed to Reqinald Scott's Discovery of Witchcraft edi- 
tion 1665. 



Note 2 S. 

Upon his breast a pentacle. — P. 111. 

"A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with five comers, 
i according to the five senses, and suitably inscribed with chai^ 
acter^. This the magician extends towards the spinis which 
he invokes, when they are stubborn and rebellions, and refuse 
M be conformable unto the ceremonies and rites of n>agic." — 
Bee the Discourses, &c. above mentioned, p. 66. 



Note 2 T. 



As born upon that blessed night, 

When yawning graves and dying groan 

Proclaimed Hell's empire overthrown. — P. 111. 

It B a ropnlai' article of faith, that tliose who are bom on 
Qirucm& or Gooa Friday have the power of seeing spirits, 



and even of commanding them. The Spania/>'s iapnted th« 
haggard and downcast looks of their Philip II. to the Jisa^e» 
able visions to which this privilege subjected hira. 



Note 2 U. 



yet still the knightly spear and ihitlt 
The Elfin warrior doth wield 

Upon the brown hill's breast. — P. 112. 

The following extract from the Essay upon the Fairy Snp*» 
stitions, in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. 'i 
will show whence many of the particulars of the combat b* 
tween Alexander III. and the Goblin Knight are derived : — 

Gervaseof Tilbury Otia Imperial ap. Script, rer. Brunsvie 
(vol. i. p. 797), relates the following popular stoiy concerning i 
fairy knight: " Osbert, a bold and powerful baron, vioifed ^ 
noble family in the vicinity of Wandlebury, in the bisiiojiric 3l 
Ely. Among other stories related in tiie social circle of hia 
friends, who, according to custom, amused each other by re- 
peating ancient tales and traditions, he was informed, that if 
any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moon- 
light, and challenged an adversary to appear, he wcmld be im- 
mediately encountered by a spirit in the form of a knight. Os 
bert resolved to make the e.Kperiment, and set out, attended by 
a single squire, whom he ordered to remain without the .imita 
of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient enlrench- 
ment. On repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed 
by an adversary, whom he quickly unhorsed, and seized the 
reins of his steed. During this operation, his ghostly opponeni 
sprung up, and darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert 
wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with 
the horse, which he committed to the care of his servants. Thf 
horse was of a sable color, as well as his whole accoutrements, 
and apparently of great beauty and vigor. He remained with 
his keeper till cock-crowing, when, with eyes flashing tire, he 
reared, spurned the ground, and vanisnea. On disarming nim- 
self, Osbert perceived that he was wounded, and that one of 
his steel boots was' full of blood." Gervase adds, that, a* 
long as he lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh oi th» 
anniversary of the eve on which he encountered the spirit.' 
Less fortunate was the gallant Bohemian knighi, who, travel- 
ling by night with a single companion, "came in sight of a 
fairy host, arrayed under displayed banners. Despising the re- 
monstrances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break 
a lance with a champion, who advanced from the ranks appa- 
rently in defiance. His companion beheld the Bohemian over 
thrown, horse and man, by his aerial adversary ; and returjiing 
to the spot next morning, he found the mangled corpses of the 
knight and steed." — ffierarchy of Blessed Angels, p. 554. 

Besides these instances of Elfin chivalry above quoted, manj, 
others might be alleged in support of employing fairy machire- 
ry in this manner. The forest of Glenmore, in the North Uign 
lands, is believed to be haunted by a spirit called Lham-dcarg, 
in the array of an ancient warrior, havhig a bloody hand, iron: 
which he takes his name. He insists upon tliose with ■whou 
he meets doing battle with him ; and the clergyman, whs 
makes up an account of the district, extant in the Macftrlatu 
MS. in the Advocates' Library, gravely assures us, that, in hii 
time, Lham-dearg fought with three brothers whom he met in 
his walk, none of whom long survived the ghostly coiitiict. 
Barclay, in his " Euphormion," gives a singular account of an 
officer who had ventured, with his servant, rather to intrud» 
npon a haunted house in a town in Flanders, than to put uji 
with worse quarters elsewhere. After taking the usual preciiu- 
tions of providing fires, lights, and arms, fhey watched till mid 
night, when behold ! the severed arm of a man dropped from 
the ceiling ; this was followed by the legs, the otner arm, the 
trunk, and the head of the body, all separately. The meinben 
rolled together, united themselves in the presence of the aston 
ished soldiers, and formed a gigantic warrior, who defied theta 



106 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



both to combat. Their blows, although they penetrated the 
Doily and amputated the limbs of their strange antagonist, had, 
is the reader may easily believe, little effect on an enemy who 
possessei' such powers of self-union ; nor did his efforts make 
more effectual impression upon them. How the combat ter- 
minated I do not exactly remember, and have not the book by 
me ; but I think the spirit made to the intruders on his mansion 
ihe usual proposal, that they should renounce their redemption ; 
.I'liich beicc declined, he was obliged to retract. 

T"". most singular tale of the kind is contained in an extract 
communicaieii to me by ray Iriend Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth, 
111 ilie Bishopr:o, vvho copied it from a MS. note in a copy of 
Bunliogge, "On the Nature of Spirits, 8vo. 1694," which 
aad Ueen the jiropetty of the late Mr. Gill, attorney-general to 
Eaerion, Bishoj) of Durham. " It was not," says my obliging 
:orr<ispondent, "in Mr. Gill's own hand, but probably an 
hundred years older, and was said to be, E libra Convent. 
Dtineim. per T. C. extract., whom I believe to have been 
Thomas Cradocke, Esq. barrister, who held several olBces un- 
der tlie See of Durham a hundred years ago. Mr. Gill was 
possessed of most of his manuscripts." The extract, which, in 
fact, suggested the introduction of the tale into the present 
poem, runs thus : — 

" Iii:m miram hujnsmodi qua: nostris tcmporibus evenit, 
teste viro nobili ac fide dignissimo, enarrare hand pigebit. 
Radtilphus BiUmer, cum e caxtris, quce tunc temporis prope 
JSTorham posita erant, oblectationis causa, exiisset, ac in 
idteriure TuediB ripd prcedam cum canibus leporariis inse- 
jiieretur, forte cum Scoto quodam nobili, sibi antehac, ut 
videbatur, familiariter cognito, congressus est ; ac, ut fas 
erat inter inimicos, flagrante hello, breuissimd interroga- 
tionis mord intcrpositd, alter utros invicem incitato cursu 
infistis animis petiere. JVastcr, prima occursu, equopnea^ 
■errimo liostis ivipetu labante, in terram eversus pectore et 
tapite laso, sanguinem, mortuo similis, evomebat. Quern 
ut se. a:gre liabentem comiter atlocutus est alter, pollicitus- 
qve, modo auxilium non abnegaret, monitisque obtemperans 
lib omni rcrum sacrarum cogitatione abstineret, nee Deo, 
DeiparcB Virgini, Sanctove ullo, preces aul vota efferret vel 
nter sese conciperet, se brevi earn sanum validumque resti- 
tuturum esse. Prie angore oblata conditio acccpta est ; ac 
veterator ille nescio quid obscwni murmuris insusurrans, 
ureheasa manu, dicto citiut in pedes sanum ut antea suble- 
vavit. JVoster autem, maxima pu x rei inauditd novitate 
'^ormidine perculsus, Ml Jesu 1 exclamat, vel qu^d simile; 
ac subito respiciens nee hostem nee ullam alium conspicit, 
equum solum gravissimo nuper casu affiictum, per summam 
uactin in ricofluvii pascentem. Ad castra itaque mirabuTi- 
dus revertens,fidei dubius, rem prima occultavit, dein, con- 
^ecto bella, Confcssari sua tatam asseruit. Delusaria pro. 
cu/ dnbio res tota, ac mala veteratoris illius nperitur fraus, 
qua kuiiiincni Christianum ad vetitum tale auxilium pellice- 
rel. jYomen utcunque illius (jiobitis alias ac clari) reticen- 
dum duco, cum haud dubium sit qiiin Diabolus, Deo permit- 
■■enle, formam quam libuerit, immo angeli tucis, sacr'j oculo 
Oei teste, posse assumere." The MS. chrmiicle, from 
vrfaico Mr. Cradocke took this curious extract, cannot now 
w I6and m the Chapter Library of Durham, or, at least, 
•A> tiitf.crto escaped the researches of my friendly correspon- 
.ient. « 

Liindeifty is made to allude to this adventure of Ralph Bul- 
mer, aa a well-known story, ii; the 4th Canto, Stanza xxii. p. 
121, 

The northern champions of old were accustomed peculiarly 
O search for, and delight in, encounters with such military 



1 I beg leave to quote a siiifrle instance from a verj- interestiEg passage. 
\\t Duvid, recoiuiting his attention to Kiiig Jame> V. in his infancy, ia 
ii^le, by the learned editor's punctuation, to say, — 



spectres. See a whole chapter on the subject, in BiLRTBOLI 
NU8, De Causis contemptai Mortis a Da7iis, p. 253. 



Note 2 V. 



Close to the hut, no mare his own. 
Close to the aia he sought in vain, 
The morn may find the stiffen' d swain. — P. 114. 

I cannot help here mentioning, that, on the night in whMl 
these lines were written, suggested, as they were, by a sudd«a 
fall of snow, beginning after sunset, an unfortunate man par 
ished exactly in the manner here described, and his body wM 
next morning found close to his own house. The accident 
happened within five miles of the farm of Ashestiel. 



Note 2 W. 



■Forbes.— P. 115. 



Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet ; unequalled, per- 
haps, in the degree of individual affection eutertained for him 
by his friends, as well as in the general respect and esteem of 
ScotlantLat large. His " Lifeof Beattie," whom he befriended 
and patronized in life, as well as celebrated after his decease, 
was not long published, before the benevolert and affectionaU 
biographer was called to follow the subject of his narrative. 
This melancholy event very shortly succeeded the marriage oi 
the friend, to whom this introduction is addressed \'ith one of 
Sir William's daughters. 



Note 2 X. 



* The first aiUabie, that thou did niut«, 
W'lw pa, da, lyn, upon the lute ; 



Friar Rush.—V. 116. 
Alias, "Will o' the Wisp." This personag* is a strolling 
demon, or esprit follet, who, once upon a time, got admittance 
into a monastery as a scullion and played the monks many 
pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Goodfellow, and Jack o' 
Lanthern. It is in allusion to this mischievous demon that 
Milton's clown speaks, — 

" She was pinched, and pulled, she said, 
And he by Friar's lanthern led." 

" The history of Friar Rush" is of extreme ririty, and, for 
some time, even the existence of such a book was doubted, 
although it is. expressly alluded to by Reginald Scott in fiia 
"Discovery of Witchcraft." I have perused a copy in the 
valuable library of my friend Mr. Heber ; and I observe, from 
Mr. Beloe's '• Anecdof«s of Literature," that there is one ia 
the excellent collection of the Marquis of Siailbr/l 



Note 2 Y. 

Sir Davtd Lindesay of the Mount, 

Lord Lion King-at-arms —P. 117, 

The late elaborate edition of Sir David Lindesay's U'o 

by Mr. George Chalmers, has probably iutroduc>;d him toma*/ 

of my readers. It is jjerhajjs to be regretted, that the leam«d 

Editor had not bestowed more pains in elucidating his author. 

even although lie should have omitted, or ut least reserved, hii 

disquisitions on the origin of the language used by the ooet :£ 



Then play«<i I twenty springis perqueli 
QuhilU WM gtcat pleionr for to ln-iir." 

V.,!, i. p. 7,95-. 

Mr. Chalmers dnai not inf. .rni ua, >"' oo«« "' t^ wary, what ia meant b< 
Um King •• mutint pa, it*, lyn, upon the luU ," bni bc7 aU woman h 



APPENDX TO MARMION. 



161 



Bat, with all his faults, his work is an acceptable present to 
Scottish antiquaries. Sir Da/id Lindesay was well known for 
sis early efforts in favor of the Reformed doctrines ; and, in- 
deed, his play, coarse as it now seems, must have had a pow- 
trful effect upon the people of his age. I am uncertain if I 
abuse poetical license, by introducing Sir David Lindesay in 
Uie character of Lion-Herald, sixteen years before he obtained 
thai office. At any rate, I am not the first who has been 
gniliy of this anachronism ; for the author of " Flodden Field" 
di»patehes Dallamoiint, which can mean nobody but Sir Da- 
vid de la Mont, to France, on the message of defiance from 
Jamw IV. to Henry VIII. It was often an office imposed on 
the Lijn King-ai-arms, to receive foreign ambassadors ; and 
Laadesay himself did this honor to Sir Ralph Sadler in 1539-40. 
Indeed, the oath of the Lion, in its first article, bears reference 
to his frequent employment upon royal messages and embas- 
sies. 

The office of heralds, in feudal times, being held of the ut- 
most importancii, the inauguration of the Kings-at-arms, who 
presided over their colleges, was proportionally solemn. In 
'act, it was the mimicry of a royal coronation, except that the 
unction was made with *!ne instead of oil. In Scotland, a 
namesake and kinsman of I'^ir David Lindesay, inaugurated in 
1592, " was crowned by Kin^ James with the ancient crown 
of Scotland, which was used before the Scottish kings assumed 
a close crown ; and, on occasion of the same solemnity, dined 
at the King's table, wearing the crown. It is probable that 
the coronation of his predeceswr was not less solemn. So 
tacred wss the herald's office, that, in 1515, Lord Drummond 
was by Parliament declared guiity of treason, and his lands 
forfeited, because he had struck with his fist the Lion King- 
nt-arras, when he reproved him for his follies.' Nor was he 
astored, but at the Lion's earnest solicitation. 



Note 2 Z. 

Ct-icntoun Castle. — P. 118. 

A large ruinous castle on the bank^ of the Tyne, about ten 
miles from Edinburgh. As iridicdted in the text, it was built 
lit different times, and with a very differing regard to splendor 
and accommodation. The oldest part of the building is a nar- 
row keej), or tower, such as formed the mansion of a lesser 
Scottish baron ; but so many additions have been made to it, 
ihat there is now a large court-yard, surrounded by buildings 
.)f different ages. The eastern front of the court is raised above 
a portico, and decorated with entablatures, bearing anchors. 
All the stones of this front are cut into diamond facets, the 
angular projections of which have an uncommonly rich appear- 
ance. The inside of this part of the building appears to have 
contained a gallery of great length and uncommon elegance. 



Bco'.laad wi]^ bear witness, that pa, da, lyn, are the first efforts or' a child 
10 say, ■' W'lare's David Lindesay ?"3 and that the Bubsequent words 
begiz* Another sentence — 



- " Upon the lute 



Then played I twenty springis perqueir," &c. 

Sn Mother place, "justing lumis," t. c. looms, or implementa of tilting, 
• 3»»acusly interpreted " playful limbs." Many such minute errors could 
<• pfii"#i ot t ; but these are only mentioned incidentally, and not as di- 
aioishiup thj real merit of the edition. 

I The lecord expresses, or rather is said to have expressed, the cause of 
rfeiture tr be, — " Eo quod Leonem^ armorum Regem pugno violasaet 

tun eun* de ineptiis suis admoneU" — See Nisbet*s Hcro^druj Part iv. 

''.k&p. xvi. ; aud Lesl^ei Hietoria ad Annum 1515. 

S [" In Scotland, formerly, as still in some parts of Greece, the great 
'hieftains required, as an acknowledgment of their authority, that those 
Who passed through their lands should repair to their castle, to explain the 
fvpc«e of their journey, and receive the hospitality suited to their rank. 

a it ii suggested by an ingenious correspondent, that Pa, da, lyn, ought 
•Ihw w b« interpreted, play, Uavy Lindesay. 



Access was given to it by a magnificent staircase, now qnit« 
destroyed. The soffits are ornamented with twining cordag* 
and roseiias : and the whole seems to have been far mors 
splendid than was usual in Scottish castles. The castl* 
belonged originally to the Chancellor, Sir William Crichton, 
and probably owed to him its first enlargement, as well as its 
being taken by the Earl of Douglas, who imputed to Criohtot'i 
counsels the death of his predecessor. Earl William, beheadud 
in Edinburgh Castle, with his brother, in 1440. It is said M 
have been totally demolished on that occasion : but t'je preseia 
state of the ruin shows the contrary. In 1483. it was gamsonad 
by Lord Crichton, then its proprietor, against King James III., 
whose displeasure he had incurred by seducing hu- sister Marga- 
ret, in revenge, it is said, for the Monarch having dishonored hu 
bed. From the Crichton family the castle passed to that of the 
Hepburno, Earls Bothwell ; and when the forfeitures of Stew- 
art, the last Earl of Bothwell, were divided, the barony ana 
castle of Crichton fell to the share of the Earl of Buccleuch. 
They were afterwards the property of the Pringles of Clifton, 
and are now that of Sir John Callender, Baronet. It were ta 
be wislied the proprietor would take a little pains to preserve 
these splendid remains of antiquity, which are at present used 
as a fold for sheep, and wintering cattle ; although, perhaps, 
there are very few ruins in Scotland which display so well 
the style and beauty of ancient castle-architecture. The cas 
tie of Crichton has a dungeon vault, called the Jlassy More. 
The epithet, which is not uncommonly applied to the prisonj 
of other old castles in Scotland, is of Saracenic origin. It oc- 
curs twice in the " Epistolce ItineraricE" of Tollius. " Car- 
eer snbterraneus , sive, ut jMauri appellant, Mazmorr ," 
p. 147 ; and again, " Coguntur omnes Captivi sub noctem in 
ergastula subterranea, qu<£ Turc<B Algezerani vacant M;»z- 
MORRAS," p. 243. The same word applies to the dungeons of 
the ancient Moorish castles in Spain, and serves to show from 
what nation the Gothic style of castle-building was originail* 
derived.3 



Note 3 A. 

Earl Mdam Hepburn. — P. 118. 

He was the second Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the field of 
Flodden, where, according to an ancient English poet, he dis 
tinguished himself by a furious attempt to retrieve the di»» .- 

" Then on the Scottish part, right proud, 
The Earl of Bothwell then out brast, 

And stepping forth, with stomach good, 
Into the enemies' throng he thrust ; 

And Bothwell ! Bothwell ! cried bold, 
To cause his souldiers to ensue, 

To neglect this was held discourtesy in the great, and insolence In lh« 
inferior trarveller ; and so strictly was the etiquette insisted on by sviufl 
feudal lords, that the Lord Olipbant is said to have planted guns at hii 
castle of Newtyle in Angus, so as to command the high rjad, and coOiMi 
all restive passengers to do this act of homage. 

" It chanced when such ideas were predominar t, tmu the L^rd cf Crteb. 
ton Castle received intelligence that a Suutaem rhieflaiii of nigk rank, 
some say Scott of Buccleuch, was to pass his dwell ins on bis relam from 
court. The Lord of Crichton made great preparation to banquet hii 
expected guest, who nevertheless rode past the castle wiriiout paying the 
expected visit. In his first burst of mdignation, the Baron pursued the 
discourteous traveller with a body of horse, made bim prisoner, and conf ',ed 
him in the dungeon, while he himself and his vassals feasted upon the gooo 
cheer which had been provided. With the moruiug, however, cami 
reflection, and anxiety for the desperate feud which impended, as ths 
necessary* consequence of his rough proceeding. It is said, that, by way of 
amende honorable^ the Baron, upon the second day, placed his compelle,! 
guest in his seat of honor in the hall, while he himself relived into his ow» 
dungeon, and thus did at once penance for his rashness, b itiafied the honor 
of the stranger chief, and put a stop tc the feud which miiot otherwis* 
have taken place between them."— 5«r W'nlter .*-of(*f Mia-£liajieotf 
Prott Works, vol. vii. pp. 1<» ^ 1— Fn 



168 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bnt there he caught a wellcome cold, 

The Englishmen straight down him threw. 
Thns Haburn through his hardy heart 
Hif fatal tine in couHict found," &c. 

Flodden Field, a Poem ; edited by 
H. Weber. Edin. 1808. 

Adam was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothwell, too well 
^nown ii the history of Q,ueen Mary. 



Note 3 B. 



f^r that a messenger from heaven. 
In vain to James had counsel given. 
Against the English war. — P. 119. 

This story is told by Pitscottie with characteristic simpli- 
eaty : — " The King, seeing that France could get no support of 
him for that time, made a proclamation, full hastily, through 
*U the realm of Scotland, both east and west, south and north, 
as well in the isles as in the firm land, to all manner of men 
between sixty and sixteen years, that they should be ready, 
within twenty days, to pass with liim, with forty days victual, 
and to meet at the Burrow-muir of Edinburgh, and there to 
pass forward where he pleased. His proclamations were hastily 
obeyed, contrary to the Council of Scotland's will ; but every 
man loved his prince so well that they would on no ways 
jisobey him ; but every man caused make his proclamation so 
nastily, conform to the charge of the King's proclamation. 

" The King came to Lithgow, where he happened to be 
for the time at the Council, very sad and dolorous, making his 
devotion to God, to send him good chance and fortune in his 
voyage. In this mean time there came a man, clad in a blue 
gown, in at the kirk door, and belted about him in a roll of 
linen cloth ; a pair of brotikings' on his feet, to the great of 
his legs ; with all other hose and clothes conform thereto : but 
he had nothing on his head, but syde^ red yellow hair behind, 
and on his haifets,3 which wan down to his shoulders ; but 
his forehead was bald and bare. He seemed to be a man of 
two-and-fifty years, with a great pike-staff in his hand, and 
came first forward among the lords, crying and speiring4 for the 
King, s.aying, he desired to speak Vith him. While, at the 
last, he came where the king was sitting in the desk at his 
prayers ; but when he saw the King, he made him little 
reverence or salutation, but leaned down groffling on the desk 
Before him, and said to him in this manner, as after follows: 
Sir King, my mother hath sent me to you, desiring you not to 
pa.ss, at this time, where thou art purposed ; for if thou does, 
thou wilt not fare well in thy journey, nor none that passeth 
with thee. Further, she bade thee mell'' with no woman, nor 
use their counsel, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou 
theirs ; for, if thou do it, thou wilt be confounded and brought 
to shame.' 

" By this man had spoken thir words unto the King's grace, 
Ibe evening-song was near done, and the King paused on thir 
urords, studying to give him an answer ; but. in the meantime, 
be»""»re the King's eyes, and in the presence of all the lords that 
wore about him for the time, this man vanished away, and 
scwil'' no ways be seen or comprehended, but vanished away 
u ie /ind been a blink of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwind, 
and could no more be seen. I heard say. Sir David Lindesay 
Lyon-herauld, and John Inglis the marshal, who were, at that 
time, young men, and special servants to the King's grace, 
were standing presently beside the King, who thought to have 
laid hanos on this man, th;it they might have speired further 
tidings at him: But all for naught; tliey could not touch 
<iim ; for he vanished away betwixt them, and was no more 
tten." 
Buchanan, in more elegant, though not more impressive 



language, tells the same story, and quotes the personal informa 
tion of our Sir David Lindesay : " In iis (i. e. qui propiut 
astiterant),fuit David Lindesius, Muntanus, homo spectata 
fidei et probitatis, nee a literarum studiis aiienus, et cujan 
totius vita tenor logissime a mentiendo at trrat ; a quo nisi 
ego h(BC uti tradidi, pro certis accepissem ut vulgatam va 
nis rumoribus fabulum, omissurus eravi." — Lib. xiii. Tho 
King's throne, in St. Catherine's aisle, which he had con 
structed for himself, with twelve stalls for the Knights Com 
panions of the Order of the Thistle, is still shown as the plac« 
where the apparition was seen. 1 know not by what neatu 
St. Andrew got the credit of having been the celebrated moni 
tor of James IV. ; for the expression in Lindesay's narrative, 
" My mother has sent me," could only be used by St. John, 
the adopted son of the Virgin Mary. The whole story is so 
well attested, that we have only the choice between a miracle 
or an imposture. Mr. Pinkerton plausibly argues, from the 
caution against incontinence, that the Q,ueen was privy to tin 
scheme of those who had recourse to this expedient to det^< 
King James from his impolitic war. 



Note 3 C, 

The wUd-buck bells.— V. 119. 

I am glad of an opportunity to describe the cry of the deei 
by another word than braying, although the latter has been 
sanctified by tlie use of the Scottish metrical translation ol 
the Psalms. Bell seems to be an abbreviation of bellow. 
This sylvan sound conveyed great delight to our ancestors, 
chiefly, I suppose, from association. A gentle knight in tha 
reign of Henry VIII., Sir Thomas Wortley, built VVantlej 
Lodge, in Waucliffe Forest, for the pleasure (as an ancieni 
inscription testifies) of " listening to the hart's bell " 



1 Buskina 



a Long. 



3 Cheeks. 



Note 3 D. 

June Bate Ms father's overthrow. — P 1 19. 

The rebellion against James III. was signalized by the 
cruel circumstance of his son's presence in the hostile army 
When the King saw his own banner displayed against him, 
and his son in the faction of his enemies, he lost the little 
courage he had ever possessed, fled out of the field, fell from 
his horse as it started at a woman and water-pitcher, and 
was slain, it is not well understood by whom. James IV., 
after the battle, passed to Stirling, and liearing the monks ol 
the chapel-royal de|)loring the death of his father, their founder, 
he was seized with deep remorse, which manifested itsell' in 
severe penances. See a following note on stanza ix. of canto 
V. The battle of Sauchie-burn, in which James 111. fell, wii 
fought 18th June, 1488. 



Note 3 E. 



The Borough-moor — P 122. 

The Borough, or Common Moor of Edinburgh, was ofvet) 
great extent, reaching from the southern walls of the cily to 
the bottom of Braid Hills. It was anciently a forest ; and, in 
that state, was so great a nuisance, that the inhabitants ol 
Edinburgh had permission granted to them of building woodeti 
galleries, projecting over the street, in order to encourage 
them to consume the timber, which they seem to have done 
very effectually. When James IV. mustered the array of the 
kingdom there, in 1513, the Borough-miior was, according t« 
Hawthornden, "a field spacious, and delightful by the shadt 
of many stately and aged oaks." Upon that, and sioula 



4 Asking. 



t MxldU. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



lot) 



tccasions, the royal standard is traditionally said to have been 
displayed from the Hare-Stane, a high stone, now built into 
the wall, on the left hand of the highway leading towards 
Braid, not far from the head of Bumtsfield Links. The Hare- 
Btiine probably derives its name from the British word Har, 
■ignjfying an army. 



Note 8 F. 

Pavilions.— V. 122. 

1 Ao not exactly know the Scottish mode of encampment in 
!j]3, but Patten gives a curious description of that which he 
jaw after the battle of Pinkey, in 1547 : — " Here, now, to say 
lomewhat of the manner of their camp. As they had no pavil- 
ions, or round houses, of any commendable compass, so wear 
there few other tentes with posts, as the used manner of mak- 
ing is ; and of these few also, none of above twenty foot length ; 
but most far under ; for the most part all very sumptuously be- 
•el (after their fashion), for the love of France, with fleur-de- 
ys, some of blue buckeram, some of black, and some of some 
other colours. These white ridges, as I call them, that, as we 
stood on Fauxsyde Bray, did make so great muster toward us, 
which I did take then to be a number of tentes, when we came, 
we found it a linen drapery, of the coarser carabryk in dede, 
for it was all of canvas sheets, and wear the tenticles, or rather 
cabyns am] couches of their soldiers ; the which (much after 
the common building of their country beside) had they framed 
of four sticks, about an ell long a piece, whearof two fastened 
together at one end aloft, and the two endes beneath stuck in 
the ground, an ell asunder, standing in fashion like the bowea 
of a sowes yoke ; over two such bowes (one, as it were, at 
their head, the other at their feet), they stretched a sheet down 
on both sides, whereby their cabin became roofed like a ridge, 
but skant shut at both ends, and not very close beneath on the 
sides, unless their sticks were the shorter, or their wives the 
more liberal to lend them Icirger napery ; howbeit, when they 
had lined them, and stuff 'd them so thick with straw, with tha 
weather as it was not-very cold, when they wear ones couched, 
they were as warm as they had been wrapt in horses dung." — 
Pattkn's Account of Somereet's Expedition, 



Note 8 G. 



in proud Scotland's royal shield. 

The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold. — P. 122. 

The well-known arms of Scotland. If you will believe Boe- 
thius and Buchanan, the double tressure round the shield, men- 
tioned, counter Jleur-de-lysed or lingued and armed azure, 
was first assumed by Echaius, King of Scotland, contemporary 
of Charlemagne, and founder of the celebrated League with 
France ; but later antiquaries make poor Eochy, or Achy, lit- 
tle better than a sort of King of Brentford, whom old Grig 
(who has also swelled into Gregorius Magnus) aissociated with 
llinuelf in the important duty of governing some part of the 
Mrtheastern coast of Scotland. 



Note 3 H. 



-Caledonia's Queen is changed. — P. 124. 



The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north side 
by a Uke, now drained, and on the south by a wall, which 
Aere was some attempt to make defensible even so late as 1745. 
riw. gates, and the greater part of the wall, have been pulled 
de'«'xi, in the course of the late extensive and beautiful enlarge- 
in6*< of the city. My ingenious and valued friend, Mr. Tho- 
»uw <. wmpbell, proposed to celebrate Edinburgh nnder the epi- 



thet here borrowed. But the " Queen of the North" has no( 
been so fortunate as to receive from so eminent a |>eu the fttf 
posed distinction 



Note 3 I. 



Since first, when conquering York arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose. — P. 125. 

Henry VI., with his dueen, his heir, and the chiefs o' hii 
family, fled to Scotland after the fatal battle of T^wton. Il 
this note a doubt was formerly expressed, whetlier Henry V| 
came to Edinburgh, though his (iueen certainly did ; Mr. Pir. 
kerton inclining to believe that he remained at Kirkc id bright 
But my noble friend. Lord Napier, has pointed out to me a 
grant by Henry, of an annuity of forty marks to his Lordship' 
ancestor, John Napier, subscribed by the King himself at 
Edinburgh, the 28th day of August, in the tl.irty-niiith year ot 
his reign, which corresponds to the year of God, 1461. This 
grant, Douglas, with his usual neglect of accuracy, dates in 
1368. But this error being corrected from the copy in Macfar- 
lane's MSS., p. 119, 20, removes all skepticism on the subject 
of Henry VI. being really at Edinburgh. John Napier wa« 
son and heir of Sir Alexander Napier, and about this time wtv 
Provost of Edinburgh. The hospitable reception of the dis 
tressed monarch and his family, called forth on Scotland tha 
encomium of Molinet, a contemporary poet. The English 
people, he says, — 

" Ung nouveau roy creerent 
Par despiteux vouloir, 
Le viel en debouterent, 
Et son legitime hoir. 
Qui fuytyf alia prendre, 
D' Escossi le garand, 
De tous siecles le mendre, 
£t leplus tollerant." 

Recollection des AvantDia* 



Note 3 K. 



the romantic strain. 

Whose Anglo-J^orman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear. — P. 125. 

Mr. Ellis, in his valuable Introduction to the " Specimen> 
of Romance, has proved, by the concumng testimony of La 
Ravaillere, Tressan, but especially the Abb6 de la Rue, that 
the courts of our Anglo-Norman Kings, rather than those of the 
French monarch, produced the birth of Romance literature. 
Marie, soon after mentioned, compiled from Armorican origi- 
nals, and translated into Norman-French, or romance language, 
the twelve curious Lays, of which Mr. Ellis has given us a 
precis in the Appendix to his Introduction. The story of Bloo- 
del, the famous and faithful minstrel of Richard I., need* M 
commentary. 



Note 3 L. 

The cloth-yard arrows. — P. 126. 

This is no poetical exaggeration. In some of the counties of 

England, distinguished for archery, shafts ol'this extraordinary 
length were actually used. Thus, at the battle of Blackheath, 
between the troops of Henry VII., and the Cornish insurgents, 
in 1496, the bnage at UiartloTd was defended by a picked band 
of archers from the rebel army, " whose arrows," says Uollio- 
shed, " were in length a full cloth yard." The Scottish, a<» 
cording to Ascham, had a proverb, that every Esslish archtf 



170 



^COTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Mined ander his belt tweoty-four Soots, in allasioa to his bun- 
die of unerring shafu. 



Note 3 M. 



To pass, to wheel, the croupe tc gaii^ 
And high curvett, that not in vain 
The sword sway might descend amain 
Onfoeman's tasqae below. — P. 126. 

' Ths most useful air, as the Frenchmen term it, is terri- 
terr ; the courbettes, cabrioles, or un pas et un sault, being 
fitter for horses of parade and triumph than for soldiers : yet 1 
cannot deny but a demivolte with courbettes , so that they be 
not too high, may be useful in a fight or meslee ; for, as La- 
broue hath it, in iiis Book of Horaemanship, Monsieur de 
Montmorency having a horse that was excellent in performing 
the demivotte, did, with his sword, strike down two adversaries 
from their horses in a tourney, where divers of the prime gal- 
lants of France did meet ; for, taking his time, when the horse 
was in the height of his courbette, and discharging a blow 
then, his sword fell with such weight and force upon the two 
cavaliers, one after another, that he struck them from theur 
hoises to the ground."^ — LiOrd Herbert of Cherbury's Life, 
p. 4« 



Note 3 N. 



He'saw the hardy burghers there 

March arm^d on foot with faces bare. — P. 126. 

The Scottish burgessess were, like yeomen, appointed to be 
armed with bows and sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, spesir, or 
a good axe instead of a bow, if worth XlOO ; their armor to be 
fif white or bright harness. They wore white hats, i. e. bright 
•teel caps, without crest or visor. By an act of James IV. 
their weapon-schawiiigs are apjiointed to be held four times a 
year, under the alderman or baililis. 



Note 8 O. 



On foot the yeoman too 

Each at his back (a slender store) 

His forty days' provision bore. 

His arms were halbert, axe, or spear. — P. 126. 

Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to the pea- 
lantry of Scotland, by repeated statutes; spears and axes seem 
iniversally to have been used instead of them. Their defen- 
live armor was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine ; and 
Uiei: missile weapons crossbows and culverins. All wore 
iwo«d8 of excellent temper, according to Patten ; and a volu- 
minous handkerchief round their neck, " not for cold, but for 
jnttio^." The mace also was much used in the Scottish 
tnny : The old poem on the battle of Flodden mentions a 
band — 

" Who manfully did meet their foes, 
With leaden maales, and lances long." 

When the feudal array of the kingdom was called forth, 
Micb man W6is obliged to appear with forty days' provision. 
fVlien this was expended, which took jjlace before the battle 
«f Flodden, the army melted away of course. Almost all the 
Scottish forces, except a few knighta, men-at-arms, and the 
Border-pncKers, who formed exojUent light cavalry, acted 
$0D fwu 



Note 3 P. 

A banquet rich, and costly wines. — P. 128. 

In all transactions of great or petty importance, and amon| 
whomsoever taking place, it would seem that a present of wina 
was a uniform and indispensable preliminary It was aol t« 
Sir John Falstaff alone that such an introductory preface wai 
necessary, however well judged and acceptable on the part of 
Mr. Brook ; for Sir Kalph Sadler, while on an embassy ta 
Scotland in 1539-40, mentions, with complacency, " tlie samt 
night came Rothesay (the hen Id so called) to me again, aaJ 
brought me wine from the Kir.g, both white and red '' — C4if 
ford's Edition, p. 3&. 



Note 3 Q. 



-his iron-belt. 



That bound his breast in penance pain. 
In memory of his father slain. — P. i.29. 

Few readers need to be reminded of this bglt, lo the weigh 
of which James added certain ounces every yeai that Ke lived. 
Pitscottie founds his belief, that James was not slain in the bat- 
tle of Flodden, because the English never had this token of th« 
iron-belt to show to any Scottishman. The person and char- 
acter of James are delineated according to oic best historians. 
His romantic disposition, which led him highly to relish gayety, 
approaching to license, was, at the same tim.i, tinged with en- 
thusiastic devotion. These propensities sometimes formed a 
stiange contrast. He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to 
assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of Fran- 
ciscans ; and when he had thus done penance for some time in 
Stirling, to plunge again into the tide of pleasure. Probably, 
too, with no unusual inconsistency, he sometimes laughed tti 
the superstitious observances to which he at other ti n«.s »ab- 
jected himself. There is a very singular poem jy Oinbar, 
seemingly addressed to James IV., on one of thes-j < j»jions ol 
monastic seclusion. It is a most daring and pro' j i drody od 
the services of the Cliurch of Rome, entitled, — 

" Dunbar's Dirige to the King, 
Bvding ower lang in Strivihng 

We that are here, in heaven's glorj 
To you that are in Purgatory, 
Commend us on our hearty wise ; 
I mean we folks in Paradise, 
In Edinburgh, with all merriness, 
To you in Stirling, with distress. 
Where neither pleasure nor delight i», 
For pity this epistle writis," &o. 

See the whole in Sibbald's Collection, vol. i. x- '^3«< 



Note 8 R. 



Sir Hugh the Heron's wife. — P. 129. 

It has been already noticed [see note to stanza xiii. o. can« 
i.], that King James's acijuainlance with Liidy Heron of Ford 
did not commence until he marched into England. Oui his- 
torians impute to the King's infat'iated passion the delayi 
which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. Tiie author o> 
" The Genealogy of the Heron Family" endeavors, with laud- 
able anxiety, to clear the Lady Ford from this scanilal : hat 
she came and went, however, between the armies of Janie» and 
Surrey, is certain. See Pinkkrton's History, and the au- 
thorities he refers to, vol. ii. |). 4*9. Heron of Ford had been, 
in 1511, in some sort accessory to the slaughter of Sir Robert 
Kerr of Cessford, Warder of the Midd'e Marches. It wsf 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



Ill 



loramiUC'i by his brother the bastard, Lilburn, and Starked, 
hfje BoTderets. Lilbum and Heron of Ford were delivered 
ip bi Heurj to James, and were imprisoned in the fortress of 
Fasti astle, where the former died. Part of the pretence of 
Lad) Fopi'« negotiation with James was the liberty of herhus- 
hiuid 



Note 3 S. 



The fair Qtieen of France 
^ Sent him a turquois ring and glove, 

^nd charged him, as her knight and love. 
For her to break a lance. — P. 129. 

" Also the dueen of France wrote a love-letter to the King 
of Scotland, calling him her love, showing him that she had 
suflered much rebake in France for the defending of his honor. 
i3he believed surely that he would recompense her again with 
aome of his kingly support in her necessity ; that is to say, that 
he would raise her an arm^, and come three foot of ground on 
English ground, for her sake. To that effect she sent him a 
ring off her finger, with fourteen thousand French crowns to 
pay his expenses." Pitscottie, p. 110. — A turquois ring; 
probably this fatal gift is, with James's sword and dagger, pre- 
served in tlie College of Heralds, London. 



Note 3 T. 



Archibald Bell-the-Cat.—V. 130. 

Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man remarkaole for 
rtrength of body and mind, acquired the popular name of 
Bell-the-Cat, upon the following remarkable occasion : — James 
Ihe Third, of whom Pitscottie complains, that he delighted 
more in music, and " policies of building," than in hunting, 
hawking, and other noble exercises, was so ill advised, as to 
make favorites of his architects and musicians, whom the same 
historian irreverently terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, 
who did not sympathize in the King's respect for the fine arts, 
were extremely incensed at the honors conferred on those pei^ 
ions, particularly on Cochrane, a mason, who had been created 
Earl of Mar ; and, seizing the opportunity, when, in 1482, 
Ihe King had convoked the whole array of the country to 
inarch against the English, they held a midnight council in the 
church of Lauder, for the purpose of forcibly removing these 
minions from the King's person. When all had agreed on the 
propriety of this measure, Lord Gray told the assembly the 
lipolo^jue of the Mice, who had formed a resolution that it 
Would be highly advantageous to their community to tie a bell 
round the cat's neck, that they might hear her approach at a 
distance; but wnich public measure unfortunately miscarried, 
•irom no mouse being willing to undertake the task of fastening 
the bell. " I understand the moral," said Angus, " and, that 
what we pmoose may not lack execution, I will bell-the-cat." 
The resi of ine strange scene is thus told by Pitscottie : — 

" By this was advised and spoken by thir lords foresaid, 
Cocnran, the Earl of Mar, came from the King to the council 
(which council was holden in the kirk of Lauder for the time), 
Who was well accompanied with a band of men of war, to the 
Biiniber of three hr^dred light axes, all clad in white livery, 
•nd olaek bends thereon, that they might be known for 
Cochran the Earl of Mar's men. Himself was clad in a 
liding-pie of black velvet, with a great chain of gold about his 
leek, to the value of five bundred crowns, and fonr blowing 
lorns, with both the ends of gold and silk, set with a precious 
one, called a berryi flanging in the midst. This Cochran 
bad his heumont borne before him, overgilt with gold, and so 
were all the rest of his bonis, and all his pailions were of fine 
canvas of sili, and the cords thereof fine twined silk, and the 
tiiains o x>n his pailions were double overgilt with gold. 



" This Cochran was so proud in his conceit, that he counted 
no lords to be marrows to him, therefore he ruahed rudely al 
the kirk-door. The council inquired who it was that perturbed 
them at that time. Sir Robert Dou^Jas, Laird of Lochleven, 
was keeper of the kirk-door at that time, who inquired who 
that was that knocked so rudely ? and Cochran answered, 
'This is I, the Earl of Mar.' The wliich news pleased web 
the lords, because ihey were ready boun to cause take him. » 
is before rehearsedi Then the Earl of Angus passed hastily t 
the door, and with him Sir Robert Douglas of Loohleve. 
there to receive in the Earl of Mar, and so many of his coi 
plices who were there, as they thought good. And the Ea 
of Angui met with the Earl of Mar, as he came in at Vne dooi 
and pulled the golden chain from bis craig, and said to him, 
towi would set him better. Sir Robert Douglas syne pulled 
the blowing horn from him in like manner, and said, ' He had 
been the hunter of mischief over long.' This Cochran asked, 
' My lords, is it mows,^ or earnest V They answered, and 
said, ' It is good earnest, and so thou shalt find ; tor thou and 
thy complices have abused our prince this long time ; of whom 
thou shalt have no more ci«dence, but shalt have thy reward 
according to thy good service, as thou hast deserved in times 
bypast ; right so the rest of thy followers.' 

" Notwithstanding, the lords held them quiet till they caused 
certain armed men to pass into the King's pallion, and two of 
three wise men to pass with them, and give the King fail 
pleasant words, till they laid hands on all the King's servants, 
and took them and hanged them before his eyes over the bridge 
of Lawder. Incontinent they brought forth Cochran, and his 
bauds bound with a tow, who desired them to take one of hi< 
own pallion tows and bind his hands, for he thought shame to 
have his hands bound with such tow of hemp, Uke a thief 
The lords answered, he was a traitor, he deserved no better , 
and, for despight, they took a hair tether,' and hanged him 
over the bridge of Lawder, above the rest of his complices. "- 
Pitscottie, p. 78, folio edit. 



Note 3 U. 



Against the war had Angus stood, 
And chafed his royal Lord. — P. 130. 

Angus was an old man when the war against England was 
resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure from 
its commencement ; and, on the eve of the battle of Flodden, 
remonstrated so freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that the 
King said to him, with scorn and indignation, " if he was 
afraid he might go home." The Earl burst into tears at thiii 
insupportable insult, and retired accordingly, leaving his sons 
George, Master of Angus, and Sir William of Glenbervie, t*. 
command his followers. They were both stein in the battle, 
with two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The 
aged Earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his house ant* 
his country, retired into a religious house, where he died about 
a year after the field of Flodden. 



Note 3 V". 

Tantallon hold.— P. 131 

The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a hi^h rock projcctiog 
into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Ber- 
wick. The building is not seen till a close approach, as there 
is rising ground betwixt it ind the land. The circuit is of 
large extent, fenced upon three sides by the precipice whicl- 
overhangs the sea, and on the fourth by a double ditch and 
very strong outworks. Tantallon was a principal casiie cl 
the Douglas family, and when the Earl of Angns was banisbai' 
1 Rope, i Jest. 3 Halter. 



172 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



hi 15iJ7 it continued to hold out against James V. The King 
went in person against it, and for its reduction, borrowed from 
tJie Castle of Dunbar, then belonging to the Duke of Albany, 
two great cannons, whose names, as Pitscottie informs us with 
laudable minuteness, were " Thrawn-mouth'd Meg and her 
Marrow;" also, "two great botcards, and two moyan, two 
double falcons, and four quarter falcons ;" for the safe guiding 
and re-dAlvery of which, three lords were laid in pawn at 
Dinbai. Yet, notwithstanding all this apparatus, James was 
forced to raise the siege, and only afterwards obtained pos- 
Mmon of Tantallon by treaty with the governor, Simon Pa- 
BAngo. When the Earl of Angus returned from banishment, 
upon the death of James, he again obtained possession of Tan- 
tallon, dnd it actually afforded refuge to an English ambassa- 
dor, under circumstances similar to those described in the 
text. This was no other than the celebrated Sir Ralph Sadler, 
who resided there for some time under Angus's protection, 
after the failure of his negotiation for matching the infant 
Mary with Edward VI. He says, that though this place was 
poorly furnished, it was of such strength as might warrant 
him against the malice of his enemies, and that he now thought 
hims<»tf out of danger.' 

Thf-e is a military tradition, that the old Scottish March 
was meant to express the words, 

Ding down Tantallon, 
Mak a I rig to the Bass. 

Tantallon was at length "dung down" and ruined by the 
Covenanters ; its lord, the Marquis of Douglas, being a favorer 
of the royal cause. The castle and barony were sold in the 
beginning of the eighteenth century to President Dalryraple of 
North Berwick, by the then Marquis of Donglas. 



Note 3 W. 

Their motto on his blade. — P. 131. 

A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears, 
among a great deal of flourishing, two kands pointing to a 
heart, which is placed betwixt them, and the date 1329, being 
the year in which Bruce charged the Good Lord Douglas to 
vrry his heart to the Holy Land. The following lines (the 
iTrst couplet of which is quoted by Godscroft as a popular 
laying in his time) are inscribed around the emblem : 

" So mony guid as of ye Dovglas beinge 
Of ane surname was ne'er in Scotland seine. 

I will ye charge, efter yat I depart, 
To holy grawe, and thair bury my hart ; 
Let it remane ever bothb tyme and howr, 
To ye last day I sie my Saviour. 
I do protest in tyrae of al my ringe, 
Ye lyk subject had never ony keing." 

This ■jurious and valuable relic was nearly lost during the 
aivil war of 1745-6, being carried away from Douglas-Castle 
by some of those m arms for Prince Charles. But great inter- 
Mi having been made by the Duke of Douglas among the chief 
partisans of the Stuart, it was at length restored. It resembles 
1 Highland claymore, of the usual size, is of an excellent tem- 
per and admirably poised. 



Note 8 X. 

Martin Sv>art.—?. 132. 



A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by 
the Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was de- 

1 rhe very curiooa Stat« Papers of thi» able nei?otiator were, in 1810, 
<BUUa>d to Mr. Clifford, with •om« notes by the Author of Marmion. 



feated and killed at Stokefield. The nam/ of this Gcrmai. 
general is preserved by that of the field of battle, which ii 
called, after him. Swart-moor. — There were soi.gs about hiii 
long current in England. — See Dissertation prefixed to RiT 
son's jlncient Songs, 1793, p. Izi. 



Note 8 Y. 



Perchance some form was unobserved ; 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved. — P. 132. 

It was early necessary for those who felt themselves obliged 
to believe in the divine judgment being enunciated in the trial 
by duel, to find salvos for the strange and obviously precariouj 
chances of the combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used 
by those who took up an unrighteous quarrel, were sup])09ed 
sufficient to convert it into a just one. Thus, in the romance 
of " Amys and Amelion," the one brotheMn-arnis fighting 
for the other, disguised in his armor, swears that he did not 
commit the crime of which the Steward, his antagonist, truly, 
though maliciously, accused him whom he represented. Bran- 
tome tells a story of an Italian, who entered the lists upon an 
unjust quarrel, but, to make his cause good, fled from his ene- 
my at the first onset. "Turn, coward!" exclaimed his an- 
tagonist. " Thou liest," said the Italian, " coward am I none ; 
and in this quarrel will I fight to the death, but my first canso 
of combat was unjust, and I abandon it." " Je vous laissi 
a penser," adds Brantome, " s'il n'y a pas de I'abus Id." 
Elsewhere he says, very sensibly, upon the confidence which 
those who had a righteous cause entertained of victory : " Un 
autre abus y avoit-il, que ceux qui avoient un juste subjei 
de querelle, et qu'on les faisoit jurer avant entrer au camp, 
pensoient estre aussitost vainqueurs, voire s'en assuroient- 
t-ils du tout, mesmes que leurs confesseurs, parrains et con- 
Jidants leurs en respondoient tout-a-fait, comme si Dien 
leur en eust donni une patente ; et ne regardant point d 
d'autres f antes passees, et que Dicu en garde la punition i 
ce coup la pour plus grande, despiteuse, et exemjilaire," 
Dbconrs sur les Duels. 



Note 8 Z. 



The Cross.— V. 134. 



The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and cnrtons strno 
ture. The lower part was an octagonal tower, sixteen feet in 
diameter, and about fifteen feet high. At each angle there 
was a pillar, and between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. 
Above these was a projecting battlement, with a turret Bl 
each corner, and meilallions, of rude but curious workmtJi- 
ship, between them. Above this rose the proper Cross, t 
column of one stone, upwards of twenty feet nigh, surmount- 
ed with a unicorn. This pillar is preserved in the grounds al 
the property of Drum, near Edinburgh. The Magistrates o 
Edinburgh, in 1756, with consent of the Lords of Session ( prof 
pudor I) destroyed this curious monument, under a wantoi 
pretext that it encumbered the street ; while, on the one hand 
they left an ugly mass called th* Luckenbooths, and, on thi 
other, an awkward, long, and low guard-house, which weae 
fifty times more encumbrance than the venerable and inoifen- 
sive Cross. 

From the tower of the Cross, so long as it remained, the hep 
aids published the acts of Parliament ; and its site, marked bi 
radii, diverging from a stone centre, in the Higi Street, ii itiD 
the place where oioclamations are made 



APPENDIX TO IMARMION. 



v.^ 



Note 4 A. 

This awful summons came. — P. 134 

This supernatural citation is mentioned by all our Scottish 
aistorians. It was, probably, like the apparition at Linlithgow, 
an attempt, by those averse to the war, to impose upon the 
luperstitious temper of James IV. The following account from 
Pitscottie is characteristically minute, and furnishes, besides, 
tome curious particulars of the equipment of the army of James 
IV. ] need only add to it, that Plotcoek, or Plutock, is no 
jthej '.han Pluto. The Christians of the middle ages by no 
•neajs misbelieved in the existence of the heathen deities ; they 
July considered them as devils;' and Plotcoek, so far from 
mplymg any thing fabulous, was a synonyme of the grand 
.memy of mankind. " Yet all thir warnings, and uncouth 
tidings, nor no good counsel, might stop the King, at this pres- 
ent, from his vain purpose, and wicked enterprize, but hasted 
him fast to Edinburgh, and there to make his provision and 
furnishing, in having forth his army against the day appointed, 
that they should meet in the Burrow-muir of Edinburgh : 
That is to say, seven cannons that he had forth of the Castle 
of Edinburgh, which were called the Seven Sisters, casten by 
Robert Borthwick, the master-gunner, with other small artille- 
ry, bullet, powder, and all manner of order, as the master-gun- 
ner could devise. 

" In this meantime, when they were taking forth their artil- 
lery, and the King being in the Abbey for the time, there was 
a cry heard at the Market-cross of Edinburgh, at the honr of 
midnight, proclaiming as it had been a summons, which was 
named and called by the proclaimer thereof. The Summons 
uf Plotcoek ; which desired all men to compear, both Earl, and 
Lord, and Baron, and all honest gentlemen within the town 
(every man specified by his own name;, to compear, within 
the space of forty days, before his master, where it should hap- 
pen him to appoint, and be for the time, under the pain of dis- 
obedience. But whether this summons was proclaimed by 
vain persons, night-walkers, or drunken men, for their pastime, 
or if it was a spirit, I cannot tell truly ; but it was shewn to 
■ne, that an indweller of the town, Mr. Ricnard Lawson, being 
evil-disposed, ganging in his gallery-stair foreanent the Cross, 
hearing this voice proclaiming this summons, thought marvel 
what it should be, cried on his servant to bring him his purse ; 
and when he had brought him it, he took out a crown, and 
cast over the stair, saying, ' I appeal from that summons, 
judgment, and sentence thereof, and takes me all whole in the 
mercy of God, and Christ Jesus his son.' Verily, the author 
of this, that caused me write the manner of this summons, was 
a landed gentleman, who was at that time twenty years of age, 
and was in the town the time of the said summons ; and there- 
after, when the lield was stricken, he swore to me, there was no 
man that escaped that was called in this summons, but that one 
man alone which made his protestation, and appealed from the 
said summons ; bat all the lave were perished in the field with 
the king." 



Note 4 B. 



One of his own ancestry, 

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry. — P. 136. 

I'liis relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion 
n the reign of King Stephen, whom William of Newbury de- 
•cribes with some attributes of my fictitious hero : "Homo bel- 
licosua, femcia, et astucia, fere nulla suo tempore impar." 
This Baron, having expelled the Monks from the church of 
CAventry, wras not long of experiencing the divine jndgment, 



1 8e«, oo this curioni rabject, the Eaaay on Fairies, in the " Border Min- 
Iftreliy,'' "ol. ii. anier the fourth head-, aUo Jackson on Unbelief, p. 1T6. 
fluacer calls Pluto tilt " King of Faerie ;" and Dunbar names him, ** Plulo, 
%tX Alhtk iacnbus.'* Lf he was not ar.tually the devil, he must be consid- 



as the same monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having 
waged a feudal war with the Earl of Cheoter. Marmion's horse 
fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, against a t>ody ol 
the Earl's followers : the rider's thigh being broken by the fall, 
his head was cut off by a common foot-soldier, ere he conld 
receive any snccor. The whole story is iold bv William ol 
Newbury. 



Note 4 C. 



the savage Dane 



At lol more deep the mead did drain. — P. 137. 

The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christ 
mas in Scotland) was solemnized with great festivity. The 
humor of the Danes at table displayed itself in pelting each 
other with bones ; and Torfffius tells a long and curious story, 
in the History of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Hottus, an inmate ol 
the Court of Denmark, who was so generally assailed with 
these missiles, that he constructed, out of the bones with which 
he was overwhelmed, a very respectable intrenchment, against 
those who continued the raillery. The dances of the northern 
warriors round the great fires of pine-trees, are commemorated 
by Olaus Magnus, who says, they danced with such fury 
holding each other by the hands, that, if the grasp of any fail 
ed, he was pitched into the fire with the velocity of a sling 
The sufferer, on such occasions, was instantly plucked out 
and obliged to quaff ofTa certain measure of ale, as a penaltj 
for " spoiling the king's fire." 



Note 4 D. 
Ore Christmas eve. — P. 137. 

In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never said at night, 
except on Christmas eve. Each of the frolics with which that 
holiday used to be celebrated, might admit of a long and cu 
rious note ; but I shall content myself with the following de 
scription of Christmas, and his attributes, as personified in one 
of Ben Jonson's Masques for the Court. 

" Enter Christmas with two or three of the Ouard. He 
is attired in round hose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high- 
crowned hat, with a brooch, a long thin beard, a truncheon, 
little rufTs, white shoes, his scarfs and garters tied cross, and his 
drum beaten before him. — TTke names of his children, with 
their attires : Miss-Rule, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a sliort 
cloak, great yellow ruff", like a reveller ; his torch-bearer, bear- 
ing a rope, a cheese, and a basket ; — Caroll, a long tawny coat, 
with a red cap, and a flute at his girdle ; his torch-bearer car- 
rying a song-book, open ; — Minc'd-pie, like a fine cook's >vife, 
drest neat, her man carrying a pie, dish, and spoons ; — Oamr 
boll, like a tumbler, with a hoop and bells ; his torch-bearei 
arm'd with cole-staff", and blinding cloth; — Post and Pair, 
with a pair-royal of aces in his hat, his garment all done j»w 
with pairs and purs ; his squire carrying a box, cards, lai 
counters ; — JVew-year's-Oift, in a blue-coat, serving-maa ike 
with an orange, and a sprig of rosemary gilt on his nead, hu 
hat full of brooches, with a collar of gingerbread ; his torch- 
bearer carrying a march-pain, with a bottle of wine on eitnei 
arm ; — Mumming, in a masquing pied suit, with a visor ; hii 
torch-bearer carrying the box, and ringing it ; — Wassal, Ike a 
neat sempster and songster ; her page bearing a brown bowl, 
drest with ribbands, and rosemary, before her ; — Offering, in 
a short gown, with a porter's staff" in his hand ; a wyth bom« 
before him, and a bason, by his torch-bearer ; — Baby Cocke 

ered as the " prince of the power of the air." The most remsrtcable in 
stance of these surrivin^ cUesical superstitions, is that of the Germans, cou 
cemiog the Hill of Venus, into which she attempts to entice all g&UaW 
knights, and detains tbeu there in • sort of Fool's Puadisa. 



174 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



dmt tike a boy, in a fine long coat, biggin, bib, mnckender, 
knd ^ little dagger ; his asher bearing a great cake, with a bean 
wd i pease." 



No-T! 4 E 

f^ho lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery. — P. 138. 

li teems certain, that the Mummers of England, who (in 
Korthnmberland at least) used to go about in disguise to the 
naghboring houses, bearing the then useless ploughshare ; and 
ihe Ouieards of & lotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in 
Kme indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which 
Here the origin of the English drama. In Scotland (me ipso 
Uste), we were wont, during my boyhood, to take the charac- 
ters of the apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot ; 
the first had the keys, the second carried a sword, and the last 
the bag, in which the dole of our neighbors' plumb-cake was 
dtjoosited. One placed a champion, and recited some tradi- 
tional rhymes ; another was 

. . . . " Alexander, King of Macedon, 
Who conquer'd all the world but Scotland alone : 
When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold, 
To see a little nation courageous and bold." 

These, and many such verses, were repeated, but by rote, and 
anconnectedly. There was also, occasionally, I believe, a 
Saint George. In aU, there was a confused resemblance of the 
ancient mysteries, in which the characters of Scripture, the 
Nine Worthies, and other popular personages, were usually 
exhibited. It were much to be wished that the Chester Mys- 
teries were published from the MS. in the Museum, with the 
annotations which a diligent investigator of popular antiquities 
Tii?ht still supply. The late acute and valuable antiquary, 
Mr. Ritson, showed me several memoranda towards such a 
jLsk, which are probably now dispersed or lost. See, however, 
bl> Rsmarks on Shakspeare, 1783, p. 38. 

Since the first edition of Marmion appeared, tliis subject has 
received much elucidation from the learned and extensive la- 
bors of Mr. Douce ; and the Chester Mysteries [edited by J. 
H. Markland, Esq.] have been printed in a style of great ele- 
i;ance and accuracy (in 1818), by Bensley and Sons, London, 
for the Roxburghe Club. 1830. 



Note 4 F. 

Where my great-grandsire came of old, 
fVith amber beard and flaxen hair. — P. 138. 

Mr. Scott of Harden,' my kind and affectionate friend, and 
ilifltant relation, has the original of a poetical invitation, ad- 
Ireased from his grandfather to my relative, from which a few 
ines in the text are imitated. They are dated, as the epistle 
1 \hr text, from Mertonn-house, the seat of the Harden fara- 

'■ With amber beard, and flaxen hair, 
And reverend apostolic air, , 

Free of anxiety and care. 
Come hither. Christma-s-day, and dine ; 
We'll mix sobriety with wine, 
And easy mirth with thoughts divine. 
We Christians think it holiday. 
On it no sin to feast or play ; 
Others, in spite, may fast and pray. 
No superstition in the use 
Oar ancestors made of a goose ; 

» Now Lord Polwarth. 

1 The old gentlemnn wu sn istlmste of thii celebrated genitu. By 
k« bvm rf tb« Ut« Earl of Kellie, who wm deacended on the mat«nuU 



Why may not we, as well as thej, 
Be innocently blithe that day, 
On goose or pie, on wine or ale. 
And scorn enthusiastic zeal ? — • 

Pray come, and welcome, or plague rott 
Your friend and landlord, Walter Scott. 
" Mr. Walter Scott, Lessuden." 

The venerable old gentleman, to whom the lines are addresi 
ed, was the younger brother of William Scott of Eaebum 
Being the cadet of a cadet of the Harden family, he had verj 
little to lose ; yet he contrived to lose the small . roperty ll* 
had, by engaging in the civil wars and intrigues of the hoaM 
of Stuart. His veneration lor the exiled family was so great, 
that he swore he would not shave his beard till they were re- 
stored : a mark of attachment, which, I suppose, had beep 
common during Cromwell's usurpation ; for, in Cowley's 
" Cutter of Coleman Street," one drunken cavalier upbraids 
another, that, when he was not able to afford to pay a barber, 
he affected to " wear a beard for the King." I sincerely hope 
this was not absolutely the original reason of my ancestor's 
beard ; wliich, as appears from a portrait in the possession 
Sir Henry Hay Macdougal, Bart., and another painted f ^ 
famous Dr. Pitcairn,^ was a beard of a most dignified ant 
venerable appearance. 



Note 4 G. 

The Spirit's Blasted Tree.—V. 139. 

I am permitted to illustrate this passage, by inserting " Ceu 
bren yr Ellyll, or the Spirit's Blasted Tree," a legendary tale, 
by the Reverend George Warrington : — 

" The event, on which this tale is founded, is preserved liy 
tradition in the family of the Vanghans of Hengwyrt ; nor ii 
it entirely lost, even among the common people, who still 
point out this oak to the passenger. The enmity between the 
two Welsh chieftains, Howel Sele, and Owen Glendwr, was 
extreme, and marked by vile treachery in the one, and fero- 
cious cruelty in the other ' The story is somewhat changed 
and softened, as more favorable to the character of the two 
chiefs, and as better answering the purpose of poetry, by ad- 
mitting the passion of pity, and a greater degree of sentiment 
in the description. Some trace of Howel Sele's mansion waa 
to be seen a few years ago, and may perhaps be still visible, in 
the park of Nannau, now belonging to Sir Robert Vaughan, 
Baronet, in the wild and romantic tracks of Merionethshire 
The abbey mentioned passes under two names, Vener and 
Cymmer. The former is retained, as more generall) used. 

THE SPIRIT'S BLASTED TREE. 

Ceubren yr Ellyll 

" Through Nannan's Chase, as Howe! pass'a 
A chief esteem'd both brave and kind. 
Far distant borne, the stag-bounds' cry 
Came murmuring on the hollow wind. 

" Starting, he bent an eager ear, — 

How should the sounds return again 1 
His hounds lay wearied from the chase, 
And all at home his banter train. 

" Then sudden anger flashed hie eye 
And deep revenge he vow'd to taK9 
On that bold man who dared to force 
His red-deer from tlie forest Drake 

fide from Dr. Pitcaim, my father became posseMoa of the portrait m >^ 

ttOD. 

8 The biitory of their fend may be found in Pennaet't Toot in WaU*. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



in 



" Unhappy Chief ! wonM nanght avail, 
No signs impress thy heart with fear, 
Thy lady's dark mysterions dream, 
Thv warning from the hoary seer 1 

Three ravens gave the note of death, 
As through mid-air they wiug'd their way ; 

Then o'er his head, in rajnd flight. 

They croals, — they scent tlieir destined prey. 

• Ill-omen'd bird ! as legends say. 

Who hast the wondrous power to know. 
While healtli fills high the throbbing veins. 
The fated hour when blood must flow. 

' Blinded by rage, alone he pass'd, 
Nor sought his ready vassals' aid : 
But what his fate lay long unknown, 
For «naii 7 nn unxions year delay'd. 

A peasant mark'd his angry eye. 
He saw him reach the lake's dark bourne, 

He saw him near a Blasted Oak, 
But never from that hour return. 

Three days pass'd i i>r, no tidings came ; — 
Where should the _hief his steps delay 1 

With wild alarm the servants ran, 
Yei knew not where to point their way. 

" His vassals ranged the mountain's height, 
The covert close, the wide-spread plain ; 
But all in vain their eager search. 
They ne'er mast see their lord again. 

'♦ Yet Fancy, in a thousand shapes, 

Bore to his home the Chief once more : 
Some saw him on high Moal's top, 
Some saw him on the winding shore. 

With wonder fraught the tale went round. 
Amazement chain'd the hearer's tongue : 

Each peasant felt his own sad loss. 
Vet fondly o'er the story hung. 

Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light. 
His aged nurse and steward gray 

Would lean to catch the storied sounds, 
Or mark the flitting spirit stray. 

Pale lights on Cader's rocks were seen, 
And midnight voices heard to moan ; 
Twas even said the Blasted Oak, 
Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan : 

And to this day the peasant atill. 

With cautious fear, avoids the gronnd : 

In each wild branch a spectre sees. 
At i trembles at each rising sound 

Ten annual suns had held their course, 
Ii summer's smile, or winter storm ; 

The lady shed the jvidow'd tear. 
As oft she traced his manly form. 

Vet itill to nope her heart would cling 
At o'er the mind illusions play, — 

*M travel fond, perhaps her lord 
To distant lands had steer'd hi» wav. 



" 'Twas now November's cheerless hour. 
Which drenching rain and clouds deface 
Dreary bleak Robell's tract appear'd, 
And dull and dank each valley's spaca 

" Load o'er the weir the hoarse flood fell, 
And dash'd the foaming spray ou high ; 
The west wind bent the forest tops. 
And angry frown'd the evening sly. 

" A stranger pass'd Llanelltid's bourne, 
His dark-gray steed with sweat besprent 
Which, wearied with the lengthen'd way. 
Could scarcely gain the hill's ascent. 

' The portal reach'd, — the iron bell 

Loud sounded round the outward wall ; 
ftnick sprang the warder to the gate. 
To know what meant the clam'rous call 

" ' O I lead me to your lady soon ; 
Say, — it is ray sad lot to tell. 
To clear the fate of that brave knight. 
She long has proved she loved so well 

"Then, as he cross'd the spacious hall, 
The menials look surprise and fear ; 
Still o'er his harp old Modred hung. 
And touch'd the notes for grief's worn ea. 

" The lady sat amidst her train ; 

A mellow'd sorrow mark'd her look: 
Then, asking what his mission meant, 
The graceful stranger sigh'd and spoke: 

" ' O could I spread one ray of hope. 

One moment raise thy soul from woo, 
Gladly my tongue would tell its tale. 
My words at ease unfetter'd flow I 

" ' Now, lady, give attention due. 

The story claims thy full belief: 
E'en in the worst events of life. 
Suspense removed is some relief. 

" ' Though worn by care, see Madoe here. 

Great Glyndwr's friend, thy kindred's foa I 
Ah, let his name no anger raise, 
For now that mighty Chief lies low. 

" ' E'en from the day, when, chain'd by fate. 
By wizard's dream, or potent spell. 
Lingering from sad t?alopia's field 
'Reft of his aid the Percy fell ;— 

" ' E'en from that day misfortune still, 
As if for violated faith. 
Pursued him with unwearied step ; 
Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. 

" ' Vanquish'd at length, the Glyndwr fled, 

Where winds the Wye her devious flood } 
To find a casual shelter there. 
In some lone cot, or desert wood. 

" ' Clothed in a shepherd's hnmble guise. 
He gain'd by toil his scanty bread ; 
He who had Cambria's sceptre born* 
And her brave aons to glory led I 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



' To pennry extreme, and grief, 

The Chieftain fell a lingering prey ; 
I heard his last few faltering words, 
Snch as with pain I now convey. 

'' ' To Sele's sad widow bear the tale. 
Nor let oar horrid secret rest ; 
Oive but his corse to sacred earth, 

fhen may ray parting soul be blest.'— 

' Dim wax'd the eye that fiercely shone. 
And faint the tongue that proudly spoke, 
And weak that arm, still raised to rae, 
Which oft had dealt the mortal stroke. 

' How could I then his mandate hesxl 
Or how his last behest obey ? 
K rebel deem'd, with him I fled ; 
With hira I shnnn'd the light of day. 

' Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage, 
My country lost, despoil'd ray land, 
Desperate, I fled my native soil. 
And fought on Syria's distant strand. 

'Oh, had thy long-lamented lord 

The holy cross and banner view'd. 
Died in the sacred cause I who fell 
Sad victim of a private feud I 

* ' Led by the ardor of the chase. 

Far distant from his own domain. 
From where Garthmaelan spreads her shades 
The Glyndwr sought the opening plain. 

M < With head aloft and antlers wide, 

A red buck roused then oross'd in view : 
Stung with the sight, and wild with rage. 
Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew. 

' * With bitter taunt and keen rejjroach. 
He, all impetuous, pour'd his rage ; 
Reviled the Chief, as weak in arms, 
And bade him loud the battle wage. 

" ' Glyndwr for once restrain'd his sword, 
And, still averse, the fight delays; 
But soften'd words, like oil to fire. 
Made anger more intensely blaze. 

' ' They fought ; and doubtful long the fray ' 
The Glyndwr gave the fatal wound 1 
Still mournful must my tale proceed. 
And its last act all dreadful sound. 

' How coaid we hope for wish'd retreat, 
His eager vassals ranging wide, 
His bloodhounds' keen sagacious scent, 
U'er many a trackless mountain tried. 

' ' 1 mark'd a broad and Blasted Oak, 

Scorch'd by the lightning's livid glare 
Hollow its stem from branch to root. 
And all its shrivell'd arms were ban. 

' Be this, I cried, his proper grave ! — 
(The thought in me was deadly ein,) 
Aloft we raised the hapless Chief, 
▲nd dropp'd his bleeding cotdm within 



" A shriek from all the damsels bnrst. 
That pierced the vaulted roofs below; 
While horror-struck the Lady stood, 
A living form of sculptured woe. 

" With stupid stare and vacant gaze. 
Full on his face her eyes were cast, 
Absorb'd ! — she lost her present grief. 
And faintly thought of things lon;» past. 

• 
" Like wild-fire o'er a mossy heath. 

The rumor through the hamlet ran ; 

The peasants crowd at morning dawn. 

To hear the tale — behold the man. 

" He led them near the Blasted Oak, 

Then, conscious, from the scene withdrew j 
The peasants work with trembling haste, 
And lav the whiten'd bones to view 1 — 

" Back they recoil'd I — the right hand still, 
Contracted, grasp'd a rusty sword ; 
Which erst in many a battle gleara'd, 
And proudly deck'd their slaughter'd lord 

" They bore the corse to Vener's shrine, 
With holy rites and prayers address'd ; 
Nine white-robed monks the last dirge saDf , 
And gave the angry spirit rest." 



Note 4 H. 



The Highlander - 



Will, on a Friday morn, look pale. 
If ask'd to tell a fairy tale." — P. 139. 

The Daoine shi', oi Men of Peace, of the Scottish llign 
landers, rather resemble the Scandinavian Duergar than the 
English Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they are, ii 
not absolutely malevolent, at least peevish, discontented, and 
apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of their 
existence is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, who think 
they are particularly offended at mortals who talk of them, 
who wear their favorite color, green, or in any respect interfere 
with their affairs. This is especially to be avoided on Friday 
when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom, in Ger- 
many, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or 
for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed 
of greater power. Some curious particulars concemmg the 
popular superstitions of the Highlanders may be found in Dr. 
Graham's Picturesque Ski'tches of Perthshire. 



Note 4 1. 
The towers of Franehimont. — P. 139. 

The journal of the friend to whom the Fonrth Canto of tfiM 
Poem is inscribed, famished me with the following account (A 
a striking superstition. 

" Passed the pretty little village ul Franch6mont (neat 
Spaw), with the romantic ruins of the old castle of the Coun'j 
of that name. The road leads through many delightful vales 
on a rising ground ; at the extremity of one of them stands 
the ancient castle, now the subject of many superstitious 
legends. It is firmly believed by the neighboring peasantry, 
that the last Baron of Franch^mont deposited, in one of the 
vaults of the castle, a ponderous cheat, containing an iia 
mense treasure in gold and silver, which, by some magic spell, 
was intrusted to tlie care of the Devil, who is constantly f^aaa 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. * 



177 



dtting on ihe chest 'n the sh ipe of a hontsman. Any one 
adventurous enough to touch the chest is instantly seized 
with the palsy. Upon one occasion, a priest of noted piety 
was brought to the vault : he used all the arts of exorcism to 
persuade his internal majesty to vacate his seat, iut in vain ; 
lbs huntsman remained immovable. At last, moved by the 
eamestaess of the priest, he told him that he would agree to 
resign the chest, if the exorciser would sign his name with 
olood. But \he priest understood his meaning, and refused, 
IS l)» that act he would have delivered over his soui to the 
Devil. Yet if anybody can discover the mystic words used 
•y the person who deposited the treasure, and pronounce 
tiera, the Send must instantly decamp. I had many stories 
)( a similar nature from a [)easant, who had h'mself seen the 
Oevil n the shape of a great cat." 



Note 4 K 



The very form of Hilda fair. 
Hovering upon the sunny air, 
And smiling on her votaries' prayer. — P. 141. 

' I shall only produce one instance more of the great ven- 
eration paid to I<ady Hilda, which still prevails even in these 
oui dajs ; and that is, the constant opinion that she rendered, 
and still renders, herself visible, on some occasions, in the 
Abbey of Streanshalh or Whitby, where she so lonj resided. 
At a particular time of the year (viz. in the summer months), 
at ten or eleven in the forenoon, the sunbeams lail :a the 
inside ot me nortnern part of the choir ; and 'tis then that the 
spectators, who stand on the west side of Whitby churchyard, 
DO as just to see the most northerly part of the abbey pass the 
<>rth end of Whitby chnrch, imagine they perceive, in one 
«f the highest windows there, the resemblance ot a woman 
arrayed in a shroud. Though we are certain this is only a 
leflection caused bv the splendor of the sunbeams, yet fame 
repons it, and it is constantly believed among the vulgar, to 
be an appearance of Lady Hilda in her shroud, or rather in a 
(glorified state : before which. I make no doubt, the Pspists, 
even in tliese our days offer ud their prayers with as much 
teal and devotion as belbre any other image of their most 
glorified saint." — Charlton's History of Whitby, p. 33. 



Note 4 L. 



the litise and sweeping brand 

Which wont of yore, in battle fray, 
His foemen's limbs to shred away, 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. — P. 143. 

The Rarl of Angus had strength and personal activity cor- 
responding to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favorite 
of James IV., having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him 
while hawking, and, compelling him to single combat, at one 
blow cut asunder his thighbone, and killed him on the spot. 
But ere he could obtain James's pardon for this slaughter, 
Ang^s was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in ex- 
.;i.ange for that of Bothwell, which was some diminution to 
the family greatness. The sword with which he struck so 
remarkable a blow, was presented by his descendant James, 
Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord Lin- 
(lesay of the Byres, when he defied Bothwell to single combat 
»B Carberry Hill. See Introduction to the Minstrelsy of the 
ilcittish Border. 



Note 4 M. 



Ana hopest thou hence unscathed to go 7 
JVo / by St. Bride of Bothwell, ni I 
Up drawbridge, grooms I — What, Warder ko > 
Let the portcullis fall. — P. 144. 
23 



This ebullition of violence 'a the potent Earl of Angus ii 
not without its example in t. le real history of the house ol 
Douglas, whose chieftains possessed the ferocity, with tha 
heroic virtues of a savage state. The most cnrions instance 
occurred in the case of Maclellan, Tutor of Bombay, who 
having refused to ai:knowledje the pre-«minence claimed by 
Douglas over the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, was 
seized and imprisoned by the Earl, in his castle of the Thrieve 
on the borders of Kirkcudbrightshire. Sit Patrick '■'-/ 
commander of King James the f^econd's guard, was nncle to 
the Tutor of Bombay, and obtained from the King a " sweet 
letter of supplication," praying the Earl tj deliver his piisonet 
into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick arrived at the castly. 
he was received with all the honor due to a favorite se^ 
vant of the King's household ; but while he was at dinner, 
the Earl, who suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to b« 
led forth and beheaded. After dinner. Sir Patrick presented 
the King's letter to the Earl, who received it with great affec- 
tation of reverence ; " and took him by the hand, and led hira 
forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and 
showed hira the manner, and said, ' Sir Patrick, you are come 
a little too late ; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants 
the head ; take his body, and do with it what you will.' — Sii 
Patrick answered again, with a sore heart, and said, 'My 
lord, if ye have taken from him his head, dispone upon the 
body as ye please ;' and with that called for his horse, and 
leaped thereon ; and when he was on horseback, he said to 
the Earl on this manner, " My lord, if 1 live you shall be 
rewarded for your labors that you have used at this time 
according to your demerits.' 

" At this saying the Earl was highly offendsd, and cried foi 
horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, spurred his hone 
but he was chased near Edinburgh ere they left him ; and had 
it not been his led horse was so tried and good, he had beer 
taken." — Pitscottib's History, p. 39. 



Note 4 N. 



A letter forged .' — Saint Jude to speed ! 
Did ever knight so foul a deed I — P. 144. 

Lest the reader should partake of the Earl's astoiiishmen. 
and consider the crime as inconsistent with the manners of tin 
period, I have to remind him of the numerous forgeries (partly 
executed by a female assistant) devised by Robert of Artois, 
lO forward his suit against the Countess Matilda ; which, being 
detected, occasioned his flight into England, and prrved tht 
remote cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars in 
France. John Harding, also, was expressly hired by Edward 
VI. to forge such documents as might appear to establish the 
claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English mouarciui 



Note 4 0. 
Lennel's convent. — P. 1 15. 

This was a Cistertian house of n Mgion, now almost e-'tirB i 
demolished. Lennel House is now the residence of ntj aai 
able friend, Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so well kno«n ■ tht 
literary world. i It is situated near Coldstream, almost opposit* 
to Comhill, and consequently very near to Flodden Field. 



Note 4 P. 

Twisel bridge.—?. 145. 

On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Floduou, 
Surrey's head-quarters were at Barraoor Wood, aiid Kinj 

1 First Edition.— Mr. Brydone hu been maujr yean dea<i IStt. 



178 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'»3ie« held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Flodden-hill, 
•n« of the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge 
»f Uheviol. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded between 
th« armies. On tlie morning of the 9th September, 1513, 
Sorrey n.ai^hed in a northwesterly direction, and crossed the 
Till, with his van and artillery, at Twisel-bridge, nigh where 
that river joins the Tweed, his rear-guard column passing 
about a mile higher, by a ford. This movement had the 
doab'.e effect of placing his army between King James and his 
topplies from Scotlatii and of striking the Scottish monarch 
with surprise, as he seems to have relied on the depth of the 
rivei in his front. But sis the passage, both over the bridge 
tnd through the ford, was difficult and slow, it seems possible 
that the English might have been attacked to great advantage 
while strugghng with these natural obstacles. I know not if 
we are to impute James's forbearance to want of military skill, 
or to the romantic declaration which Pitscottie puts in his 
mouth. " that he was determined to have his enemies before 
birn on a plain field," and therefore would suffer no interrup- 
tion to be given, even by artillery, to their passing the river. 

The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English crossed 
the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a splendid pile 
of Gothic architecture, as now rebuilt by Sir Francis Blake, 
Bart., whose extensive plantations have so much improved the 
country around. The glen is romantic and delightful, with 
rteep banks or each side, covered with copse, particularly with 
hawthorn. Beneath a tall rock, near the bridge, is a plentiful 
foani«in, called St. Helen's Well. 



Note 4 Q. 

Hence might they see the full array 

Of either host, for deadly fray. — P. 147. 

The reader cannot here expect a full account of the battle 
(>• Flodden ; but, so far as is necessary to understand the ro- 
mance, I beg to remind him, that when the English army, by 
iheir skilful countermarch, were fairly placed between King 
James and his own country, the Scottish monarch resolved to 
fight ; and, setting fire to his tents, descended from the ridge 
of Flodden to secure the neighboring eminence of Brankstone, 
«u which that village is built. Thus the two armies met, almost 
without seeing each other, when, according to the old poem of 
" Flodden Field," 

" The English line stretch'd east and west, 
And southward were th^ir faces set ; 
The Scottish northward pkoudly prest. 
And manfully th»ir foes they met." 

The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, 
which first engag sd, were the sons of Earl Surrey, namely, 
Thonia-s Howard, the Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, 
the Knight Marshal of the army. Their divisions were sepa- 
»ated from each other; but, at the request of Sir Edmund, his 
orother's battalion was drawn very near to his own. The 
cei 're WAS ujmmanded by Surrey in person ; the left wing by 
Sir Bdwird Stanley, with the men of Lancashire, atd of the 
i»Iatinate af Chester. Lord Dacres. with a large body of 
hone, formed a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind 
had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, they 
i>erceived the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a similar 
•rJer of battle, and io deep silence.' The Earla of Huntley 



I ** Lttquclz MscoHgtyit deseendirent la montai^t en bonne ordrt^ en 
la manieje que marchent Us JUemane sans parler, ne /aire nucun 
fcmir."— Gazette of the battle, Pinkerton^s History^ Appendix, vol. ii. 
p. 456. 

1 " In 1810, aa Sir Caniaby Haggerstone'a workmen were digg:ing in 
Flodden Field, they came to a pit filled with human bones, and which 
IMmed of ejeat enent ; but, alarmed at the sight, they immediately filled 
10 the excavation an*' proceeded no farther. 

" In 1811, Mr. Iray of Millfle' 1 Hi fou»., ne* the traceg of an ancient 



and of Home commanded their left wing, and charged Sii 
Edmund Howard with such success as entirely to defeat hii 
part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's banner wa» 
beaten down, and he himself escaped with difficulty to hi} 
brother's division. The Admiral, however, stood firm ; ar.'' 
Dacre advancing to his support with the reserve of cavalry 
probably between the interval of the divisions cxmmandrd bv 
the brothers Howard, appears lo have kept the victors ii 
effectual check. Home's men, chiefly Borderers, begai. «« 
pillage the baggage of both armies ; and their leader is brande<. 
by the Scottish historians with negligence or treachery. Or 
the other hand, Huntley, on whom they bestow many enoo 
miums, is said by the English historians to have left the fie!' 
after the first charge. Meanwhile the Admiral, whose flank 
these chiefs ought to have attacked, availed himself of Iheii 
inactivity, and pushed forward against another iirge di^sion 
of the Scottish army in his front, headed by the Earls ot 
Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain, and theii 
forces routed. On the left, the success of the English was yet 
more decisive ; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of tin- 
disciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennox and Argyle, 
was unable to sustain the charge of Sir Edward Stanley, and 
especially the severe execution of the Lancashire archers. 
The King and Surrey, who commanded the respective centres 
of their armies, were meanwhile engaged In close and dubious 
conflict. James, surrounded by the flower of his kingdom, and 
impatient of the galling discharge of arrows, supported also by 
his reserve under Bothwell, charged with such fury, that the 
standard of Surrey was in danger. At that critical moment, 
Stanley, who had routed the left wing of the Scottish, pniraed 
his career of victory, and arrived on the right flank, and in luc 
rear of James's division, which, throwing itself into a circle 
disputed the battle till night came on. Surrey then drew 
back his forces ; for the Scottish centre not having been 
broken, and their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted 
the event of the field. The Scottish army, however, felt thei' 
loss, and abandoned the field of battle in disorder, befom 
dawn. They lost, perhaps, from eight to ten thousand men . 
but that included the very prime of their nobility, gentry, and 
even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but has an aucestoi 
killed at Flodden ; and there is no province in Scotland, even 
at this day, where the battle is mentioned without a sensation 
of terror and sorrow. Tlie English lost also a great number ol 
men, perhaps "-Mihin one-third of the vanquished, brt they 
were of inferior note. — See the only distinct detail of the Field 
of Flodden in Pinkerton's History, Book xi. ; all formei 
accounts being full of blunders and inconsistency. 

The spot from which Clara views the battle must je sup- 
posed to have been on a hillock commanding the rear of the 
English right wing, which was defeated, aud in which coallioi 
Marmion is supposed to have fallen.^ 



Note 4 R. 

Brian Tunstall, stainless Inight — P 14'-' 

Sir Brian Tnnstall, called in the romantic angtiage ol th. 
time, Tnnstall the Undefiled, was one of the few Bnglishuier 
of rank slain at Flodden. He figures in the ancient English 
poem, to which I may safely refer my readers ; as an edition, 
with full explanatory notes, has been published by mv friend, 
Mr. Henry Weber. Tnnstall, perhajis, derived his epithet oi 



encampment, a short distance from Flodden H Jl, a tnmnlua, which, on re 
moving, exliibited a very eingular sepulchre. In the centre, a large uiu 
was found, but in a thousand pieces. It bad either been broken to piecei 
by the stones falling upon it when digging, or had gone to pieces on the ad- 
mission of the air. This urn was surrounded by a number of cells formed 
of flat stones, in the shape of graves, but too snuill to bold the body in its 
natural state. These sepulchral recesses contained nothing except aihe*. 
or dust of the same kind as that in tne uro."—Sykes' Local Rscards {* 
rols. Svo, 1833), vol. ii. pp. 60 and in>. 



APPENDIX TO MARMION. 



179 



tasdeJUid from his white armor and banner, the latter bearing 

white cock, aboat to crow, as well as from his unstained loy- 

Mid knightly faith. His place of residence was Thurland 



Note 4 S. 



neemess of life, he desperate foug/tt. 

And fell on Flndden plain ; 
And well in ucat/i his trusty brand, 
Firm clench'd within his manly hand, 

Beseemed the monarch slain. — P. 15i 

Thei>» can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle 
of Flodden. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, 
within a lance's length of the Earl of Surrey ; and the same 
account adds, that none of his division were made prisoners, 
though many were killed ; a circumstance that testifies the des- 
peration of their resistance. The Scottish historians record 
IS any of the idle reports which passed among the vulgar of 
their day. Home was accused, by the popular voice, not only 
of failing to support the King, but even of having carried him 
out of the field, and murdered him. And this tale was revived 
in my remembrance, by an unauthenticated story of a skeleton, 
wrapped in a bull's hide, and surrounded with an iron chain, 
Baid to have been found in the well of Home Castle ; for 
which, on inquiry, I could never find any better authority than 
the sexton of the parish having said, that, if the well were 
cleaned out, he would not be surprised at such a discovery. 
Home was the chamberlain of the King, and his prime favor- 
ite ; he had much to lose (in fact did lose all) in consequence 
if James's death, and nothing earthly to gain by that event : 
tnt the retfiiat, or inactivity of ihf> "h wing whioi) be com- 



manded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, and even tbs 

circumstance of his returning unhurt, and loaded with s- oil 
from so fatal a conflict, rendered the propagation of any c.aiatr 
ny against him easy and acceptable. Other reports gave a st 
more romantic turn to the King's fate, and averred that Jaia 
weary of greatness after the carnage among his nobles, had gr j 
on a pilgrimage, to merit absolution for the death of his fatjier 
and the breach of his oath of amity to Henry. In particn)j» 
it was objected to the English, that they could never show &/ 
token of the iron belt ; which, however, he was liKeiy en r/fi 
to have laid aside on the day of battle, as encJ!;nbering hit par 
sonal exertions. They produce a better evidence, the mon'jrct t 
sword and dagger, which are still preserved in the Kersili'i 
College in London. Stowe has recorded a degrading story o( 
the disgrace with which the remains of the unfortunate mon- 
arch were treated in his time. An unhewn column marks th» 
spot where James fell, still called the King's Stone. 



Note 4 T. 



The fair cathedral storm' d and took. — P. 151. 

This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been gam 
soned on the part of the King, took place in the Great Civil 
War. Lord Brook, who, with Sir .lohn Gill, commanded the 
assailants, was shot with a musket-ball through the visor of 
his helmet. The royalists remarked, that he was killed by s 
shot fired from St. Chad's cathedral, and upon St. Chad's Day, 
and received his death-wound in the very eye with which, hi 
had said, he hoped to see the ruin of all the cathedrals in Enf 
land. The magnificent church in question suffered ameU\ 
upon this, and other occasions ; the principa. f^ini b«iof r^iiMi 
by the file of the beiiegan. 



J 



Slie Cabj) of tl)c £ake: 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



iNTRorrariuN to edition isso. 

After the success of " Marmion," I felt inclined 
'o exclaun with Ulysses in the " Odyssey" — 

OvTof ftiv ifi aed\oi diitiro? iKTtTi^tdTai. 
NCi' avTt OKoTTov aWov. Oilys. j^, 1. 5. 

" One renturous game my hand has won to-day — 
Another, gallants, >e\ remains to play." 

The ancient manners, the habits and customs of 
the aboriginal race by whom the Highlands of 
Scotland were inhabited, had always appeared to 
me peculiarly adapted to poetry. The change in 
their manners, too, had taken place almost within 
my own time, or at least I had learned many par- 
ticulars concerning the ancient state of the High- 
lands from the old men of the last generation. I 
liad always thought the old Scottish Gael highly 
adapted for poetical composition. The feuds and 
poUtical dissensions, whicli, half a century earUer, 
would have rendered the richer and wealthier part 
of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a poem, 
the scene of which was laid in the Highlands, were 
Qow sunk in the generous compassion wliich the 
English, more than any other nation, feel for the 
misfortunes of an honorable foe. The Poems of 
Ossian had, by their popularity, sufBciently shown, 
that if writings on Highland subjects were qual- 
ified to interest the reader, mere national preju- 
dices were, in the present day, very unlikely to 
interfere with their success. 

I had also read a great deal, seen much, and 
heard more, of that romantic coimtry, where I was 
n the habit of spending some time every autumn ; 
iud t'. e scenery of Loch Katrine was connected 
with the recollection of many a dear fi-iend and 

1 " These Highland visits were repeated almost every sum- 
mer for several successive years, and perhaps even the first of 

hent WW t so*-.} degree connected with his professional busi- 
ness. At all events, it was to his allotted task of enforcing the 
jxecniion of a legal instrument against some Maclarens, refracto- 

y tenar.t.s of Stewart of Appin, brother-in-law to Invernahyle, 
that Scott owed his introduction to the scenery of the Lady of 
the Lake. ' An escort of a sergeant and six men,' he says, 
' was obtained from a Highland regiment lying in Stirling ; 
»nd the author, then a writer's apprentice, equivalent to the 
»onorable situation of an attorney's clerk, was invested with 
•Me superintendence of the expedition, with directions to see 
'hat the messenger discharged his duty fully, and that the gal- 
lant sergeant did not exceed his part by committing violence 

V plnn'Uw A ad thru it happened, oddly enough, that the 



merry exjjedition of former days.' This porjm, iii» 
action of wliich lay among scenes so beautiful, and 
80 deeply imprinted on my recollection, was a la- 
bor of love ; and it vas no less so to recall the 
manners and incidents introduced. The frequeni 
custom of James IV.. and particularly of Jamas V., 
to walk through their kingdom in disguise, afford- 
ed me the hint of an incident, which never fails to 
be interesting, if managed with the slightest ad- 
dress or dexterity. 

I may now tionfess, however, that the employ- 
ment, though attended with great pleasure, was 
not without its doubts and anxieties. A lady, to 
whom I was nearly related, and with whom I lived, 
during her whole life, on the most brotherly terms 
of affection, was residing with me at the time when 
the work was in progress, and used to ask me, what 
I could possibly do to rise so early in the mor ning 
(that happening to be the most convenient time to 
me for composition). At last I told her the sub 
ject of my meditations ; and I can never forget the 
anxiety and affection expresstii in her reply. " Do 
not be so rash," she said, " my dearest cousin." You 
are already popular — more so, perhaps, than you 
yourself wiU believe, or than even I, or other par 
tial friends, can fairly allow to your merit. You 
stand high — do not rashly attempt to clinib higher, 
and incur the risk of a fall ; for, depend upon it, a 
favorite will not be permitted even to stmnble 
with impunity." I replied to this affectionate ex- 
postulation in the words of Montrose — 

" He either fears his fate too nmch, 
Or his deserts are small. 
Who dares not pnt it to the toacb 
To gain or lose it all."3 

author first entered the romantic scenery of Loch Katrine, ol 
which he may perhaps saj he has somew hat extended the 
reputation, riding in all the dignity of danger, with a front 
and rear guard, and loaded arms.' " — fJj'e of Scott, vol. i. 
p. 193. 

a " The lady with whom Sir Walter Scott held this conver- 
sation was, no doubt, his aunt. Miss Christian Rutlierford ; 
there was no other female relation dead when this Introduction 
was written, whom I can suppose him to have consulted on 
literary questions. Lady Capnlet, on seeing the corpse ol 
Tybalt, exclaims, — 

' Tybalt, my cousin I oh my brother's child I' " 

LocKHART, vol. iii. p. 251. 

> Lines in praise of wom m. — Wishart's Memoirs of Mom 
troge, p. 4S)7. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



181 



" If I fail," I said, for the dialogue is strong in 
my recollection, " it is a sign that I ought never to 
nave succeeded, and I will write prose for life : 
you shall see no change in my temper, nor wiU I 
eat A smgie meal the worse. But if I succeed, 

' Up with the bonnie Blue bonnet, 
The diik, and the leather, and a' I' " 

Afterwards, I showed my affectionate ard anx- 
jous critic the first canto of the poem, which rec- 
rnciled her to my imprudence. Nevertheless, 
lltLougl. I answered thus confidently, with the 
sbstinacj often said to be proper to those who bear 
my surname, I acknowledge that my confidence 
was considerably shaken by the warning of her 
excellent taste and unbiased friendship. Nor was 
I much comforted by her retractation of the un- 
favorable judgment, when I recollected how likely 
a natural partiality was to effect that change of 
opinion. In such cases, affection rises like a Ught 
on the canvas, improves any favorable tints wloich 
it formerly exhibited, and throws its defects into 
the shade. 

I remember that about the same time a friend 
started in to " heeze up my hope," Uke the •' sports- 
man with his cutty gim," in the old song. He was 
bred a farmer, but a man of powerful understand- 
ing, natural good taste, and warm poetical feeling, 
perfectly competent to supply the wants of an 
imperfect or irregular education. He was a pas- 
sionate admirer of field-sports, which we often pur- 
sued together. 

As this friend happened to dine with me at 
Ashestiel one day, I took the opportunity of read- 
ing to Jiim the first canto of " The Lady of the 
Lake," in order to ascertain the effect the poem 
was Ukely to produce upon a person who was but 
too favorable a representative of readers at large. 
It is, of course, to be supposed that I determined 
ra^er to guide my opinion by what my friend 
might appear to feel, than by what he might think 
fit to say. His reception of my recitation, or pre- 
lection, was rather singxilar. He placed his hand 
across his brow, and listened with great attention 
through the whole account of the stag-hunt, tUl 
the dogs tlu-ew themselves into the lake to follow 
their master, who embarks with Ellen Douglas. 
He then started up with a sudden exclamation, 

i The Jolly Beggar, attribnted to King James V. — Herd's 
Collection, 1776. 

* " I believe the shrewd critic here introducea wasth- poet's 
•xcellent cousin, Charles Scott, now laird ol Knowe-south. 
The story of the Irish postillion's trot he owed to Mr. Moore." 
•~-Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 253. 

' " Mr. Robert Cadell, who was then a young man in train- 
ng for his profession in Edmburgh, retains a strong impression 
»f the interest which the Lady of the Lake excited there for 
wo oi three months before it was on the counter. ' James 
'iallanivne,' he sufs, ' read the cantos from time to time to 



struck his hand on the table, and declared, in a 
voice of censure calculated for the occasion, that 
the dogs must have been totally ruined by l«iug 
permitted to take the water after such a severe 
chase. I own I was much encouraged by the spe- 
cies of revery wliich had possessed so zealoa» a 
follower of the sports of the ancient Nimrod, ^vho 
had been completely sm-prised out of aU uoiibt* 
of the realj-'y of the tale. Another of his Itimaik* 
gave me less pleasure. He detected the identity 
of the King •vith the wandering knight, Fitz-Jamea 
when he wmds his bugle to summon his attendants 
He was probably thinking of the lively, but some- 
what hcentious, old ballad, in which the denoue 
ment of a royal intrigue takes place as follows : 

" He took a bugle frae his side, 

He blew both loud and shrill, 
And fout^and-tweiity belted knights 

Came skipping ower the hill 
Then he took out a little knife, 

Let a' his duddies fa', 
And he was the brawest gentleman 

That was amaug them a'. 

And we'll go no more a-roving," &c.l 

This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the rent in 
his camlet cloak, was but a trifle, yet it troubled 
me ; and I was at a good deal of pains to efface 
any marks by which I thought my secret could be 
traced before the conclusion, when I relied on it 
with the same hope of producing effect, with wliich 
the Irish postboy is said to reserve a " trot for the 
avenue."* 

I took uncommon pains to verify the accm-acy 
of the local circumstances of this story. I recol- 
lect, in particular, that to ascertain whether 1 wat 
telling a probable tale, I went ioto Perthshire, to 
see whether King James could actually have rid- 
den from the banks of Loch Vennach.ir to Stuiing 
Castle within the tune supposed in the Poem, and 
had the pleasure to satisfy myself that it was quite 
practicable. 

After a considerable delay, " The Lady of the 
Lake" appeared in May, 1810 ; and its success waa 
certauily so extraordinary as to ind ice me fcT the 
moment to conclude that I had at last fixed a naD 
in the proverbially inconstant wheel of Fortime, 
whose stabUity in behalf of an individual whu uail 
so boldly courted her favors for three success iv<? 
times, had not as yet been sliaken.' I had at 

select coteries, as they advanced at press. Common fame «a« 
loud in their favor; a great poem was on all hands anticina- 
ted. I do not recollect that any of all the author's works wa« 
ever looked for with more intense anxiety, or that any one ol 
them excited a more extraordinary sensation when it did ap- 
pear. The whole country rang with the praises of the poei 
crowds set off to view the scenery of Loch Katrine, till theft 
comparatively unknown ; and as the book came ont just "^efor* 
the season for excursions, every house and inn in that neigb 
borhood was crammed with a constant succession of visitor* 
It is a well-ascertained fact, that from the date of the oublic* 



182 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tained, perhaps, that degree of public reputation 
«t wliich prudence, or certainly timidity, would 
have made a halt, and discontinued efforts by 
vrhich I was far more likely to diminish my fame 
tlian to increase it. But as the celebrated John 
VMlkes is said to have explained to his late Ma- 
jesty, that he himself, amid his full tide of popu- 
laiity, was never a "Wilkite, so I can, with honest 
truth, exculpate myself from having been at any 
time a partisan of my own poetry, even when it 
was in tlie highest fashion with the million. It 
must not be supposed, that I was either so un- 
grateful, or so superabundantly cancBd, as to de- 
spise or scorn the value of those whose voice had 
elevated me so much higher than my own opinion 
told me I deserved. I felt, on the contrary, the 
avjre grateful to the public, as receiving that from 
partiality to me, which I could not have claimed 
from merit ; and I endeavored to deserve the par- 
tiality, by continuing such exertions as I was ca- 
pable of for their amusement. 

It may be that I did not, m tliis continued course 
of scribbling, consult either the interest of the pub- 
lic or my own. But the former had effectual means 
if defending themselves, and could, by their cold- 
aess, sufficiently check any approach to intrusion ; 
and for myself, I had now for several years dedi- 
cated my hours so much to literary labor, that I 
should have felt difficulty in employing myself 
otherwise ; and so, like Dogberry, I generously 
bestowed all my tediousness on the public, com- 
forting myself with the reflection, that if posterity 
•^liould think me undeserving of the favor with 
wliich I was regarded by my contemporaries, 
" they could not but say I had the crown," and had 
•enjoyed for a time that popularity wliich is so 
•mich coveted. 

I conceived, however, that I held the distinguish- 
ed situation I had obtained, however imworthily, 
rather like the champion of pugilism,' on the con- 
dition of being always ready to show proofs of my 
pkUl, than in the mamier of the champion of cluv- 
alry, who performs liis duties only on rare and sol- 

lion of the Lady of the Lake, the post-horse duty in Scotland 
rose in an extraordinary degre* ; and indeed it continued to do 
» rej;ularly for a number ol .'ears, the author's succeeding 
works keeping up the enthusiasm forour scenery which he had 
thus (jrigiually created.' 

" i owe to the same correspondent the following details : — 
'The quarto sdition of 2050 copien disappeared instantly, and 
waji followed, in the course of tlie same year, by four ecinions 
it: octavo, viz. one of 3000, a second of 3250, and a third and 
t fourth eacli of UIHK) cojaes ; thus, in the space of a few 
moulhh. the extraordinary number of 20,000 copies were dis- 
posed of. In the next year (1811) there was another edition of 
iOO'.t ; ther« was one of 2000 in 1814 ; another of 2000 in 1815 ; 
me of 2')00 a^j'ain iu 1819 ; and two, making between them 



emn occasions. I was in any case conscious that 
could not long hold a situation which the caprice 
rather than the judgment, of the public, had be 
stowed upon me, and preferred being deprived oi 
my precedence by some more worthy rival, to 
sinking into contempt for my indolence, and losing 
my reputation by what Scottish lawyers call tlie 
negative proscription. Accordingly, those who 
choose to look at the Introduction to Rokeby, in the 
present edition, will be able to trace the steps by 
which I declined as a poet to figure as a novelist ; 
as the ballad says, Queen Eleanor smik at Charing- 
Cross to rise again at Queenhithe. 

It only remains for me to say, that, during my 
short pre-eminence of popularity, I faithfully ob- 
served the rules of moderation wliich I had re- 
solved to follow before I began my course as a 
man of letters. If a man is determined to make a 
noise m the world, he is as siu-e to encounter abuse 
and ridicule, as he who gallops furiously through a 
village, must reckon on being followed by the cura 
in full cry. Experienced persons know, that in 
stretching to flog the latter, the rider is very apt 
to catch a bad fall ; nor is an attempt to chastise a 
malignant critic attended with less danger to the 
author. On this principle, I let parody, burlesque, 
and squibs, find their own level ; and wliile the 
latter hissed most fiercely, I was cautious never to 
catch them up, as school-boys do, to throw them 
back against tbe naughty boy who fired them off, 
wisely remembering that they axe, in such cases, 
apt to explode iu the handling. Let me add, that 
my reign"'' (since Byron has so called it) was mark- 
ed by some instances of good-natm"e as well as pa 
tience. I never refused a literary person of merit 
such services in smoothing liis way to the public aa 
were in my power ; .md I had the advantage, 
rather an uncommon one with our irritable race 
to enjoy general favor, without incm-ring perma- 
nent ill-will, so far as is known to me, among any 
of my contemporaries. 

W. S. 

Abbottsfoed, April, 1 1 jO. 

ft 

2500, appeared in 1825. Since which time the Lady of a* 
Lake, in collective editions of his j)oetry, and in separate imaes, 
must have circulated to tlie e.\tent of at least 20,000 copJ«l 
more. So that, down to the month of July, 1836, the le^b 
mate sale in Great Britain has been not less tlian 50,001 
copies.' " — lAfe of Scott, vol. iii. p. 248. 

1 " In twice five years the ' greatest living poet,' 
Like to the cham)iion iu the fisty ring, 
Is cali'd on to support his claim, or show it 
Altiiougb 'tis an imaginary filing," &c. 

Don J%an, canto zi. st. 35. 

a " Sir Walter reign'd before me," &o. 

Dan Juau, canto u. it. SI, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



181 



®t)e Cabg of H)t Cake 



TO THX 

MOST NOBLE 

JOHN JAMES MARQUIS OFABERCORN. 

&€. &C. &C. 
THIS poem' la INSORIBSD BT 

THE AUTHOR. 



ARGUMENT. 

* 

The Scene of tfu following Poem is laid chiefly in tlie Vicinity of Loch Katrii te, in the Western High 
'ands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days, and the transactims of each Day occupt 
a Canto? 



1 Published by John Ballantyne & Co. in 4to., with en- 
l^raved t'rontispiece of Sajcon's portrait of Scott, jC3 3a. 
May, 1810. 

a " Never, we think, has the analogy between poetry and 
painting been more strikingly exemplified than in the writings 
of Mr. Scott. He sees every thing with a painter's eye. Wliat- 
ever he represents has a character of individuality, and is 
drawn with an accuracy and minuteness of discrimination, 
ivhich we are not accustomed to expect from verbal description. 
.Much of tins, no doubt, is the result of genius ; for there is a 
(juick and comprehensive power of discernment, an intensity 
If... keenness of observation, an almost intuitive glance, which 
nature alone can give, and by means of which her favorites are 
enabled to discover characteristic differences, where the eye of 
dulness sees nothing but uniformity ; but something also must 
be referred to discipline and exercise. The liveliest fancy can 
only call forth those images which are already stored up in the 
memory ; and all that invention can do is to unite these into 
new combinations, which must appear contused and ill-defined, 
if the impressions originally received by the senses were deficient 
in strength and distinctness. It is because Mr. Scott usually 
delineates those objects with which he is perfectly familiar, 
that his touch is so easy, correct, and animated. The rocks, 
the ravines, and the torrents, which he exhibits, are not the im- 
perfect sketches of a hurried traveller, but the finished studies 
of i resident artist, deliberately drawn from different points of 
dew ; ?a5h has its true shape and position ; it is a portrait ; it 
laa iu oame by which the spectator is invited to examine the 
JxacUess ol the resemblance. The figures which are com- 
bined with the landscape are painted witli the same fidelity. 
Like those of Salvator Rosa, they are perfectly appropriate to 
the spot on which they stand. The boldness of feature, the 
lightness and compactness of form, the wildness of air, and the 
careless ease of attitude of these mountaineers, aie as congenial 
to their native Highlands, as the birch and the pine which 
darken their glens, the sedge which Tringes their lakes, or the 
heath which waves over their moors. " — Quarterly Review, 
ilay, 1810. 

' It is honorable to Mr. Scott's genius that he has been able 
• interest the public so .leeply with this third presentment of 



the same chivalrous scenes ; but we cannot help thinking, thai 
both his glory and our gratification would have been greater, 
if he had changed his hand more completely, and actually given 
us a true Celtic story, with all its drapery and accompanimenti 
in a corresponding style of decoration. Such a subject, w« 
are persuaded, has very great capabilities, and only wants to be 
introduced to public notice by such a hand as Mr. Scott's, to 
make a still more powerful impression than he has already ef 
fected by the resurrection of the tales of romance. There ar 
few persons, we believe, of any degree of poetical susceptibilit) 
who have wandered among the secluded valleys of the High- 
lands, and contemjilated the singular peo|)le by whom they are 
still tenanted — with their love of music and of song — their hardy 
and irregular life, so unlike the unvarying toils of the Saxoa 
mechanic— their devotion to their chiefs — their wild and loftj 
traditions — their national enthusiasm — the melancholy grand- 
eur of the scenes they inhabit — and the multii)lied snperstitiona 
which still linger among them — without feeling, that there j 
no existing people so well adapted for the purposes of poeivy 
or so capable of furnishing the occasion of new and sinking ia> 
ventions. 

" fVi are persuaded, that if Mr. Scott's powerful and 
creative genius were to be turned in good earnetl to such • 
subject, something might be produced still more irkpressimi 
and original than even this age has yet witnessed " — Jsr 
FRKY, Edinburgh Review, No. xvi. for 1810 

" The subject of The Lady is a common Highland irrnptioa, 
but at a point where the neighborhood of the LowWnds affbidi 
the best contrast of manners — where the scenery affords the no- 
blest subject of description — and where the wild clan is so near 
to the Court, that their robberies can be connected with the 
romantic adventures of a disguised king, an exiled lord, and a 
high-born beauty. The whole narrative is very fine. Ther« 
are not so many splendid passages for quotation as in the two 
former poems. This may indeed silence the objections of the 
critics, but I doubt whether it will promote the popularity ol 
the poem. It has nothing so good as the Address to Scotlano 
or the Death of Marmion." — Mackintosh, in his Diav 
1811, see Ilia Life, vol. ii. p. 82. 

" The Lay, if I may venture to state the creed now ens» 



184 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAffTO 1 



^l)c Calig of tl}£ £ake. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Harp of the North I that mouldering long hast hung 

On the witch-ehn that shades Saint Fillan's 
spring, 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung/ 

TiU envious ivy did around thee cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 

O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ? 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains mvu-mm-ing, 

StiU must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
Not bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep S 

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 

Was thy voice mute amid the festive crowd, 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, 

Ai'oused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause, was heard aloud^ 

Thine ardent symphony sublime and high 1 
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd • 

For stiU the burden of thy nainstrelsy 
Was Krjghthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's 
matchless eye. 

O wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
wake once more ! though scarce my skill com- 
mand 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 

And all imworthy of thy nobler strain. 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 

The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain. 
Then silent be no more 1 Enchantress, wake again ! 



The stag at eve had drunk his fill. 
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill. 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 



liahed, is, I elionld say, generally considered as the most natn- 
ral and original, Marmion as the most powert'ol and splendid, 
the Lady of che Lake as the most interesting, romantic, pictur- 
»sque, and graceful of his great poems." — LocehaRT, vol 
tii. p. 356. 
' MS — " And on the fitfnl breeze thy nnmbers flung, 
Till envious ivy, with her verdant ring, 
Mantled and muffled each melodious string, — 
u IViiard Harp, still must thine accents sleep 7" 



Had kindled on Benvoirlic^i'" h^ad. 

The deep-mouth'd bloodr«>aDd'p heavy 1 bJ 

Resounded up the rocky way,' 

And faint, from farther distance borne. 

Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 

II. 
As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
" To arms ! the foeman storm the waU," 
The antler'd monarch of the waste 
Sprimg from his heathery couch in hasto. 
But, ere his fleet career he took. 
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
Like crested leader proud and high, 
Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky ; 
A moment gazed adown the dale, 
A moment snuff 'd the tainted gale, 
A moment Usten'd to the cry. 
That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appear' d. 
With one brave boimd the copse he clear d. 
And, stretching forward free and far. 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

IIL 

YeU'd on the view the opening pack , 
Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back ; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awaken'd mountain gave response. 
A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, 
Clatter'd a himdred steeds along. 
Their peal the merry horns i img out, 
A hundred voices join'd the ohout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.* 
Far from tlie tiunult fled the roe. 
Close in her covert cower'd the doe, 
The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
TiU far beyond her piercing ken 
The hiuricane had swept the glen. 
Faint and more faint, its failing din 
Return'd from cavern, cliff, and hnn. 
And silence settled, wide and stUl, 
On the lone wood and mighty hilL 

IV. 

« 

Less loud the sounds of silvan war 
Diaturb'd the heights of Uam-Var, 

3 MS. — " At each according pause thou spokest aloud 
Thine ardent sympathy." 

' MS. — " The bloodhound's notes of heavy basa 
Resounded hoarsely up the pass." 

♦ Benvoirlich, a mountain comprehended in the cluster ol tn* 
Grampians, at the head of the valley of the Garry, a n»«» 
which springs from its base. It rises to an eievttior of J330 <•* 
above the level of the sea. 



tfANTb I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



I8e 



And roused the cavern, where 'tis told, 
A giant made his den of old ;' 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his pathway hung the sun, 
And many a gallant, stay'd perforce. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ; 
And of the trackers of the deer, 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; 
So shrewdly on the mountain's side 
Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 

V. 

Thv noble stag was pausing now. 
Upon the mountain's southern brow. 
Where broad extended, far beneath, 
The varied realms of fair Menteith, 
With anxious eye he wander'd o'er 
Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, 
And pouder'd refuge from his toU, 
By far Lochard" or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copsewood gray, 
TiSiat waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 
And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope return'd,' 



• See Appendix, Note A. 

* " About a mile to the westward of the inn of Aberfoyle, 
liochaid opens to the view. A few hundred yards to the east 
of it, the Avendow, which had just issued from the lake, tum- 
bles its waters over a rugged precipice of more than thirty feet 
n height, forming, in the rainy season, several very magnificent 
:^taracts. 

" The first opening of the lower lake, from the east, is un- 
commonly picturesque. Directing the eye nearly westward, 
Benlomond raises its pyramidal mass in the background. In 
nearer prospect, yon have gentle eminences, covered with oak 
tnd birch to the very summit ; the bare rock sometimes peep- 
ing through amongst the clumps. Immediately under the eye, 
the lower lake, stretching out from narrow beginnings to a 
breadth of about half a mile, is seen in full prospect. On the 
right, the banks are skirted with extensive oak woods which 
cover the mountain more than halfway up. 

" Advancing to the westward, the view of the lake is lost for 
about a mile. The upper lake, which is by far the most ex- 
tepsive, is separated from the lower by a stream of about 200 
yards in length. The most advantageous view of the upper 
■ ake presents itself from a rising ground near its lower extrem- 
ity, where a footpath strikes oif to the south, into the wood 
that overhang's this connecting stream. Looking westward, 
S3nlomond is seen in the background, rising, at the distance of 
BX miles, in the form of a regular cone, its sides presenting a 
gentle eljpe to the N.W. and S.E. On the right is the lofty 
aionntaic eCBenoghrie, running west towards the deep vale in 
which Lochcon lies concealed from the eye. In the foreground, 
Lochard stretches out to the west in the fairest prospect ; its 
.ength three miles, and its breadth a mile and a half. On the 
right, it ia skirted with wpods ; the northern and western ex- 
tremity of the lake is diversified with meadows, and corn-fields, 
and farranoises. On the left, few marks of cultivation are to 
be seen. 

" Farther on, the traveller passes along the verge of the lake 

■nder a ledge of rock, from thirty to fifty feet high ; and, stand- 

ng imme-jiately under this rock, towards its western extremity, 

w bns a double echo, of mcommnn distinctness. U{>on pro- 

24 



With flying foot *^he heath he spura'o, 
Held westward with unwearied race, 
And left beliind the panting chase. 

VI. 
'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
As swept the hunt through Cambus-more ;* 
What reins were tighten'd in despair, 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air :' 
Who flagg'd upon Bochastle's heath. 
Who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith, — * 
For twice that day, from shore to shore. 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following far, 
rhat reach'd the lake of Veunachar ;' 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won,' 
The headmost horseman rode alone. 

VIL 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 
That horseman plied the scourge and steel . 
For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil. 
While every gasp with sobs he drew. 
The laboring stag strain'd ftiU in view, 



nonncing, with a firm voice, a line of ten syllablen, it is r» 
turned, first from the opposite side of the lake ; and when tha' 
is finished, it is repeated with equal distinctness from the woo( 
on the east. The day must be perfectly calm, and the lake ai 
smooth as glass, for otherwise no human voice can be returned 
from a distance of at least a quarter of a mile." — Graham'" 
Sketches of Perthshire, 2d edit. p. 182, &c. 

3 MS. — " Fresh vigor with the thought retnrn'd, 

With flying hoof the heath he spurn'd." 

4 Cambus-more, within about two miles of Callender, on the 
wooded banks of the Keltie. a tributary of the Teith, is the seat 
of a family of the name of Buchanan, whom the Poet fre- 
quently visited in his younger days. 

' Benledi is a magnificent mountain, 3009 feet in height, 
which bounds the horizon on the northwest from Callender 
The name, according to Celtic etymologists, signifies the Moun 
tain of Ood. 

s Two mountain streams — the one flowing from Loch Voil, 
by the pass of Leny ; the other from Loch Katrine, by Loch 
Achray and Loch Vennachar, unite at Callender ; and the 
river thus formed thenceforth takes the name of Teith. Henc< 
the designation of the territory of Menteith. 

' " Loch Vennachar, a beautiful expanse of water, of n hot" 
five miles in length, by a mile and a half in l<ieaUlh." Gba 

HAM. 

" " About a mile, above Loch Vennachar, the apfiroael 
(from the east) to the Brigg, or Bridge of Turk (tlie scene 
of the death of a wild-boar famous in Celtic tradition), lead« 
to the summit of an eminence, where there bursts upon the 
traveller's eye a sudden and wide prospect of the windings o' 
the river that issues from Loch Acliray, with that sweet lake 
itself in front ; the gently rolling river pursues its serpentine 
course through an extensive meadow ; at the west end of the 
Lake, on the side of Aberfoyle, is situated the delightful farm 
of Achray, the level field, a denomination justly due to it. 
when considered in contrast with the rugged rocks and moun- 
tains which surround it. From this eminence are to be seen 
also, on the right hand, the entrance to Glenfinlaa, and in tM 
distance Benvenne."' -Graham. 



186 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I 



Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 

IJiimatcb'd for courage, breath, and speed,' 

Fast ou Lis flying traces came 

And all but won that desperate game ; 

For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, 

Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch ; 

Nor nearer might the dogs attain, 

Nor farther might the quarry strain. 

Thus up the mai'gin of the lake. 

Between the precipice and brake, 

O'er stock and rock their race they take. 

VIII. 

The Hunter mark'd that mountain high. 
The lone lake's western boundary, 
And deem'd the stag must turn to bay. 
Where that huge rampart barr'd the way ; 
Already glorying in the prize, 
Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
For the death-wound and death-haUoo, 
Muster'd his breath, his whinyard drew ; — * 
But thundering as he came prepared, 
With ready arm and weapon bared, , 

The wily quarry shunn'd the shock, 
Ajid turn'd him from the opposing rock ; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and himter's ken. 
In the deep Trosach's' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There, while close couch'd, the thicket shed 
Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head. 
He heard the baflied dogs in vain 
Rave through the hoUow pass amain, 
Chiding the rocks that yell'd again. 

IX. 

Close on the hoimds the hunter came. 
To cheer them on the vanish'd game ; 
But, stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exliausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein. 
For the good steed, liis labors o'er, 
Stretch'd his stiff Umbs, to rise no more ; 
Then, touch'd with pity and remorse, 
Hfc wjrrow'd o'er the expiring horse. 
" I hitlfc thought, when first thy rein 
I sla/'k'd upon the banks of Seine, 
Tliat Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy neet Umba, my matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, 
That costs thy life, my gallant gray I" 

• See Appendix, Note B. a Ibid. Note C. 

> " The term Trosach signifies .'^ rough or bristled teiri- 
t»ry." — Graham. 

MS. — " And on the hunter hied his pace. 

To meet some comrades of the chase." 



Then through the dell his horn resounds, 
From vain pursuit to call the hoimds. 
Back limp'd, with slow and crippled 

pace. 
The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to their master's side they press' d, 
With droopuig tail and himabled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolong'd the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their dream. 
The eagles answer'd with their scream. 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seem'd an answering blast • 
And on the hunter hied his way,* 
To join some comrades of the day , 
Yet often paused, so strange the road, 
So wondrous were the scenes it show'd. 

XL 

The western waves of ebbing day 
Roll'd o'er the glen their level way ; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
Was bathed in floods of living fire. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below. 
Where twined the path in shadow Idd, 
Round many a rocky pyramid. 
Shooting abruptly from the deU 
Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle ; 
Round many an insulated mass, 
The native bulwarks of the pass,' 
Huge as the tower* which builders vain 
Presiunptuous piled on Shinar's plain.' 
The rocky siunmits, split and rent, 
Form'd turret, dome, or battlement. 
Or seem'd fantastically set 
With cupola or minaret. 
Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd, 
Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
Nor were these earth-bom castles bare.' 
Nor lack'd they many a banner fair ; 
For, from their shiver'd brows display'd. 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade. 
All twinkling with the dewdrop's sheen,' 
The brier-rose fell \a streamers green. 
And creeping slirubs, of thousand dyes. 
Waved in the west-wind's gummer sighs. 

XII. 
Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild. 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child 

6 MS.—" The mimic carttoi of the pass." 

8 The Tow er of Baw..— Genscw, xi. 1-9. 

' MS. — " Nor were these mighty bt warks barB." 

* MS.—" Bright glistening with the . H'drop'* thMR. 



CANTO 1. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 18 


Here eglantine embalm'd the air, 


XIV. 


Hawthorn and hazel mingla there ; 


And now, to issue from the glen. 


The primrose pale and violet flower, 


No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 


Found in each cliff a narrow bower ; 


Unless he climb, with footing nice. 


Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side, 


A far projecting prwipice.* 


Emblems of punishment and pride, 


The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 


Group'd their dark hues with every stain 


The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 


The weather-beaten crags retain. 


And thus an airy point he won, 


With boughs that quaked at every breath, 


Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 


Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; 


One burnish'd sheet of hving gold, 


Aloft, the ash and waiTior oak 


Loch Katrme lay beneath him roU'd,* 


Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 


In all her length far winding lay. 


And, higher yet, the pme-tree hung 


With promontory, creek, and bay. 


His shatter'd trimk, and frequent flung,' 


And islands that, empurpled bright, 


Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high. 


Floated amid the Uvelier hght, 


His boughs athwart the narroVd sky. 


And mountains, that like giants stand. 


Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 


To sentinel enchanted land. 


Where glist'ning streamers waved and 


High on the south, huge Benvenue' 


danced. 


Down on the lake in masses threw 


ine wanderer's eye could barely view 


Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurrd. 


The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 


The fragments of an earlier world ; 


So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 


A wildering forest feather'd o'er 


The scenery of a fairy dream. 


His ruin'd sides and summit hoar,^ 




While on the north, through middle air, 


XIII. 


Ben-an* heaved high his forehead bare.' 


Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 




A narrow inlet, still and deep. 


XV. 


Affording scarce such breadth of brim,' 


From the steep promontory gazed"* 


As served the wild-duck's brood to swim. 


The stranger, raptured and amazed. 


Lost for a space, through thickets veering, 


And, " What a scene were here," he cried. 


But broader when again appearing. 


" For princely pomp, or chiu-chman's pride 1 


Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 


On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 


Gould on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 


In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 


And farther as the hunter stray'd. 


On yonder meadow, far away. 


StiU broader sweep its channels made. 


The turrets of a cloister gray ; 


The shaggy moimds no longer stood. 


How blithely might the bugle-horn 


Emerging from entangled wood,' 


Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn 1 


But, w ive-encircled, seem'd to float, 


How sweet, at eve, thv' lover's lute 


Like castle girdled with its moat ; 


Chime, when the groves were stiU and muto ! 


Yet broader floods extending still 


And, when the midnight moon should lave 


Divide them from theu- parent hill. 


Her forehead in the silver wave. 


Till each, retirmg, claims to be 


How solemn on the ear would come 


An islet in an inland sea. 


The holy matin's distant hum. 


MB.- -" His scathed trnnk, and freqnent flang, 


While on the north to middle air." 


Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high, ' 


e According to Graham, Ben-an, or Bennan, b a mei* 


His rugged arms athwart the sky. 


minntive of Ben — Monntain. 


Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, 


» " Perhaps the art of landscape-panting in poetry has ner«l 


Where twinkling streamers waved and danced." 


been displayed in higher perfection than in tliese stanr«, to 


MS. — '■ Affording scarce such breadth of flood, 


which rigid criticism might possibly object that the piot_l« ii 


As served to float the wild-duck's brood.' 


somewhat too minute, and that the contemplation af it de- 


MS. — " Emerging dry-shod from the wood." 


tains the traveller somewhat too long from the main purpos* 


4 See Appendix, Note D. ^ 


of his pilgrimage, but which it would be an act of the greatest 


Loch Ketturin is the Celtic pronunciation. In his Notei 


injustice to break into fragments, and present by piecemeal. 


to The Fair Maid of Perth, the author has signified his belief 


Not so the magnificent scene which bursts upon the bewil* 


that the lake was named after the Catterins, or wild robben, 


dered hunter as he emerges at length from the dell, aad oomr 


who haunted its shores. 


mands at one view the beautiful expanse of Loch Katiice."— 


•> Benvenue — is literally ».he little monntain — t. e. as con- 


Critical Review, August, 1820. 


rasted with Benledi and Benlomond. 


in iVlS. — " From the high p omontory gazed 


* MS. — " His ruin'd sides &nd fragments hoar, 


The stranger, awe-struck and amazed ' 



ISe , SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i 


Wliile the deep peal's commanding tone 


Like monument of Grecian art. 


Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 


In listening mood, she seem'd to stand. 


A sainted hermit from his cell, 


The guardian ISTaiad of the strand. 


To drop a bead with every knell — 




And bugle, lute, and bell, and all, 


XVIIL 


Should each bewilder'd stranger call 


And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace* 


To friendly feast, and hghted hall.' 


A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 




Of finer form, or loveUer face 1 


XVL 


W hat though the sun, with ardent rown. 


" Blithe were it then to wander here I 


Had shghtly tinged her cheek with brown.— 


But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, — 


The sportive toil, which, short and light. 


Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, 


Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, 


The copse must give my evening fare ; 


Served too in hastier swell to show 


Some mossy bank my couch must be, 


Short glimpses of a breast of snow : 


Some rusthng oak my canopy." 


What though no ride of courtly grace 


Yet pass we that ; the war and chase 


To measured mood had train'd her pace, • 


Give httle choice of resting-place ; — 


A foot more hght, a step more true. 


A smnmer night, in greenwood spent. 


Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the de^* 


Were but to-morrow's merriment : 


E'en the shght harebell raised its head, 


But hosts may in these wilds abound. 


Elastic from her airy tread : 


Such as are better miss'd than found ; 


What though upon her speech there hung 


To meet with Highland plunderers here. 


The accents of the mountain tongue, — ' 


Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — * 


Those silver soimds, so soft, so dear. 


I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 


The listener held his breath to hear 


May call some straggler of the train ; 




Or, fall the worst that may betide, 


XIX 


Ere now this falchion has been tried." 


A Chieftain's daughter seem'd the maia ; 




Her satin snood,* her sUken plaid. 


XVIL 


Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 


But scarce again his horn he woimd,* 


And seldom was a snood amid 


When lo ! forth starting at the sound, 


Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 


From underneath an aged oak. 


Whose glossy black to shame might bring; 


That slanted from the islet rock. 


The plmnage of the raven's wing ; 


A damsel guider of its way, 


And seldom o'er a breast so fair. 


A Uttle skiff shot to the bay,* 


Mantled a plaid with modest care. 


That round the promontory steep 


And never brooch the folds combined 


Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 


Above a heart more good and kind. 


Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 


Her kindness and her worth to spy. 


The weeping willow-twig to lave, 


You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 


And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 


Not Katrine, in her mirror blue. 


The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 


Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 


The boat had touch'd this silver strand, 


Than every free-born glance confess'd 


Just as the Hunter left his stand, 


The guileless movements of her breast •, 


And stood con^eal'd amid the brake. 


Whether joy danced in her dark eye. 


To view this Lac^ of the T,ake. 


Or woe or pity claim'd a sigh. 


The maiden paused, as if again 


Or filial love was glowing there, 


She thought to catch the distant strain 


Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer, 


With head up-raised, and look intent, 


Or tale of injury call'd forth 


And eye and ear attentive bent. 


The indignant spirit of the North. 


And locks flung back, and lips apart, 


One only passion unreveal'd. 


« MS.-" To hospitable feast and hall." 


And when the boat had tooch'd the «ui* 


MS. — " ^nd hollow trunk of some old tree. 


Conceal'd he stood amid the brake. 


My chamber for the night mutt be." 


To view this Lady of tho Lake." 


• See Appendix, Note E. 


• MS. — " A finer form, a fairer 'ace, 


• MS. — " The bugle shrill again he wonnd, 


Had never marble Nymph or Grace, 


^nd lo 1 forth starting at the sound." 


That boasts the Grecian cliisel's trace. 


MS.— ' A little skiff shot to the bay. 


» MS. — " The accents of a stranger tongae." 


The H antei left his airy Btand, 


e floe Note on Canto IH. stanza 5. 



CANTO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Ibl 



With maiden pride the maid conceal'd, 
Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 
O need I tell that passion's name 1^ 

XX. 

Impatient of the silent horn, 
Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 
" Father !" she cried ; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
A. while she paused, no answer came, — ' 
Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the 
name 
Less resolutely utter'd fell, 
The echoes could not catch the swelL 
" A stranger I," the Himtsman said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid, alarm' d, with hasty oar, 
Push'd her hght shallop from the shore, 
And when a space was gain'd between, 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing,' 
So turn to prune his ruifled wing.) 
Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed, 
She paused, and on the stranger gajzed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye. 
That youthful maidens wont to fly. 

XXL 

On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly press'd its signet sage , 

Yet had not quench'd the open truth 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there. 

The will to do, the soul to dare, 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould. 

For hardy sports or contest bold ; 

And though in peaceful garb array'd, 

And weaponless, except his blade, 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride. 

As if a Baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armor trode the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he show'd. 

He told of his benighted road : 

His ready speech flow'd fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 

Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland, 

I<e88 used to sue than to command. 

M8. — " A space she paused, no answer came, — 
' Alpine, was thine the blast V the name 
Less resolutely utter'd fell, 
The echoes could not catch the swell. 
' Nor foe nor friend,' the stranger said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The startled maid, with hasty oar, 
Pcsb'd her light shallop from the shore." 



XXIL 

A while the maid the stranger eyed, 
And, reassured, at length rephed. 
That Highland halls were open still' 
To wilder'd wanderers of the hill. 
" Nor think you unexpected come , 

To yon lone isle, our desert home ; ' 
Before the heath had lost the de^w 
This morn, a couch was pull'd for ycc 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmig^ and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere, 
To furnish forth your evening cheer." — 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Yoiu- courtesy has err'd," he said ; 
" No right have I to claim, misplaced. 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost. 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair, 
Have ever drawn yoiu- movmtain air, 
TOl on this lake's romantic strand,* 
I found a fay in fairy land 1"— 

XXHL 
" I well believe," the maid replied, 
As her hght skiflf approach'd the side, — 
" I well beheve, that ne'er before 
Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore 
But yet, as far as yesternight, 
Old Allan-Bane foretold yoiu- plight, — 
A gray-hair'd sire, whose eye intent 
Was on the vision'd future bent.* 
He saw your steed, a dappled gray. 
Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 
Painted exact your form and mien, 
Your hunting suit of Lincoln green, 
That tassell'd horn so gayly gilt. 
That falchion's crooked blade and hill. 
That cap with heron plumage trim. 
And yon two hoimds so dark and grim. 
He bade that all should ready be. 
To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
But light I held his prophecy, 
And deem'd it was my father's horn. 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne. 

XXIV. 
The stranger smiled : — " Since to your hooM 
A destined errant-knight I come, 

' MS. — " So o'er the lake the swan would spring, 
Then turn to prune its ruffled wing." 

» MS.—" Her father's hall was open still." 

* MS. — " Till on this lake's enchanting straixL ' 



» MS. — " Is often on the future bent."- 
THaust 



Appenau 



190 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 4 



Announced by prophet sooth and old, 


The ivy and Idaean vine, 


Doom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold, 


The clematis, the favor'd flower 


ril lightly front each high emprise, 


"Wliich boasts the name of virgm-bower 


For one kind glance of those bright eyea. 


And every hardy plant could bear 


Permit me, fi'st, the task to guide 


Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. 


Tour fairy frigate o'er the tide." 


An instant in this porch she staid, 


The maid, with smile suppress'd and sly, 


And gayly to the stranger said, 


The toil unwonted saw him try ; 


" On heaven and on thy lady call. 


For seldom sure, if e'er before. 


And enter the enchanted hall !" 


His noble hand had grasp'd an oar :' 




Yet with main strength his strokes he drew. 


XXVII. 


Ajid o'er the lake the shallop flew ; 


" My hope, my heaven, my trust nust be, 


With heads erect, and whimpering cry, 


My gentle guide, in following thte." 


The hounds behind their passage ply. 


He cross'd the threshold — and a clang 


Nor frequent does the bright oar break 


Of angry steel that instant rang. 


The dark'ning mirror of the lake. 


To his bold brow his spirit rush'd. 


Until the rocky isle they reach. 


But soon for vain alarm he blush'd, 


Ajid moor their shallop on the beach. 


W hen on the floor he saw display'd, 




Cause of the din, a naked blade 


XXV. 


Dropp'd from the sheath, that careless flunj 


Ihe stranger view'd the shore aroimd ; 


Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 


'Twas all so close with copsewood bound. 


For all aroimd the waUs to grace, 


Nor track nor pathway might declare 


Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 


That himian foot frequented there. 


A target there, a bugle here, 


Until the moimtain-maiden show'd 


A battle-axe, a huntmg-spear. 


A clambering imsuspected road, 


And broadswords, bows, and arrows store, 


That winded through fiie tangled screen. 


"With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. 


And open'd on a narrow green. 


Here grins the wolf as when he died,* 


Where weeping birch and willow round 


And there the wild-cat's brindled hide 


With their long fibres swept the ground. 


The frontlet of the elk adorns, ' 


Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, 


Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 


Some chief had framed a rustic bower.' 


Pennons and flags defaced and stain'd. 




That blackening streaks of blood retain'*-. 


XXVL 


And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white. 


It was a lodge of ample size. 


"With otter's fur and seal's unite, 


But strange of structure and device ; 


In rude and imcouth tapestry all, 


Of sueh materials, as around 


To garnish forth the silvan halL 


The workman's hand had readiest found. 




Lopp'd off their boughs, their hoar trunks bared, 


XXVIII. 


And by the hatchet rudely squared. 


The wondering stranger roimd h'rm gazed, 


To give the walls their destined height. 


And next the fallen weapon raised : — 


The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 


Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 


"While moss and clay and leaves combined 


Sufliced to stretch it forth at length. 


To fence each crevice from the wind. 


And as the brand he poised and sway'd. 


The lighter pine-trees, over-head. 


" I never knew but one," he said. 


Tlieir slender length for rafters spread, 


"Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield 


And wither'd heath and rushes dry 


A blade like this in battle-field." 


Sujiphed a russet canopy. 


She sigh'd, then smiled and took the word : 


Due westward, fronting to the green, 


" You see the guardian champion's sword : 


A rural portico was seen. 


As light it trembles in his hand, 


Aloft on native pillars borne. 


As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 


Of mountain fir, with bark imshom. 


My sire's tall form might grace the part 


Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 


Of Ferragus or Ascabart ;* 


MS.—" This gentle hand had gnap'd an oar : 


There hnng the wild-cat's brindled hide, 


Yet with main strength the oars he drew." 


Above the elk's branch'd brow and skoll. 


• Sea Appendix, Note O. 


And frontlet of the forest boll." 


MS — " Here grins the wolf as when he died, 


* Bee Appendix, Note H. 



RATIO I. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



197 



But in the absent giant's hold 
Are -women now, and menials old." 

XXIX. 

Tbe mistress of the mansion came, 

Mature of age, a graceful dame ; 

Whose easy step and stately port 

H,^ well become a princely court, 

To whom, though more than kindred knew, 

Young EUen gave a mother's due.' , 

Meet welcome to her gueet she made. 

And every courteous rite was paid. 

That hospitality could claim, 

Though all unask'd his birth and name ' 

Such then the reverence to a guest. 

That feUest foe might join the feast. 

And from his deadliest foeman's door 

Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er. 

^it length his rank the stranger names, 

" The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James : 

Lord of a barren heritage, 

Which his brave sires, from age to age. 

By their good swords had held with toil ; 

His sire had fallen in such turmoil, 

And he, God wot, was forced to stand 

Oft for his right with blade in hand. 

Tills morning, with Lord Moray's train. 

He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 

Outstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer, 

Lost his good steed, and wander'd here." 

XXX. 

Fain would the knight in turn require 
The name and state of EUen's sire. 
Well show'd the elder lady's mien,* 
That courts and cities she had seen : 
EUen, though more her looks display'd* 
The simple grace of silvan maid, 
In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Show'd she was come of gentle race. 
Twere strange, in ruder rank to tuid. 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave 
Or EUen, ianocently gay, 
Tiu-u'd aU inquiry light away : — 
" Weird women we ! by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast, 

MJ8.~" T© whom, though more remote her clam. 
Young Ellen gave a mother's name." 

• See Appendix, Note I. 

» MS. — " Well show'd the another's easy mien." 

• M?. — " Ellen, though more her looks betray' d 

The simpls heart of mountain maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and grace, 
Show'd she was come of gentle race : 
'Twas strange, in birth so rude, to find 
9acb/ffee such manners, and such mind. 



\ 



On wandering knights our speUs we cast ; 
While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." 
She sung, and stiU a harp uof eon 
FiU'd up the symphony between.* 

XXXL 
Song. 
" Soldier, rest I thy wariBie o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking 
Dream of battled fields no more, 
i,^^^^ Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall. 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall, 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest 1 thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more : 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Morn of toU, nor night of waking. 

" No rude sound shall reach thine ear,' 

Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shriU fife may come 

At the day-break from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shaU none be near ; 
Guards nor warders challenge here, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping." 

xxxn. 

She paused — then, blushing, led the lay' 
To grace the stranger of the day. 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing song, 
TiU to her hps in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

Sonji contfnueU. 
" Huntsman, rest 1 thy chase ia done, 

While oiu* slumb'rous speUs assail ye,* 
Dream not, with the rising s'jh. 

Bugles here shaU sound reveille. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep 1 thy hoxmds are by thee lying ; 

Each anxious hint the stranger gn*e 
The mother heard with silence grave." 

s See Appendix, Note K. 

» MS. — " JVoon of hunger, night of waking. 

No rude sound shall rouse thine ear." 
' MS. — " She paused — but waked again the lay." 
" Slumber sweet our spells shall deal t* 



8 MS 



-s 



Let oar si umbrous 



spells } ""^^ y- 
( beEoile t« 



192 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



UANTO I 



Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen, 

flow thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, res* 1 thy chase is done, ^ 
Think not of the rising sun, 
For at dawning to assail ye, 
Here ro bugles soimd reveille." 

XXXIII. 

The hall was clear'd — the stranger's bed 

Was there of moimtain heather spread, 

^ere oft a hundred guests had lain. 

And dream'd their forest sports again.' 

But vainly did the heath-flower shed 

Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 

Not EUen's spell had luU'd to rest 

The fever of his troubled breast. 

In broken dreams the image rose 

Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 

His steed now flounders in the brake. 

Now smks his barge upon the lake ; 

Now leader of a broken host, 

His standard falls, liis honor's lost. 

Then, — from my couch may heavenly might 

Chase that worst phantom of the night 1 — 

Again return'd the scenes of youth. 

Of confident undoubting truth ; 

Again his soul he interchanged 

With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 

They come, in dim procession led. 

The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 

As warm each hand, each brow as gay. 

As if they parted yesterday. 

And doubt distracts him at the view 

O were his senses false or true 1 

Dream'd he of death, or broken vow, 

Or is it all a vision now !* 

XXXIV. 
At lengt,h, with Ellen in a grove 
He seem'd to walk, and speak of love 
She listen'd with a blush and sigh. 
His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 
He sought her yielded hand to clasp, 

MS. — " And dream'd their monntain chase again." 
Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear, 

From these foul demons shield the midnight gloom : 
Angels of fancy and of love, he near. 

And o'er the blank of sleep diffuse a bloom: 
Evoke tlie sac-ed shades of Greece and Rome, 

And let them virtue with a look impart ; 
Bnt chief, awhile, O ! lend ns from the tomb 

Those long-lost friends for whom in love we smart, 
And fill with piotis awe and joy-mixt woe the heart. 

Or are you sportive 1 — bid the mom of youth 
Rise to new light, and beam afresh the days 

Of innocence, eimpHcity, and truth ; 
To cares estranged, and manhood's thorny ways. 

What transport, to retrace onr boyish plays, 
Onr easy bJisg, when each thing joy (applied ; 



And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 

The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 

Upon its head a helmet shone ; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size, 

With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes, 

Tlie grisly visage, stem and hoar, 

To Ellen still a likeness bore. — 

He woke, and, panting with affright, 

Recall'd the vision of the night.' 

The hearth's decaying brands were red. 

And deep and dusky lustre shed. 

Half showing, half concealing, all 

The imcouth trophies of the hall. 

Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye. 

Where that huge falchion hung on high, 

And thoughts on thoughts, a cotmtless throng, 

Rush'd chasing countless thoughts along, 

Until, the giddy whirl to cure. 

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 

XXXV. 

The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom,* 

Wasted aroimd their rich perfmue : 

The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm, 

The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 

The silver Ught, with quivering glance, 

Play'd on the water's still expanse, — 

Wild were the heart whose passions' sway 

Could rage beneath the sober ray I 

He felt its cahn, that warrior guest, 

While thus he communed with his breast : — 

" Wliy is it, at each turn I trace 

Some memory of that exiled race ? 

Can I not motmtain-iiJaiden spy. 

But she must bear the Douglas eye ? 

Can I not view a Highland brand, 

But it must match the Douglas hand ? 

Can I not frame a fever'd dream, 

But stUl the Douglas is the theme ? 

I'll dream no more — by manly mind 

Not even in sleep is will resign' d. 

My midnight orisons paid o'er, 

I'U turn to rest, and dream no more." 

The woods, the mountains, and the warbling maze 
Of the wild brooks !" — Castle of Indolence, Canto 1. 

' " Snch a strange and romantic dream as may be natnrall; 
expected to flow from the extraordinary events of the past day 
It might, perhaps, be quoted as one of Mr. Scott's most succest 
fnl eflorts in descriptive poetry. Some few lines of it are indeed 
unrivalled for deli'acy and melancholy tenderness." — Critica, 
Review. 

„„ ™ . , i the bosom of the lake, 

« MS.— " Play'd on I T v. ir . • . . ii 

•' I Loch Katrine s still expanse ; 

The birch, the wild-rose, and the broom, 

Wasted around their rich perfume 

The birch-trees wept in balmy dew ■ 

The aspen slept on Benvenue ; 

Wild were the heart whose passions' pc iret 

Defied the infloence of the boor." 



7ANT0 11. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 193 


Ris midnight orisons he told, 


And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 


A prayer with every bead of gold, 


Pine for his Highland home ; 


Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes, 


Then, warrior, then be thine to show 


And Slink in undisturb'd repose ; 


The care that soothes a wanderer's woe : 


trntn the heath-cock slirilly crew, 


Remember then thy hap erewhile. 


And morning dawn'd on Benvenue. 


A stranger in the lonely isle. 


• 


" Or if on hfe's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mai- thy sail ; ' 




^t Cabs of tl)e Cake. 


If faithful, wise, and brave in vain. 
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 




Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed. 




CANTO SECOND. 


On thankless courts, or friends estranged, ' 
But come where kindred worth shall smiley 




Sri)e £slanli. 


To greet thee in the lonely isle." 


J. 

At mom the black-cock trims his jetty wing, 


IV. 

As died the sounds upon the tide. 


'Tis morning prompte the linnet's blithest lay, 


The shallop reach'd the mainland side, 


All Nature's children feel the matin spring 


And ere his onward way he took. 


Of life reviving, with reviving day ; 


The stranger cast a lingering look. 


And while yon little bai'k glides dowu the bay. 


Where easily his eye might reach 


Wafting the Strang r on bis way again, 


The Harper on the islet beach. 


Morn'3 genial influence roused a minstrel gray. 


Reclined against a blighted tree. 


And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain. 


As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 


Mix'd with the sounding harp, white-hair'd 


To minstrel meditation given. 


Allan-Bane!' 


His reverend brow was raised to heave^ 




As from the rising sim to claim , 


IL 


A sparkle of inspiring flame. 


Song. 


His hand, reclined upon the wu-e, 


* Not faster yonder rowers' might 


Seem'4 watching the awakening fire ; 


Flings from their oars the sprav 


So still he sate, as those who wait 


Not faster yonder rippling bright. 


Till judgment speak the doom of fate ; 


That tracks the shallop's co'^r-e j> ight, 


So still, as if no breeze might dare 


Melts in the lake away, 


To hft one lock of hoary hair ; 


Than men from memory iT'^si 


So still, as life itself were fled. 


The benefits of forme'- d"/? , 


In the last sound his harp had sped. 


Then stranger, 50 1 good ap jp j t».e while, 




N It tbiak again of '..np ioue'.y lale. 


V. 




Upon a rock with lichens wild. 


" High place to tnee in r jyal court, 


Beside him EUen sate and .smiled. — 


High place in battle line, 


Smiled she to see the stately drake 


Good hawk and hound for silvan sport. 


Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, 


Where beauty sees the brave resort,' 


Wliile her vex'd spaniel, from the beach 


The honor'd meed be thine 1 


Bay'd at the prize beyond his reach ? 


True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 


Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, 


Thy lady constant, kind, and dear. 


Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose 1— 


And lost in love and friendship's smile, 


Forgive, forgive. Fidelity ! 


Be memory of the lonely isle. 


Perchance the maiden smiled to see 


HT. 


Yon parting lingerer wave adieu. 


And stop and turn to wave anew ; 


Sonii contfnuetr. 


And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 


* But if beneath yon southern sky 


Condemn the heroine of my lyre, 


A plaided stranger roam. 


Show me the fair would scorn to spy. 


W hose dr x)ping crest and stifled sigh, 


And prize such conquest of her eye.' 


' See Apperaii, Note L. 


« MS. — " At tourneys where the brave man ' 



194 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



VI. 
While yet he loiter'd on the spot, 
It Reem'd as Ellen mark'd him not ; 
But when he turn'd him to the glade, 
One coua'tei)us parting sign she matle ; 
And after, oft the kiiiglit would say, 
Tliat not when prize of festal day 
Waa dealt liim by the brightest fair, 
'A'ho e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
ho highly did his bosom swell. 
As at that simple mute farewell 
Now with a trusty mountain-guide. 
And his dark stag-hounds by his side, 
He parts — the maid unconscious still, 
Watch'd him wmd slowly round the hill ; 
But when his stately form was hid, • 
The guardian in her bosom cliid — 
" Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid 1" 
'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, — 
" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 
On tlie smooth plu-ase of southern tongue ; 
Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye. 
Another step than thme to spy.' 
Wake, Allan-Bane," aloud she cried, . 
To the old Minstrel by her side, — 
" Arouse thee from thy moody dream 1 
III give thy harp heroic theme. 
And warm thee with a noble name; 
Pom fcith the glory of the Graeme 1"" 
Scarce from her hp the word had rush'd, 
WTien deep the conscious maiden blush'd ; 
For of his clan, in hall and bower, 4 
Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower. 

VII. 

The Minstrel waked his harp — three times 

Arose the well-known martial cliimes, 

And thrice their high heroic pride 

In melanclioly murmurs died. 

" VaiiUy thou bid'st, noble maid," 

Clasping his wither'd hands, he said, 

" Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 

Tliough all unwont to bid in vain. 

Alas', than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spann'd * 

I touch the chords of joy, but low 

And mournful answer notes of woe ; 

And the proud march, wliich victors tread. 

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 

O weU for me, if min»> alone 

That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 

If, as my timeful fathers said. 

This harp, wliich erst Saint Modan sway'd,* 

Can thus its master's fate foretell, 

Tnen welcome be the minstrel's knell 1 

MS. — " The liveliest Lowland fair to spy." 
Bee .Apiieniiii, NoteM. Ibid. Note N. 



vm. 

" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sigh'd 

The eve thy sainted mother died ; 

And such the sounds which, wlule I strove 

To wake a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth. 

Appalling me who gave them birtJi, 

And, disobedient to my call, 

Wail'd loud through Bothwell's banner'd 

hall. 
Ere Douglases, to ruin driven,* 
Were exiled from their native heavea - 
Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe. 
My master's house must undergo. 
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair. 
Brood in these accents of despair. 
No future bard, sad Harp 1 shall fling 
Triumph or rapture from thy string ; 
One short, one final strain shall flow, 
Fraught with unutterable woe. 
Then shiver'd shall thy fragments lie 
Thy master cast him down and die !" 

IX. 

Soothing she answer'd him, " Assuage^ 

Mine honor'd friend, thf fears of age ; 

AU melodies to thee ai e known, 

Tliat harp has rung, or pipe has blown. 

In Lowland vale or Highland glen, 

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then 

At times, unbidden notes should rise. 

Confusedly boimd in memory's ties. 

Entangling, as they rush along. 

The war-march with the fimeral song ? — 

Small ground is now for boding fear ; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My sire, in native virtue great. 

Resigning lordship, lands, and state, 

Not then to fortune more resign'd, 

Tlian yonder oak might give the wind , 

The graceful foliage storms may reav«. 

The noble stem they cannot grieve. 

For me," — she stoop'd, and, looking round, 

Pluck'd a blue hare-bell from the ground,— 

" For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An image of more splendid days, 

This Uttle flower, that loves the lea, 

May well my simple emblem be ; 

It drinks heaven's dew as bhthe as ro8e* 

That in the king's own garden grows ; 

And when I place it in my hair, 

AUan, a bard is bound to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreath'd in her dark locks, and smiled 

« See Appendix, Note O. 

• MS.—" No blither dew-drop cheer* th» "cn*.'* 



aUTO II. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



19t 



der emila ner speech, with winning sway, 
Wiled the old harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw, 
When aiigels stoop to soothe their woe, 
He gazed, till fond regret and pride 
rhrill'd to a tear, then thus replied : 
•' Ix)veliest and best ! thou little know'st 
Tho raiik, the honors, thou hast lost 1 

might I live to see thee grace. 

In Si otland's court, thy bi'-th-right place, 
To eno. my favorite's step advance,' 
ITie lightest in the courtly dance. 
The cause of every gallant's sigh. 
An i leading star of every eye. 
And theme of every miustrera art, 
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart 1'" 

XL 
" Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried, 
(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd ;) 
" Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy ;* 
Nor would my footsteps spring more gay 
In courtly dance than bhthe strathspey. 
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 
And then for suitors proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye, — 
Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say, 
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan- Alpine's pride, 
The terror of Loch Lomond's side, 
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — for a day." 

XIL 

The ancient bard his glee repress'd : 
" HI hast thou chosen them for jest ! 
For who, tlirough all this western wild, 
Kamed Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled 
In Holy- Rood a knight he slew ;* 

1 saw, when back the dirk he drew. 
Courtiers give place before the stride 
Of the undaunted homicide -^ 

And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 
Who else dared give — ah ! woe the day,* 
That I such hated truth should say — 
The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 

This couplet is not in tlie MS. 

The well-known cognizance of the Douglas fami.y. 

MS. — " This mossy rock, my friend, to me 

Is worth gay chair and canopy." 
See Appendix, Note P. 
MS. — " Courtiers give place with heartless stride 

'Of the retiring homicide." 
Wi. — " Who ^ se dared •<vu the kindred claim 



Disown'd by every noble peer,'' 

Even the rude refuge we have here ? 

Alas, tills wild marauding Chief 

Alone might hazard our reUef, 

And now thy maiden charms expand. 

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 

FuU soon may dispensation sought, 

To back his suit, from Rome be brought 

Then, though an exile on the hiU, 

Thy father, as the Douglas, still 

Be held in reverence and fear ; 

And though to Poderick thou'rt ii. dear 

That thou mightst guide with silken thread, 

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread ; 

Yet, loved maid, thy mkth refrain ! 

Thy hand is on a Uon's mane." — 

XIIL 
" Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 
Her father's soul ghmced from her eye, 
" My debts to Roderick's house I know • 
AU that a mother could bestow. 
To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 
Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrow'd o'er her sister's cVild ; 
To her brave cliirftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who slirouds my sire, 
A deeper, hoher debt is owed ; 
And, could I pay it with my blood, 
Allan ! Sir Roderick sliould command 
My blood, my Ufe, — but not my hand. 
Rather will EUen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ;" 
Rather tlirough realms beyond the sea, 
Seeking the world's cold charity. 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard. 
An outcast pilgrim will she rove. 
Than wed the man she cannot lovv\' 

XIV. 
"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses j^aj,— 
That pleading look, what can it say 
But what I own ? — I grant him brave, 
But wild as Bracklirm's thundering wave ;* 
And generous — save vindictive mood. 
Or jealous transport, chafe his blood,* 
I grant him true to friendly band. 
As liis claymore is to liis hand ; 
But ! that very blade of steel 

That bound him to tliy mother's name ? 
Who else dared give," Sic. 
' See Appendix, Note Q. » Ibid, Note R. 

9 " Ellen is most exquisitely drawn, and could not na»i 
been improved by contrast. She is beautiful, frank, aifeo 
tionate, rational, and playful, combining the innocence of 
child with the elevated sentiments and courage of a heroma 
— Quarterly Review. 

10 See Appendix, Note S. 



196 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS- 



CANTO n 



More mercy for a foe would feel : 


Yet, by my minstrel's faith, I heard — 


I erant liim libei al, to fling 


And hark again ! some pipe of war 


Among his cl-an tlie wealth they brin^, 


Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 


When back by lake and glen they wind. 




And in tlM; Lowland leave behind, 


XVI. 


Where ince some pleasant hamlet stood, 


Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied 


A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 


Four darkening specks upon the tide, 


Die han I that for my father fought, 


That, slow enlarging on the view. 


I honor, as his daughter ought ; 


Four mann'd and masted barges grew, 


But can I clasp it reeking red. 


And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 


From jicasants slaughter'd in their shed ? 


Steer'd full upon the lonely isle ; 


No ' wildly wliile liis virtues gleam, 


The point of BrianchoU they pass'd, 


They make his passions darker seem, 


And, to the windward as they cast, 


4nd flash along liis spirit high, 


Against the sun they gave to shine 


Lilce lightning o'er the midnight sky. 


The bold Su- Roderick's banner'd Pine. 


While yet a child, — and cliildren know, 


Nearer and nearer as they bear. 


Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — 


Spear, pikes, and axes flash in air. 


I shudder'd at liis brow of gloom. 


Now might you see the tartans brave, 


His shadowy plaid, and sable plume ; 


And plaids and plimiage dance and wave : 


A maiden gi own, I dl could bear 


Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 


His haughty mien and lordly air : 


As his tough oar the rower phes ; 


But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 


See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 


In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 


The wave ascending into smoke ; 


I tliriU with anguish ! or, if e'er 


See the proud pipers on the bow, 


A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 


And mark the gaudy streamers flow 


To change such odious theme were best, — 


From their loud chanters' down, and sweep 


What think'st thou of our stranger guest ?" — 


The furrow'd bosom of the deep. 




As, rushing through the lake amain, 


XV. 


They phed the ancient Higliland strain. 


" VV hat think I of him ? — woe the while 




That brought such wanderer to our isle 1 


XVIL 


Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 


Ever, as on they bore, more loud 


For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,* 


And louder rimg the pibroch proud. 


What time he leagued, no longer foes. 


At first the sound, by distance tame, 


His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, 


Mellow'd along the waters came. 


Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 


And, Ungering long by cape and buy 


The footstep of a secret foe." 


Wail'd every harsher note away ; 


If courtly spy hath harbor'd here. 


Tlien bursting bolder on the ear, 


What may we for the Douglas fear ? 


The clan's shi-Ul Gathering ihe/ wulA 


What for this island, deem'd of old 


hear ; 


Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold ? 


Tliose thrilling sounds, that call the might 


If neither spy nor foe, I pray 


Of old Clan- Alpine to the light.* 


What yet may jealous Roderick say ? 


Thick beat the rapid no'.es, as when 


— Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, 


The mustering hunvLeis dhake the glen, 


Bethmk thee of the discord dread 


And, hurrying at t/ia signal dread. 


Tijat kindled, when at Beltane game 


Tlie batter'd eanh re'^urns their tread. 


Thou led'st the dance with Malcolm Graeme , 


Then prelude iiglit, of Uvelier tone, 


StiU, though thy sire the peace renew'd. 


Express'd theii merry marching on. 


Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ; 


Ere peal of closing battle rose. 


Beware ! — But hark, what sounds are these ?* 


With ming'.ed outcry, slirieks, and blows ; 


My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 


And mir^ic din of stroke and ward. 


No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 


As bread sword upon target jarr'd ; 


Nor breath is dimpling m the lake, 


And groaning pause, ere yet again. 


Still is the canna's* hoary beard. 


Oa-d'.nsed, the battle yeU'd amain; 


" 8«* A-ppendix, Note T. » Ibid. Note U. 


proca>Mon, are given with inimitable spirit and power of *i 


"Tfce moving picture — the effect of the sonnde — and the 


pre».«ion." — Jbffrby. * Cotton-grass. 


qd chi racter and •trong pecaliar nationality of the whole 


• The pipe of the bagpii*. « See Appendix, Note V. 



dAHfTO n. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



191 



The rapid charge, the rallying shout, 
Retreat borne headlong into rout. 
And bursts of triumph, to declare 
Clan- Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow, 
Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low, 
And changed the conquering clarion swelL 
For wild lament o'er those that feU. 

XVIIL 
The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and hill 
Were busy with their echoes stdl ; 
And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again. 
While loud a hundred clansmen raise 
Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar, 
With measured sweep the burden bore, 
In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
Makes through December's leafless trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
" Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iero !" 
And near, and nearer as they row'd, 
Distinct the martial ditty floVd. 

XIX. 

3Soat .Song. 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances 1 

Honor'd and blesa'd be the ever-green Pine 1 
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line 1 

Heaven send it happy dew. 

Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 

While every Highland glen 

Sends our shout back agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe 1'" 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the 
mountain, 
The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 
Moor'd in the rifted rock. 
Proof to the tempest's shock. 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 
Echo his praise agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe l" 

XX. 

Proudly our pibroch has thriU'd in Glen Fruin, 
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied ; 

» See Appendix, Note W. ' Ibid. Note X. 

» " However we may dblike the geographical song and cho- 
««, h&lf English and half Erse, which is sang in praise of the 
«MTior, Me mast allow that, iu other respects, the hero of a 



Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking m ruin 
And the best of Loch Lomond he dead on her side- 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our raid, 
Tliink of Clan- Alpine with fear and with woe 
Lemiox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they hear agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu ho 1 ieroe !" 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride jf the Highland^ 
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-gi|f3eu Pine 1 
1 that the rose-bud that graces yon ii^land^, 
W^ere wreathed in a garland around him to twine 

O that some seedling gem, 

Worthy such noble stem, 
Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might gro^ 

Loud should Clan-Alpine then 

Ring from the deepmost glen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe !"» 

XXL 
With all her joyful female band. 
Had Lady Margaret sought the strand 
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew. 
And high their snowy arms they threw, 
As echoing back with shriU acclaim, 
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ;* 
While, prompt to please, with mother's art. 
The darling passion of his heart. 
The Dame call'd Ellen to the strand, 
To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
" Come, loiterer come ! a Douglas thou, 
And shim to wreathe a victor's brow ?" — 
Reluctantly and slow, the maid 
The unwelcome summoning obey'd. 
And, when a distant bugle rung. 
In the mid-path aside she sprung : — 
" List, AUan-Bane ! From mamland cast. 
I hear my father's signal blast. 
Be ours," she cried, " the skiff to guide, 
And waft him from the moimtain side " 
Then like a sunbeam, swift and bright, 
She darted to her shallop light. 
And, eagerly while Roderick scann'd, 
For her dear form, his mother's band. 
The islet far behind her lay, 
And she had landed in the bay. 

XXIL 

Some feelings are to mortals giveh, 
With less of earth in them than heaveu 
And if there be a human tear 
From passion's dross refined and clear, , 
A tear so limpid and so meek, 

poem has seldom, if ever, been introdncea with finei effect «r 
in a manner better calculated to excite the expeetaticns of hi 
reader, than on the present occasion." — Critical Review 
< MS. — " The chorus to the cnieftain's /ook " 



198 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANio n 



It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
Tis that which pious fathers shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head I 
And as the Douglas to liis breast 
His darUng EUen closely press'd, 
Such holj' drops her tresses steep'd, 
Tliough 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd. 
Noi w'lile on Ellen's faltering tongue* 
Her nlial welcomes crowded hung, 
Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof) 
Still held a graceful youth aloof; 
Nc ! not till Douglas mimed liis name, 
AJthough the youth was Malcolm Grjeme. 

XXIII. 

Allan, with wistful look the while, 

Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle ; 

His master piteously he eyed, 

Then gazed upon the Cliieftain's prida 

Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away 

From liis dimm'd eye the gathering spray; 

And Douglas, as his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 

" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 

In my poor follower's glistening eye ? 

m tell thee : — he recalls the day, 

When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud. 

While many a minstrel answer'd loud, 

When Percy's Norman pennon, won 

In bloody field, before me shone, 

And twice ten knights, the least a name 

As mighty as yon Chief may clauu. 

Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 

Yet trust me, Malcohn, not so proud 

Was I of all that marsliall'd crowd, 

riiougli the waned crescent own'd my might. 

And in my train troop'd lord and knight. 

Though Blantyre hymn'd her holiest lays. 

And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, 

As when this old man's silent tear. 

And this po(T maid's affection dear, 

A welcome give more kind and true. 

Than aught my better fortunes knew. 

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, 

! it out-beggars all I lost I" 

XXIV. 

Delightful p. dise ! — Like summer rose, 
Tliat brighter in the dew-drop glows. 
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd. 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, 

MS — " Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
Het filial greetings eager hung, 
Maik'd not that awe (affection's proof) 
Siill held yon gentle youth aloof; 
Mo I not tiU Douglas named his name, 



The hounds, the hawk, her ca tes divide , 
The loved caresses of the maid 
The dogs with crouch and whimper j)aid ;* 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took her favorite stand, 
Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye, 
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 
And, trust, while in such guise she stood, 
Like fabled Goddess of the wood,' 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'erweigh'd her worth and beauty aught, 
Well might the lover's judgment fail 
To balance with a juster scale ; 
For with each secret glance he stole, 
The fond enthusiast sent his souL 

XXV. 
Of stature tall, and slender frame, 
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 
The belted plaid and tartan hose 
Did ne'er more graceful Umbs disclose ; 
His flaxen hair of sunny hue, 
Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue, 
Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye 
The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; 
Each pass, by moimtain, lake, and heath, 
He knew, through Lennox and Menteith ; 
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow. 
And scarce that doe, though wing'd with few 
Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer ; 
Right up Ben- Lomond could he press. 
And not a sob his toil confess. 
His form accorded with a mind 
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
A bhther heart, till Ellen came. 
Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
It danced as hghtsorae in his breast. 
As play'd the feather on his crest. 
Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth. 
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth. 
And bards, who saw his features bold. 
When kindled by the tales of old. 
Said, "were that youth to manhood grown, 
Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame. 
But quail to that of Malcohn Graeme. 

XXVI. 
Now back they wend their watery w&j. 
And, " my sire 1" did Ellen say, 
" Why urge thy chase so far astray ? 
And why so late retm-n'd ? And why" — 

Although the youth was Malcolm Grxme. 
Then withfiusli'd cheek and downcast eye. 
Their greeting was confused and shy." 
• MS. — " The dogs with whimpering notes repaid." 
s MS. — •' Like fabled huntress of the wood." 



CANTO 11. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. nt 


The rest was in her speakbg eye. 


Themselves in bloody toils were snared ; 


"My child, the chase I follow far, 


And when the banquet they prepared. 


Tis mimickry of noble war ; 


And wide their loyal portals flung, 


And with +hat gallant pastime reft 


O'er their own gateway strugglmg hung. 


Were ali of Douglas I have left. 


Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead. 


I met young Malcolm as I stray'd, 


From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 


Fai eastward, iu Glenfinlps' shade, 


Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide. 


Nor stray'd I safe ; for, all around. 


And from the silver Teviot's side ; 


Hunters and horsemen scour'J the ground. 


The dales, where martial clans did ride,* 


This youth, though stD' a royal ward. 


Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. 


Hisk'd Ufc and land to be my guard. 


This tyrant of the Scottish throne. 


Antl through the passes of the wood, 


So faitliless and so ruthless known. 


Guided my steps, not unpursued ; 


Now hither comes ; liis end the same. 


And Roderick shall his welcome make, 


The same pretext of silvan game. 


Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 


What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge y« 


Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, 


By fate of Border chivalry.' 


Nor peril aught for me agen." • 


Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas green. 




Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 


XXVII. 


This by espial sure I know ; 


Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 


Your counsel in the streight I show " 


Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 




Yet, not in action, word, nor eye. 


XXIX. 


Fail'd aught in hospitahty. 


EUen and Margaret fearfully 


in talk and sport they whiled away 


Sought comfort in each other's eye, 


The morning of that summer day ; 


Then turn'd their ghastly look, each one. 


But at high noon a courier light 


This to her sire — that to her son. 


Held secret parley with the knight. 


The hasty color went and came 


Wliose moody aspect soon declared. 


In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme ; 


That evil were the news he heard. 


But from his glance it well appear'd, 


Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head ; 


'Twas but for Ellen that he fear'd ; 


Yet was the evening banquet made. 


While, sorrowful, but undismay'd, 


Ere he assembled round the flame 


The Douglas thus his counsel said : — 


His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, 


"Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 


And EUen, too ; then cast around 


It may but thunder and pass o'er ; 


His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground. 


Nor wUl I here remain an hour. 


As studying phrase that might avail 


To draw the Ughtning on thy bower ; 


Best to convey unpleasant tale. 


For well thou know'st, at this gray head 


Long with liis dagger's hilt he play'd. 


The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 


Then raised his haughty brow, and said : — 


For thee, who, at thy Kmg's command. 




Canst aid him with a gallant band, 


XXVIII. 


Submission, homage, hmnbled pride, 


" Short be my speech ; — nor time aiforda, 


Shall tiu-n the j.onarch's wrath aside. 


Nor my plaui temper, glozing worda. 


Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 


Kinsman and father, — if such name 


EUen and I wUl seek, apart, 


Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim 


The refuge of some forest ceU ; 


Mir.^ honor'd mother ; — Ellen — why. 


There, Uke the hunted quarry, dwell, 


My cousin, turn away thine eye ? — 


TUl on the mountain and the moor, 


A.ad Graeme ; in whom I hope to know 


The stern pursuit be pass'd and o'er." — 


Foil soon a noble friend or foe. 




When age shall give thee thy command, 


XXX. 


And leading in thy native land, — 


" No, by mine honor," Roderick said. 


List all ! — The King's vindictive pride 


" So help me, heaven, and my good blade 1 


Boasts to have tamed the Border-side,* 


No, never 1 Blasted be yon Pme, 


Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came 


My fathers' ancient crest and mine, 


To share their monarch's silvan game. 


If from its shade in danger part 


See Appendix, Note Y. 


» See Appei^ix, Note 2,. 


MS — " The dales where clans were wont to bide." 





1 

100 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 


The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 


One instant rush'd the throbbing bloc i, 


Hear my blunt speech : Grant me this maid, 


Then ebbing back, with sudden sway. 


To wife, thy coimsel to mine aid ; 


Left its domain as wan as clay. 


To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 


" Roderick, enough ! enough !" be cried, 


Will friends and aUios flock enow ; 


" My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 


Lake cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 


Not that the blush to wooer dear. 


WiU bind to us each "Western Chief. 


Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 


Wlien the loud pipes my bridal tell, 


It may not be — forgive her, Chie^ 


The links of Forth shall hear the knell. 


Nor hazard aught for our rehef 


Thti guards shall start in Stirling's porch; 


Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'el 


And, when I hght the nuptial torch, 


Will level a rebellious spear. 


A thousand villages in flames. 


'Twas I that taught his youthful hand » 


Shall scare the slumbers of King James I 


To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 


— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 


I see him yet, the princely boy ! 


And, motlier, cease these signs, I pray ; 


Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; 


I meant not all my heart might say. — 


I love him still, despite my wrongs. 


Small need of inroad, or of fight. 


By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 


When the sage Douglas may unite 


seek the grace you weU may find. 


Each mountain clan in friendly band, 


Without a cause to mine combineil." 


To guard the passes of their land. 




Till the foil'd king, from pathless glen,* 


XXXIIL 


Shall bootless turn him home agen." 


Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode 




The waving of his tartans broad. 


XXXI. 


And darken'd brow, where wounded priilt; 


There are who have, at midnight hour, 


With ire and disappointment vied. 


In slmnber scaled a dizzy tower, 


Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light. 


And, on the verge that beetled o'er 


Like the ill Demon of the night. 


The ocean-tide's incessant roar. 


Stooping his pinion's shadowy sway 


Dream'd calmly out their dangerous dream,' 


Upon the nighted pilgrun's way : 


riU waken'd by the morning beam ; 


But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 


When dazzled by the eastern glow. 


Plunged deepest its envenomed sm.irt, 


Such startler cast his glance below. 


And Roderick, with thine anguish stung. 


And saw unmeasured depth around. 


At length the hand of Douglas wrung. 


And heard nnintermitted sound. 


Wliile eyes, that mock'd at tears before. 


And thought the battled fence so frail. 


With bitter drops were running o'er. ^ 


It waved like cobweb in the gale ; — 


The death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope 


Amid his senses' giddy wheel. 


Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 


Did he not desperate impulse feel. 


But Struggling with his spirit proud, 


Headlong to plunge himself below, 


Convulsive heaved its checker'd shroud, 


And meet the worst his fears foreshow ? — 


While every sob — so mute were all — 


Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound. 


Was heard distinctly thi-ough the halL 


As sudden ruin yawu'd around, 


The son's despair, the mother's look, 


By crossing terrors wUdly toss'd. 


111 might the gentle Ellen brook , 


Still for the Douglas fearing most. 


She rose, and to her side there came. 


Could scarce the desperate thought witlistand. 


To aid her parting steps, the Graeme 


To buy his safety with her hand. 






XXXIV. 


XXXII. 


Then Roderick from the Douglas broke- 


Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 


As flashes flame through sable smoke. 


In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 


Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and lo-w 


And eager rose to speak — but ere 


To one broad blaze of ruddy glow. 


His tongue could hurry forth his fear. 


So the deep anguish of despair' 


Had Douglaj mark'd the hectic strife, 


Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 


Where death seem'd combating with life ; 


With stalwart grasp liis hand he laid 


For to her cheek, in feverish flood. 


On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 


MS.—" Till the foilM king, from hill and glen." 


' MB. — " The deep-toned anguish of despair 


MS. — " Dream'd calmly out th» r des >erate dream.' 


Flash'd in fierce jealousy, to air 



nxKTO n. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20 i 



" Back, beardless boy !" he sternly said, 

" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught 

The lesson I so lately taught ? 

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 

Thajik thou for punishment delay'd." 

Eagei as greyhound on his game. 

Fiercely vrith Roderick grappled Graeme.* 

** Perish my name, if aught afford 

Its Chieftain safety save his sword !" 

Thus as they strove, their desperate hand' 

Griped to the dagger or the brand. 

And death had been — but Douglas rose. 

And thrust between the struggling foes 

His giant strength :— " Chieftains, forego 1 

I hold the first who strikes, my foe. — ' 

Madmen, forbear yom* frantic jar ! 

What ! is the Douglas fall'n so far. 

His daughter's hand is doom'd the spoil 

Of such dishonorable broil 1" 

Sullen and slowly they unclasp,* 

As struck with shame, their desperate grasps 

And each upon his rival glared. 

With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 

XXXV. 
Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung. 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, 
As, falter'd through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, 
And veil'd his wrath in scornful word. 
" Rest safe tUl morning ; pity 'twere 
Such cheek should feel the midnight air 1' 
Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell. 
Nor lackey, with his freebom clan. 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan-Alpiae know. 
Thou canst our strength and passes show. — 
Malise, what ho !" — his henchman came ;* 
" Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." 
Young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold, 
" Fear nothing for thy favorite hold ; 
The spot, an angel deign'd to grace. 
Is bless'd, though robbers haunt the place. 
Thy chm-lish courtesy for these 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes, 
Ai safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight as in blaze of day, 

> " There ia something foppish and out of character in Mal- 
solm'a rising to lead out Ellen from her own parlor ; and the 
lort of wrestling-match thar takes place between the rival 
ehieftaina on the occasion, is humiliating and iDdecoroDs." — 

iKFFRBr. 

> MS. — " Thns as they strove, each better hand 

Orasp'd for the dagger or the brand." 
* The Author has to apologize for the inadvertent appropria- 
*«r ■ a whole line from '.he tragedv of Douglas, 



Though with his boldest at his back 
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 
Brave jDouglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay. 
Naught here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen. 
So secret, but we meet agen. — 
Chieftain ! we too shall find an hoiu*."— 
He said, and left the silvan bower. 

XXXVI. 

Old AUan foUow'd to the strand 

(Such was the Douglas's command). 

And anxious told, how, on the morn, 

The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn, 

The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 

Dale, glen, and vaUey, down and moor 

Much were the peril to the Graeme, 

From those who to the signal came ; 

Far up the lake 'twere safest land, , 

Himself would row him to the strand. 

He gave his counsel to the wind. 

While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind. 

Round dirk and pouch and broadsword roll'd, 

His ample plaid in tighten'd fold. 

And stripp'd his limbs to such array 

As best might suit the watery way,— 

XXXVII. 

Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee. 
Pattern of old' fideUty !" 
The Minstrel's hand he kindly presa'd, — 
" ! could I point a place of rest ! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land. 
My uncle leads my vassal band ; 
To tame his foes, his friends to aid. 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 
Tet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 
Wbo loves the Chieftain of his name. 
Not long shall honr^r'd Douglas dweU, 
Like hunted stag in laountain cell ; 
Nor, ere yon pride-rT^U'n robber dare, — 
I may not give the ro*-' to air 1 
Tell Roderick Dhu 1 o^-» him naught. 
Not the poor service of a V)at, 
To waft me to yon moimtr'tn-side." 
Then plunged he in the fla?S«ig tide.'' 
Bold o'er the flood his head ^^ bore. 
And stontly steer'd him from ^e shof e ; 
And Allan ^train'd his anxious tye, 





" I holi the first who strikes, n 


foe." 




—JVote to 


teconJ ediUi^ 


4 MS 


— " Sullen and alow the rivals bol. ' 






Loosed, at hia best, their deape 


♦ • hold, 




Bpt either atiU on other glared,' 


»»>. 


°See 


Appendix. Note 2 A. 




«See 


Appeixlut, Note 2 B. 




' MS 


.- " Hp spoke, and plunged into the til 



CO'i 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO in 



Far 'mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each pimy wave, 
To which the moon her silver gave, 
Fast as the cormorant could skim, 
The swimmer plied each active limb; 
Then landing in the moonlight dell. 
Loud sliouted of his weal to telL 
The Minstrel heard the far haUoo, 
And joyful from the shore withdrew. 



Slljc Calig of t\)t Cake. 



OANTO THIRD. 



STJe ffiatijerfnjj. 

I. 

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,' 

Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store. 

Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, 
How are they blotted from the tilings that be 1 

How few, aU weak and wither'd of their force. 
Wait on the verge of dark eternity, 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide retm-ning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight 1 Time rolls his 
ceaseless course. 

Yet live there stiU who can remember well. 

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew. 
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, 

And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 
And fast the faithful clan around him drew, 

What time the warning note was keenly wound. 
What time aloft their kindred banner flew, 

WTiile clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering 
sound. 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, 
roimd-* 

IL 

The summer dawn's reflected hue 

To purple changed Loch Katrine blue ; 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 

Just kiss'd the Lake, just stirr'd the trees, 

And the pleased lake, like maiden coy. 

Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; 

> " Tt^re are no separate introdnctions to the cantoe of this 
poem ; bnt each of them begins with one or two stanzas in the 
measare of Snens»-. asaally containing some reflections con- 
nected with the j-bject about to be entered on ; and written, 
'or the most part, with great tenderness and beauty. The fot 
lowing, we think, is among tlie most striking." — JKFrRET. 

2 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 

' MS. — ' The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 

Begemn'd with dewdrops, led her fawn ; 



The mountain-shadows on her breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest ; 

Li bright imcertainty they Ue, 

Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 

The water-lily to the light 

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright ; 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 

Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawx • 

The gray mist left* the moimtain side. 

The torrent show'd its gUstening pride ; 

Invisible in flecked sky. 

The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and brush ;" 

Jn answer coo'd the cushat dove 

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 

IIL 

No thought of peace, no thought of rest, 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast 
With sheathed broadsword in his hand, 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand. 
And eyed the rising sim, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blade. 
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care* 
Was prompt the ritual to prepare. 
With deep and deathful meaning fraught , 
For such Antiquity had taught 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of Fire should take its road, 
The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast ; — 
Such glance the moimtain eagle threw. 
As, from the clifi's of Benvenue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind, 
And, high in middle heaven, reclined, 
With her broad shadow on the lake, 
SUenced the warblers of the brake. 

IV. 

A heap of wither'd boughs was piled. 
Of jimiper and rowan wild. 
Mingled with sliivers from the oak. 
Rent by the hghtning's recent stroke. 
Brian, the Hei mit, by it stood. 
Barefooted in his frock and hood. 
His grisled beard and matted hair 
Obscm-ed a visa£;e of despair ; 
His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er, 

Invisible in fleecy cload, 

The lark sent down her matins lond ; 

The light mist left,' &c. 

i " The green hills 

Are clothed with early blossoms ; through the grasa 
The qniclr-eyed lizard rustles, ana the biU» 
Of snmina birds ring wehon»" a* ye nass." Okildt Hartim 
• MS. — " Pan' br hi> vawalp' early car* 
The mysuc ritn.il prepare.*' 



CANTO III. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



209 



The scars of frantic penance bore. 

That monk, of savage form and face,' 

The unpending danger of his race 

Had drawn from deepest solitude, 

Far in Beiiharrow's bosom rude. 

Not his the mien of Christian priest, 

But Druid's, from the grave released, 

"WboteC harden'd heart and eye might brook 

On human sacrifice to look ; 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mix'd in the charms he mutter'd o'er. 

The hallow'd creed gave only worse' 

And deadlier emphasis of curse ; 

No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, 

His cave the pilgrim shunn'd with care, 

The eager huntsman knew his bound, 

And in mid chase caU'd off his hound ; 

Or if, in lonely glen or strath. 

The desert-dweller met his path, 

He pray'd, and sign'd the cross between, 

While terror took devotion's mien.' 



V. 

Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. 

His mother watch'd a midnight fold. 

Built deep witliin a dreary glen. 

Where scatter'd lay the bones of men, 

In some forgotten battle slain. 

And bleach'd by drifting wind and rain. 

It might have tamed a warrior's heart,' 

To view such mockery of his art ! 

The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand, 

Which once could burst an iron band ; 

Beneath the br-^d and ample bone. 

That buckler'd heart *o fear unknown, 

A feeble and a timorous guest. 

The field-iare franked her iowly nest ; 

There the slow olind-Wirrm left ^is slime 

Dn the fleet limbs thai, mock d at tUii» ; 

And there, too, lay tLo leader's skull," 

Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed ana T-iU, 

For heath-bell with her purple bloom. 

Bee Appendix, Note 2 D. 

MS. — " While the bleas'd creed gave only wor»« " 

MS. — " He p'ay'd with many a cross between, 
And terror took devotion's mien." 

jkw A;>penlix, Note 2 E. 
TV»3e»? is something of pride in the perilous hour, 
Witte'er be the shape in which death may lowet 
F 3r i'ame is there to say who bleeds, 
Ant. JiPor's eye on daring deeds I 
But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
O'er the weltering field of the tombless i^^d. 
And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the vr, 
Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; 
All regarding man as their prey, * 

All rejoicing in his decay."— VrROtt— Siege of Cot rtith. 
Remove yon ekull from out the scattered heaps. 
Is that a temple where a god may dwell 1 
Why «i eo the worm at last disdains her shattered sell I 



Supplied the bonnet and the plume.' 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sate, shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
— She said, no shepherd sought her side 
No hunter's hand her snood untied. 
Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin snood did Alice wear f 
Gone was her maiden glee iuid sport, 
Her maiden girdle all too short, 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night. 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But lock'd her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail, unconfess'd. 

VI. 

Alone, among his young compeers, 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 
A moody and heart-broken boy, 
Estranged from sympathy and joy. 
Bearing each taunt which careless tongue 
On his mysterious lineage flimg. 
Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale, 
To wood and stream his hap to wail, 
Till, frantic, he as truth received* 
What of his birth the crowd beUeved, 
And sought, in mist and meteor fire. 
To meet and know liis Phantom Sire I 
In vain, to soothe his wayward fate, 
The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
In vain, the learning of the age 
Unclasp'd the sable-letter'd page ; 
Even in its treasures he could find 
Food for the fever of his mind. 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Of magic, cabala, and spells. 
And every dark pm-sxiit allied 
To curious and presumptuous pride ; 
Till with fired brain and nerves o'er 

strung, 
And heart with mystic horrors wrung, 
Desperate he sought Benliarrow's den. 
And hid him from the haunts of men. 

Look on its broken arch, its min'd wa'l, 
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul ; 
Yet this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
The dome of thought, the palace of the sonl ; 
Behold through each lack-iustre, eyeless hole. 
The gay recess of wisdom and of wit, 
And passion's host, that never brook'd (Mintroi : 
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit f" 

Childe Hartta. 

7 " These reflections on an ancient field of battle afford tht 
moat remarkable instance of false taste in all Mr. Scotft 
writings. Yet the brevity and variety of the images serve 
well to show, that even in his errors there are traces »f ■ 
powerful genius." — Je^frky. 

8 See Appendix, Note 2 F. 

8 MS. — " Till, driven to pnrensy, he believed 
The legend of his birth received." 



204 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO U) 



vn. 

The desert gave him visions wild, 
Such as might suit the spectre's child.' 
Wliere with black cliflfs the torrents toU, 
He watch'd the wheeling eddies boil, 
TiU, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 
Beheld the River Demon rise ; 
The mountain mist took form and limb, 
Of noontide hag, or goblin grim ; 
The midnight wind came wild and dread, 
Swell'd with the voices of the dead ; 
Far on the future battle-heath 
His eye beheld the ranks of death : 
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurl'd, 
Shaped forth a disembodied world. 
One lingering sympathy of mind 
StUl bound him to the mortal kind ; 
The only parent he could claim 
Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 
Late had he heard, in prophet's dream. 
The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream ;' 
Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, 
Of charging steed's careering fast 
Along Benharrow's shingly side. 
Where mortal horseman ne'er might 

ride f 
The thimderbolt had split the pine, — 
All augur'd ill to Alpine's line. 
He girt his loins, and came to show 
The signals of impending woe. 
And now stood prompt to bless or ban, 
As bade the Chieftain of his clan, 

VIIL 
Twas all prepared ; — and from the rock, 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock. 
Before the kindling pile was laid. 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, 
Down his clogg'd beard and shaggy limb, 
TiL darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, with mm-muring prayer, 
A slender crosslet form'd with care, 
A cubit's length In measure due ; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 
Wlioee parents in IncL Cailliach wave* 
Their shadows o'er Clan- Alpine's grave, 
And answering Lomond's breezes deep, 
Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
The Cross, thus form'd, he held on high. 
With wasted hand and haggard eye, 

See Appendix, Note 3 O. 
• MS — " The fatal Ben-Shie'g dismal ecream ; 
And Been her wrinkled form, the sign 
Of woe and death to Alpiae's line." 

— See Appendix, Note 2 H. 
Bte Apnendiz, Nate 3 1. 



Add strange and mingled feelings woke, 
While his anathema he spoke. 

IX. 

" Woe to the clansman, who shall view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew, 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low 1 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust. 
He ne'er shall mingle with theh- dust, 
But, from his sires and kindred thrust, 
Each clansman's execration just' 

Shall doom him wrath and woe." 
He paused ; — the word the vassals took. 
With forward step and fiery look. 
On high their naked brands they shook, 
Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 

And first in murmur low,* 
Then, like the billow in his course. 
That far to seaward finds his source. 
And flings to shore his muster'd force. 
Burst, with lovjd roar, their answer hoarse, 

" Woe to the traitor, woe 1" 
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew. 
The joyous wolf from covert drew, 
The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 



The shout was hush'd on lake and fell. 
The monk resumed his mutter'd speU : 
Dismal and low its accents came. 
The while he scathed the Cross with flame ; 
And the few words that reach'd the air. 
Although the hoUest name was there,' 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 
" Woe to the wretch who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear 1 
For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
Her home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flam«» 
Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclau»> 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and shanM 

And infamy and woe." 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill. 
Denouncing misery and ill, 

«See Appendix, Note 2 K. 

» MS. — " Onr warriors on hia worthless bnst 

Shall speak disgrace and woe." 
• MS. — " Their clattering targets hardly strook ; 

And first they mutter'd low/' 
' MS. — " AUbongh the holy name was there." 



rtiNTO III. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



SOB 



Mingled with diildhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammer'd slow ; 
Auswering, with imprecation dread 
■* Sunk be his home in embers red\ 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shaU hide the houseless head, 

We doom to want and woe 1" 
A sharp and slirieking echo gave, 
Cdr-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! 
And the gray pass where birches wave, 

On Beala-nam-bo. 

XL 
Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his laboring breath he drew, 
While, with set teeth and clenched hand. 
And eyes that glow'd like fiery brand. 
He meditated curse more dread, 
And deadMer on the clansman's head, 
Who, summon'd to his Chieftain's aid, 
The signal saw and disobey 'd. 
The crosslet's points of sparkling wood 
He quench'd among the bubbling blood. 
And, as again the sign he rear'd, 
HoUow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
" When flits this Cross from man to man, 
Vich- Alpine's summons to his clan, 
Burst be the ear that fails to heed 1 
Palsied the foot that shims to speed I 
May ravens tear the careless eyes. 
Wolves make the coward heart their prize ! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, 
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth 1 
As dies in hissing gore the spark. 
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark. 
And be the grace to him denied. 
Bought by this sign to all beside 1" 
He ceased ; no echo gave agen 
The murmur of the deep Amen.' 

XIL 
Then R<)derick, with impatient look. 
From Brian's hand the symbol took : 
" Speed, MaUse, speed !" he said, and gave 
The crosslet to his henchman brave. 

• The muster-place be Lanrick mead — * 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed 1" 
like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 
A barge across Loch Katrine flew ; 
High stood the henchman on the prow ; 
So rapidly the barge-men row, 

The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat, 

> MS. — " The slowly mutter'd deep Amen." 

• MS. — " Murlagan is tke spot decreed." 

• See Appendix, Note 2 L. 

MS. — ' ' Dread messenger of fate and fear, i 
Herald of danger, fate, and fear, \ 
Stretch ouwaid in thr fleet career I 



Were all unbroken and afloat. 
Dancing in foam a^vl rippic at^ 
>rinni rt nad near'd the mainland hill ; 
And from the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow three fathom wide, 
When hghtly bounded to the land 
The messenger of blood and brand. 

XIIL 
Speed, Malise, speed 1 the iiui deer's Mde 

On fleeter foot was never tied. 
Speed, Malise, speed 1 such cause of haste 
Thine active sinews never braced. 
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, 
Burst down like torrent from its crest , 
With short and springing footstep pass 
The trembling bog and false morass ; 
Across the brook like roebuck bound. 
And thread the brake hke questing hound 
The crag is high, the scam- is deep. 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap : 
Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow, 
Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear,* 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career 1 
The woimded hind thou track'st not now, 
Pursuest not maid through greenwood be ugh. 
Nor phest thou now thy flying pace. 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But, danger, death, and warrior deed. 
Are in thy covu-se — speed, Malise, speed 1 

XIV. 
Fast as the fatal symbol flies. 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown. 
They pour'd each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slack'd the messenger his pace ; 
He show'd the sign, he named the place, 
And, pressing forward like the wind. 
Left clamor and surprise behind.' 
The fisherman forsook the stracvd, 
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 
With changed cheer, the mower bhthe 
Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe • 
The herds without a keeper stray'd, 
The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 
The falc'ner toss'd his hawk away, 
The hunter left the stag at bay 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rush'd to arms , 
So swept the timiult and affray 

Thon track'st not now the stricken doe, 
Nor maiden coy through greenwood bongti. 
6 " The description of the starting of the ' fiery cross' bean 
more marks of labor than most of Mr. Scott's poetry, add 
borders, perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration ; rtf I 
■hows Treat nower." — Jbffkkt. 



206 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO :n 



Along the margin of Achray. 

Alas, thou lovely lake 1 that e'er 

Thy banks should echo sounds of fear I 

The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 

So stilly on thy bosom deep, 

The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud, 

SeevL' for the scene too gayly loud.' 

XV. 
Speed, Mdiise, speed ! the lake is past, 
Duncraggan's huts appear at last. 
And peep, liie moss-grown rocks, half seea 
Half hidden m the copse so green ; 
There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, 
Their Lord shall speed the signal on. — 
As stoops the hawk upon his prey. 
The henchman shot him down the way. 
— What woful accents load the gale ? 
The funeral yell, the female wail !"■' 
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 
A vaUant warrior fights no more. 
Who, in the battle or the chase. 
At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — 
Within the hall, where torches' ray 
SuppUes the excluded beams of day, 
lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 
And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
His striphng son stands mournful by, 
His yoimgest weeps, but knows not why. 
The village maids and matrons round 
The dismal coronach resound.' 

XVI. 
Cotonacj). 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font, reappearing. 

From the rain-drops shall borrow, 
But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow 1 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 

I MS- -" Seems all too lively and too loud." 

i MS. — " 'Tie woman's scream, 'tis childhood'a waU." 

» See Appendix, Note 2 M. 
Or corri. The hollow Bide of the hill, where game oenal- 
^7 ies. 

» " Mr. Scott is sDch a master of versification, that the most 
complicated metre does not, for an instant, arrest the progress 
of his imagination ; its difficulties usually operate as a salu- 
tary e.xcitement to his attention, and not unfrequently suggest 
« him new and unexpected graces oi expression. If a care- 
dBsa rhyme, or an ill-constructed phrase occasionally escape him 
tmiist tha irregulu torrent o( his stanza, the blemish is often 



The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are >^tira«*. 

But our flower was m flushing, 
When bUghting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi.^ 

Sage coimsel in cumber, 
Red hand m the foray. 

How sound is thy slumber 1 
Like the dew on the mountain. 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain 

Thou art gone, and forever 1* 

XVIL 
See Stumah,* who, the bier beside, 
His master's corpse with wonder eyed. 
Poor Stimiah I whom his least halloo 
Could send like Ughtning o'er the dew, 
Bristles his crest, and points his ears, . 
As if some stranger step he hears. 
'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread. 
Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, 
But headlong haste, or deadly fear, 
Urge the precipitate career. 
AU stand aghast : — unheeding all. 
The henchman bursts into the hall ; 
Before the dead man's bier he stood ; 
Held forth the Cross besmear'd with blood • 
" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 
Speed forth the signal I clansmen, speed I" 

XVIIL 
Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,' 
Sprimg forth and seized the fatal sign. 
In haste the striphng to his side 
His father's dirk and broadsword tied ; 
But when he saw his mother's eye 
Watch him in speechless agony. 
Back to her open'd arms he flew, 
Press'd on her hps a fond adieu — 
" Alas !" she sobb'd, — " and yet, be gone. 
And speed thee forth, Hke Dimcan's son 1" 
One look he cast upon the bier, 
Dash'd fi-om his eye the gathering tear, 
Breathed deep to clear lus labormg breast, 

imperceptible by the hurried eye of the reader ; but wh#i tin 
short lines are yoked in pairs, any dissonance in the Jingle, ta 
interruption of the construction, cannot fail to give ofleuo* 
We learn from Horace, that in the course of a long work, • 
poet may legitimately indulge in a momentary slumber ; but 
we do not wish to hear him snore." — Quarterly Review. 
« Faithful. The name of a dog. 
1 MS. — " Angus, ihe first of Duncan's lin«. 

Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign, 
Mnd then upon his kinsvian's bier 
Fell Malise's suspc-nded tear. 
[n haste the stripling to his side 
His father's targe and falchion tied." 



BAVTO III. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



201 



And tosa'd aloft hk bonnet crest, 


Until the opposing bank he gain'd. 


Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, 


And up the chapel pathway strain'd 


First he essays his fire and speed, 




He vanish' d, and o'er moor and moss 


XX. 


Sped forwara with the Fiery Cross. 


A blithesome rout, that morning tide, 


Suspended ■sv'as the widow's tear. 


Had sought the chapel of St. Bride. 


IS'hile yet hi* footsteps she could hear ; 


Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 


And when she mark'd the henchman's eye 


To Norman, heir of Armandave. 


Wet %vith unwonted sympat'iy, 


And, issuing from the Gothic arch. 


■• Kinsman," she said, " his race is run, 


The bridal now resumed their march. 


'Hiat should have sped tliine errand on; 


In rude, but glad procession, came 


The oak has faU'n, — the sapling bough 


Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 


Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 


And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, 


Yet trust I weU, his duty done, 


Which snooded maiden would not hear , 


The orphan's God will guard my son, — 


And children, that, unwitting why. 


And you, in many a danger true, 


Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ; 


At Duncan's best your blades that drew, 


And minstrels, that in measures vied 


To arms, and guard that orphan's head 1 


Before the young and bonny bride, 


Let babes and women wail the dead." 


Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 


Then weapon-clang, and martial call. 


The tear and blush of morning rose. 


Resoimded through the funeral hall. 


With virgin step, and bashful hand, 


Wliile from the walls the attendant band 


She held the 'kerchief's snowy band ; 


Snatch'd sword and targe, with hurried hand ; 


The gallant bridegroom by her side. 


And short and flitting energy 


Beheld his prize with victor's pride, 


Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 


And the glad mother in her ear 


As if the sounds to warrior dear 


Was closely whispering word of cheer. 


Might rouse her Duncan ii-om his bier. 




But faded soon that borrow'd force ; 


XXL 


Grief claim'd his right, and tears their course. 


Who meets them at the churchyard g«kt.«»l 




The messenger of fear and fate 1 


XIX. 


Haste in Ms hurried accent lies. 


Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 


And grief is swimming in his eyes. 


It glanced like Hghtning up Strath- Ire.' 


All drippuig from the recent flood. 


O'er dale and hill the summons flew, 


Panting and travel-soil'd he stood, 


Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew ; 


The fatal sign of fire and sword 


The tear that gather'd in his eye 


Held forth, and spoke the appointed wora 


fie left the mountain breeze to dry ; 


" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 


Until, where Teith's young waters roU, 


Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed 1" 


Betwixt liim and a wooded knoll," 


And must he change so soon the hiind,* 


That graced the sable strath with green, 


Just link'd to liis by holy band. 


The chapel of St. Bride was seen. 


For the fell Cross of blood and brand ? 


Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 


And must the day, so bhthe that rose, 


But Angus paused not on the edge ; 


And promised rapture in the close, 


Though the dark waves danced dizzily. 


Before its setting hour, divide 


Though reel'd his sympathetic eye, 


The bridegroom from the phghted bride f 


11 3 dash'd amid the torrent's roar ; 


fatal doom ! — it must ! it must I 


I lis right hand high the crosslet bore, 


Clan- Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust. 


Hia left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide 


Her simunons dread, brook no delay ; 


And stay his footing in the tide. 


Stretch to the race — away 1 away ! 


He stumbled twice — the foam splash'd high, 




With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 


XXII. 


And liad he fall'n, — forever there. 


Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, 


Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir 1 


And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride. 


But still, as if in parting life. 


Until he saw the starting tear 


Firmer he gi-asp'd the Cross of strife. 


Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ■ 


See ApTcndix, Note 2 N. 


Graced the dark strath with emeraia grmm. " 


Md. — " fine there a sttep and wooded knoll 


9 MS. — " Afd niQst he then excnange the haad ' 



20« 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ra. 



Then, trusting not a second look, 


XXIV. 


In haste he sped him up the brook, 


Not faster o'er thy heathery braes. 


Nor backward glanced, till on the heath 


Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,* 


Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the TeitL 


Rushing, in conflagration strong, 


— What in the racer's bosom stirr'd ? 


Thy deep ravines and deUs along. 


The sickening pang of hope deferr'd. 


Wrapping thy cliflfs in purple glow. 


And memory, with a torturing train' 


And reddening the dark lakes below; 


Of all his morning visions vain. 


Nor faster speeds it, nor so far. 


Mingled with love's impatience, came 


As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.* 


The manly thirst for martial fame ; 


The signal roused to martial coil 


The stormy joy of mountaineers. 


The sullen margin of Loch Voil, 


Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 


Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source 


And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, 


Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 


And hope from well-fought field retiu-ning, 


Thence southward turn'd its rapid road 


With war's red honors on his crest, 


Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broao. 


To clasp his Mary to his breast. 


Till rose in arms each man might claim 


Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and 


A portion in Clan- Alpine's name. 


brae. 


From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 


Like fire from flint he glanced away. 


Could hardly buckle on his brand. 


W hile high resolve, and feeling strong, 


To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 


Burst iflto voluntary song. 


Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 




Each valley, each sequester'd glen. 


xxia 


Muster'd its little horde of men. 


Song. 


That met as torrents from the height 


In highland dales their streams unite, 


The heath this night must be my bed, 


Still gathering, as they pour along, 


The bracken" curtain for my head, 


A voice more loud, a tide more strong, 


My lullaby the warder's tread. 


Till at the rendezvous they stood 


Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ; 


By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 


To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 


Each train'd to arms since life began, 


My couch may be my bloody plaid, 


Owning no tie but to his clan. 


My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid 1 


No oath, but by his chieftain's hand. 


It will not waken me, Mary 1 


No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.* 


I may not, dare not, fancy now' 




The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 


XXV. 


I divre not think upon thy vow, 


That summer mom had Roderick Dhu 


And all it promised me, Mary. 


Survey'd the skirts of Benvenue, 


No fond regret must Norman know ; 


And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath 


When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe, 


To view the frontiers of Menteith. 


His heart must be like bended bow, 


All backward came with news of truce ; 


His foot like arrow free, Mary. 


StiU lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, 




In Rednoch com-ts no horsemen wait, 


A time will come with feeling fraught, 


No banner waved on Cardross gate. 


For, if I fall in battle fought, 


On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, 


Thy hapless lover's dying thought 


Nor scared the herons from Loch Con; 


Shall be a thought on thee, Mary 


AU seem'd at peace. — Now, wot ye why 


And if return'd from conquer'd foes. 


The Chieftain, with such anxious eye. 


flow blithely will the evening cloee. 


Ere to the muster he repair. 


How sweet the linnet "ung repose. 


This western frontier scann'd with care !-' • 


To my young bride and me, Mary i 


In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 


' Ud. — " And memory nrougnt tne tortnring train 


'Twill cheer him in the honr of death, 


Of all his morning visions vain ; 


The boasted right to thee, Mary." 


But mingled with impatience came 




The manly love of martial fame." 


g See Appendix Not^ 2 O. 


» Bro«Aen.— Fern. 


" The eager fidelity with which this fatal signal is fa«nU4 


• MS. — " 1 may not, dare not, image now." 


on and obeyed, is represented with great spirit and felicity. "-' 


MS.- " A time wi'l come for love and faith, 


.'IFFRIT. 


For shod 1 thy bridegroom yield his breath, 


' See Appendix, Role V f 



UANTO 111. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



20v 



A. fail . though cruel, pledge was left ; 
For Douglas, 1 o his promise true, 
That morning from the isle withdrew, 
And in a deep sequester'd dell 
Had sought a low and lonely cell. 
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 
Has Coir-n Ji-Urisldn been simg ;' 
A softer name the Saxons gave, 
And call'd the grot the GobHn-cave. 

XXVI. 
It was a wild and strange retreat, 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest, 
Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had staid full many a rock, 
Hurl'd by primeval earthquake shock 
From Benvenue's gray summit wild, 
And here, in random ruin piled, 
They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot, 
And form'd the rugged silvan grot.' 
The oak and birch, with mingled shade, 
At noontide there a twilight made. 
Unless when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone, 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth, Futurity. 
No mm'mur waked the solemn still, 
.Save tinkling of a fountain riU ; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake, 
A sullen sound would upward break. 
With dasiiing hoUow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway, 
Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
In such the wild-cat leaves her young ; 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 
Sought for a space tueu- safety there. 
Gray Superstition's whisper dread 
Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread ; 
For there, she said, did fays resort, 
And satyra' hold their silvan com-t. 
By moonlight tread their mystic maze. 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now eve, with western shadows long. 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 

' See Appendu, Note 2 d. 

' " After landing on the skirts of Benvenne, we reach the 
J ice (or more properly the cove) of the goblins, by a. steep and 
narrow defile of a few hundred yards in length. It is a deep 
sircular amphitheatre of at least 600 yards of extent in its 
apper diameter, gradually narrowing towards the base, hem- 
med in all round by steep and towering rocks, and rendered 
impenet•^ble to the rays of the sun by a close covert of luxu- 
naa' tre?9. On the south and west it is bounded by the pre- 
3lpi :UB shouider of Bsnvenue, to the height of at least 500 
27 



When Roderick, with a chosen few, 

Repass'd the heights of Benvenue. 

Above the Goblin-cave they go. 

Through the wild-pass of Beal-nam-bo ;* 

The prompt retainers speed before. 

To laimch the shallop from the shore, 

For cross Loch Katrine hes his way 

To view the passes of A chray. 

And place his clansmen in array. 

"i'et lags the chief in musing mind. 

Unwonted sight, his men behind. 

A single page, to bear his sword, 

Alone attended on his U-rd ;' 

The rest their way through tliickets break, 

And soon await him by the lake. 

It was a fair and gallant •sight, 

To view them from the n:^ighboring height 

By the low-leveU'd sunbeams light ! 

For strength and stature, from the clan 

Each warrior was a chosen man. 

As even afar might well be seen. 

By their proud step and martial mien. 

Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 

Their targets gleam, as by the boat 

A wild and warHke group they stand, 

That well became such mountain-strand, 

XXVIII. 
Their Chief, with step reluctant, stiU 
Was lingering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turn'd apart the road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning morn. 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn 
To drown his love in war's wild roar,' 
Nor think of EUen Douglas more ; 
But he who stems a stream with sand. 
And fetters flame with flaxen band. 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Cliief, like restless ghost. 
Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deiy 
A parting meeting to his eye, 
StUl fondly strains his anxious ear, 
The accents of her voice to hear. 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to somid the rustling treest ' 

But hark 1 what mingles in the strain ' 

feet ; towards the east, the rock appears at some former penou 
to have tumbled down, strewing the whole course of its fiJJ 
with immense fragments, which now serve only to give sheltcf 
to foxes, wild-cats, and badgers." — Dr. Graham. 

s The Urisk, or Highland satyr. See Note on the previoM 
Canto. 

See Appendix, Note 2 R. ■> Ibid. Note » S 

6 M.S. — " To drown his grief In war's wild roar. 
Nor think oi love and EUen mnr» " 



21C 



SCOTT'S POEIKJAL WORKS. 



CARTV IV 



It is tbe harp of Allan-Bane, 

That wakes its measure slow and high, 

Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 

What melting voice attends the strings ! 

■^ifl EUen, or an angel sings. 

XXIX. 
ffijmn to tjje Tftgfn. 

A ve Maria ! maiden mild 1 

Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 
Thou canst hear though from the wild, 

Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 

Thougli banish'd, outcast, and reviled — 
Mfiideu ! liear a maiden's prayer ; 

Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria ! 

Ave Maria ! undefiled ! 

The flinty couch we now must share' 
Shall seem with down of eider piled, 

If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air' 

Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled ; 
Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ; 

Mother, Ust a suppliant cliild ! 

Ave Maria I 

ivs Maria ! stainless styled 1 

Foul demons of the earth and air, 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 
Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
We bow us to our lot of care. 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, 
And for a father hear a child 1 

Ave Maria! 

XXX. 
Died on the harp the closing hymn — 
Umuoved in attitude and limb, 
As hst'ning still, Clan- Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his lieavy sword, 
Until the page with humbl*? sign, 
Twici? pointed to the sun's decline. 
Y\\ej\ ft-hlle liis plaid he i ound him cast, 
"11 is> tht last time — 'tis the last," 
He mutter'd thrice, — "the last time e'er 
That angel voice shall Roderick hearl' 
It was a goading thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain-side 
Sullen he flung him in the boat, 
And instant 'cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that silvery bay, 

• MS. — •' The flinty conch my sire most sh»/e.' 
< MS.- " Ths D oikj «■ otto'» noxious air." 



And eastward held their hasty way. 
Till, with the latest beams of light. 
The band arrived on Lanrick height. 
Where muster'd, in the vale below,* 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial shr w. 

XXXI. 
A various scene the clansmen n-ade, 
Some sate, some stood, some slowly Ptr«y'd 
But most with mantles folded round. 
Were couch'd to rest upon the groun'L 
Scarce to be known by curious eye. 
From the deep heather where they lie, 
So well was match'd the tartan screen 
With heath-bell dark and brackens green ; 
Unless where, here and there, a blade, 
Or lance's point, a glimmer made. 
Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade 
But when, advancmg through the gloom, 
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plimie, 
Their shout of welcome, sluill and wide. 
Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Tliree times return'd the martial yell ; 
It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
And Silence claim'd her evening reign. 



tl)c Cabs of tljc Cake 



CANTO FOURTH. 



5rj)e jgropljecg. 

L 

" The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from feai* 
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew. 
And love is loveliest when embalra'd in tears. 
wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
I bid your blossoms in my boimet wave. 
Emblem of hope and love through future yeai s f ' 
Tims spoke young Norman, hen- of Armandave, 
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's Voft 
wave. 

II. 

Such fond conceit, half said, half simg, 
Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 
AU while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray. 
His axe and bow beside him lay. 



> MS.—" Where broad extending far below 

Mut.ler'd Clan- Alpine's martial show." 
« MS. — " And raptnre dearest when obscnred o^ faai*. 



L_^„ 



eAenro nr. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



211 



For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, 


Om- sires foresaw the events of war.' 


A -n akeful sentinel he stood. 


Duncraggan's milk-white bull thev slew." 


Hark 1 on the rock a footstep rung, 




And instant to his arms he spnuig. 


MALISE. 


" Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malias ? — soon 


" All ! weU the gallant brute I knew I 


Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune. 


The choicest of the prey we had, 


By thy keen step and glance I know, 


When swept our merry -men Gallangad.* 


rhou bring'st us tidings of the foe." 


His hide was snow, liis horns were dark, 


(For wliile the Fiery Cross liied on. 


His red eye glow'd like fiery spark 


On distant scout had Malise gone.) 


So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet 


' WI ere sleeps the Cliiel ?"' the henclmian 


Sore did he cumber our retreat. 


said. — 


And kept our stoutest kernes ki awe, 


" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 


Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 


I'o Jiis lone couch I'll be your guide." — 


But steep and flinty was the road, 


Then call'd a slumberer by his side, 


And sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad, 


And strrr'd liira with his slacken'd bow — 


And when we came to Deunan's Row, 


* Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho I 


A child might scatheless stroke his brow."— 


We se«k the Cliieftain ; on the track, 




Keep ea?le watch till I come back" 


V. • 




NORMAN. 


III. 


" That buU was slain : his reeking hide 


Together up the pass they sped : 


They stretch'd the cataract beside, 


" What of the foeman ?" Norman said. — 


Whose waters their wild tumult to.'w 


•' Varying reports from near and far ; 


Adown the black and craggy boss 


Tills certain, — that a band of war 


Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge 


Has for two days been ready boune, 


Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.'' 


At prompt command, to march from Doune ; 


Couch'd on a shelve beneath its brink. 


King James, the while, with princely powers. 


Close where the thundering torrents sink. 


Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 


Rocking beneath their headlong sway, 


SoOn will this dark and gathering cloud 


And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, 


Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 


Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream. 


Inured to bide such bitter bout, 


The wizard waits prophetic dream. 


The warrior's plaid may bear it out ; 


Nor distant rests the Chief; — but hush I 


But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 


See, gliding slow tlirough mist and bush. 


A shelter for thy bonny bride ?" 


The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 


" What I know ye not that Roderick's care 


To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 


To the lone isle hath caused repair 


Seems he not, MaUse, like a ghost, 


Each maid and matron of the clan. 


That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host ? 


Aufl every child and aged man 


Or raven on the blasted oak. 


Unfit for arms ; and given his charge, 


That, watching while the deer is broke,' 


Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, 


His morsel claims with sullen croak V 


Upon these lakes shall float at large, 




But aU beside the islet moor, 


MALISE. 


That such dear pledge may rest secure ?" — 


— " Peace ! peace ! to other than to me, 




Thy words were evil augury; 


IV. 


But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 


" 'Tis well advised— the Chieftain's plan' 


Clan- Alpine's omen and her aid, 


Bespeaks the father of his clan. 


Not auglit that, glean'd from heaven or hell, 


But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 


Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell. 


Apart fi'om all liis followers true ?" 


The Cliieftain joins liim, see — and now, 


" It is, because last evenbig-tide 


Together they descend the brow." 


Brian an augury hath tried. 




Of that dread kindwliich must not be 


VI. 


Unless in dread extremity, 


wAnd, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 


The Taghairm call'd ; by which, afar, 


The Hermit Monk held solemn word : — 


MS " 'Tis well advised— a prodent plan, 


a See Appendix, Note 2 T. » Ibid. Note 2 U. 


Worthy the father of his claa." 


* Ibid. Note 2 V. e Ibid. Note 2 \V 



212 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOilKS. 



CANTO It 



" Roderick ! it is a fearful strife, 
For man endow'd with mortal life, 
Wlio«e sliroud of sentient clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, 
"UTiose ej^e can stare in stony trance, 
Wliose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, — 
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd, 
Tha curtain of the future world. 
Vet, witness every qualdng limb, 
My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim, 
My soul with harrowing anguish torn, — 
This fo. my Chieftam have I borne ! — 
The shaped that sought my fearful couch, 
An human tougue may ne'er avouch ; 
No mortal man, — save he, who, bred 
Between the living and the dead, 
Is gifted beyond nature's law, — 
Had e'er survived to say he saw. 
At length the fatal.answer came, 
In characters of hving flame ! 
Not spoke in word, nor blazed m scroll, 
But borne and branded on my soul ; — 
Which spills the foremost foeman's life,' 
That party conquers in the strife 1" — ' 

VII. 
" Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care I 
Good is thine augury, and fair. 
Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood. 
But first our broadswords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
Self-offer'd to the auspicious blow : 
A spy has sought my land this morn, — 
No eve shall witness his return ! 
My followers guard each pass's mouth. 
To east, to westward, and to south ; 
Red Murdoch, bribed to be liis guide,* 
Has charge to lead his steps aside, 
Till, in deep path or dingle brown, 
He light on those shall bring liim down.* 
— But see, who comes his news to show 1 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ?" — 

VIII. 
" At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 
Two Barons proud their banners wave. 
f saw the Moray's silver star. 
And mark'd the sable pale of Mar." — 

I MS. — " Which foremost spills a foeman's life." 

• Pee Appendix, Note 2 X. 

' MS.--" The clansman, vainly deem'd his guide." 

• MS. — " He light on those shall stab him down." 

„ ( ' This sun ^ 

'To-day 5"^""°° 
Tis said will see them march from Donne.' 

' Tomorrow then J > meeting stem.' " 

f>i iattle boune — ready for hattle. 



••<.. ,, , Y.TL .1. ,,(' This sun ) 

MS .— " ' When move they on ?' j 1 1 



" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those 1 

I love to hear of wortliy foes. 

When move they on ?" — " To-morrow's nocnf 

Will see them here for battle boime." — • 

" Then shall it see a meeting stern ! — 

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn 

Naught of the friendly clans of Earn ? 

Strengthen'd by them we well might bide 

The battle ou Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not ? — Well ! Clan- Alpine's men 

Shall map the Trosach's shaggy glen ; 

Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll figbt, 

AU in our maids' and matrons' sight. 

Each for his hearth and household fire, 

Father for child, and son for sire — 

Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear I 

A messenger of doubt or fear ? 

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 

Unfix Benledi from his stance, 

Than doubt or terror can pierce through 

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu 1 

'Tis stubborn as liis trusty targe. — '' 

Each to liis post 1 — all know their charge." 

The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, 

The broadswords gleam, the banners dauce 

Obedient to the Cliieftain's glance. 

— I turn me from the martial roar, 

And seek CoLr-Uriskin once more. 

IX. 

Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone ; 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are pour'd on her unheeding ear. — 
'*^He will return — Dear lady, trust !— 
With joy return ; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek, afar. 
Some refuge fi-om impending war. 
When e'en Clan- Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cow'd by the approacliing storm. 
I saw their boats, with many a hght, 
Floating the live-long yesternight, 
Shifting like fla.shes darted forth' 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
I mark'd at morn how close they ride, 

' MS.—" 'Tis stubborn as his Highland targe." 

• MS.—" Thick as the flashes darted forth 

By raorrice-dancers of tiie north ; 

, , ^ .1. • \ barges ride. 

And saw at mom their < ,. ,^ 

( little fleet. 

Close moor'd by the lone islet's side. 

Since this rude race dare not abide 

Upon their native mountain side, 

'Tis fit that Douglas should provids 

For his dear child gome safe abode, 

And soon be comes to point the toad.' ' 



CANTO IV. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



21: 



Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side, 
Like wild-ducks couching m the fen, 
When stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since tliis rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the mainland side, 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare ?"— 



ELLEN. 

" No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind* 
My wakeful terrors could not blind. 
When in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a pai'ting blessing gave. 
The tear that ghsten'd in lus eye 
Drown d not liis purpose tix'd on higL 
My soul, though feminine and weak, 
Can image liis ; e'en as the lake, 
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke," 
Reflects the invulnerable rock. 
He hears report of battle rife, 
He deems liimself the cause of strife. 
1 saw lum redden, when the theme 
Turn'd, Allan, on tliine idle dream 
Of Malcolm Graeme, in fetters bound. 
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. 
Think'st thou he trow'd thme omen aught f 
Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth, — for Roderick too — 
(Let me be just) that frieud so true ; 
In danger both, and in our cause ! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Why else that solemn warning gi^en, 
' If not on earth, we meet in heaven 1' 
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, 
If eve return liim not again. 
Am I to hie, and make me known ? 
Alas! he goes to Scotland's tliroue, 
Buys his friend's safety with his own ; — 
He goes to do — what I had done. 
Had Douglas' daughter been his son 1'— 

XL 

" Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay 1 

If aught should his return delay, 

He only named yon holy fane 

A.8 fitting place to meet agaui. 

Be sure he's safe ; and for the Graeme, — 

Heaven's blessing on liis gallant name 1 — 

My vision'd sight may yet prove true, 

Nor bode of ill to him or you. 

When did my gifted dream beguile ? 

MS - " No, Allan, ao I His words so kind 
Were but jjretexts my fears to blind. 
When in such solemn tone, and grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave." 

M8 itself disturb'd by slightest shook, 

Reflects the adamantine rock." 



Think of the stranger at the isle, 
And think upon the har pings slow. 
That presaged this approaching woe . 
Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 
Bebeve it when it augurs cheer. 
Would we had left this dismal spot ' 
HI luck still hamits a fairy gr^ t. 
Of such a wondrous tale I knc v — 
Dear lady, change that look of woe. 
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."— 

ELLEN. 

" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear, 
But cannot stop the bursting tear.** 
The Muistrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart 

XII. 
aSallaTi.' 

ALICE BRAND. 

Merry it is in the good greenwood. 

When the mavis^ and merle^ are singing, 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hoimds ar« 
in cry. 
And the himter's horn is ringing. 

" Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and wold. 

As outlaws wont to do. 

" Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright 
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue. 

That on the night of our luckless flight. 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech 

The hand that held the glaive. 
For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must sheer from the slaughlert 
deer. 

To keep the cold away." — 

" O Richard ! if my brother died^ 

'Twas but a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 

And fortune sped the lance.' 

3 See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 

i Thrush. » Blackbird. 

' MS. — " 'Twas but a midnight chance ; 

For blindfold wjis the battle plied, 
And fortune held the lance." 



214 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



" If pall ai.d vair no more I wear, 

Nor thou the crimson sheen, 
As warm, we'U say, is the russet gray, 

As gay the forest-greea 

" Ajid, Richard, if our lot be hard. 

And lost thy native land, 
?tiU Ahce has her own Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand." 

XIII. 
3SaUati conttnueTr. 
lis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwoodj 

So blithe Lady Alice is smging ; 
Ou the beech's pride, and ojik's brown side, 
Lord Richard's axe is ringuig. 

I" p spoke the moody Elfin King, 

Who won'd within the hill, — ' 
T 'ke wind in the porch of a ruin'd church. 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 

" Wliy sounds yon stroke on beech and oak. 

Our moonlight circle's screen?" 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen ?' 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies fatal green ?* 

' Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, 

For thou wert christen'd man ;° 
For cross or sign thou wUt not fly. 

For mutter'd word or ban. 

" Lay on liim the curse of the wither'd heart, 

The cm-se of the sleepless eye ; 
Till he wish and pray that liis life would part. 

Nor yet find leave to die." 

XIV. 
3SaIIat) contlnuctr. 
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 

Though the birds have still'd their singing ; 
Tile evening blaze doth Ahce raise, 
And Ricliard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, 

Before Lord Richard stands. 
And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself, 
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 

" That is made with bloody hands." 

Hut out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 
That woman, void of fear, — 



' See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 

^ MS. — " Our fairy ringlet's screen." 



" And if there's blood upon his hand, 
'Tis but the blood of deer."— 

" Now loud thou Uest, thou bold of mood 1 

It cleaves unto liis h:uid, 
The stain of thine own kindly blood. 

The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sign, — 
"And if there's blood on Richard's band. 

A spotless hind is mine. 

" And I conjure thee, Demon elf. 

By Him whom Demons fear. 
To show us whence thou art thyself. 

And what thine errand here ?" — 

XV. 
3SallatJ contfnuelr. 
"'Tis merry, 'tis meny, m Fairy-land, 

When fairy bu-ds are singing, 
When the court doth ride by their monarch'i 
side. 
With bit and bridle ringing : 

" And gayly shines the Fairy-land, — 

But all is gUstening show,° 
Like the idle gleam that December's beam 

Can dart on ice and snow. 

" And fading, like that varied gleam, 

Is our inconstant shape, 
Who now like knight and lady seem, 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

" It was between the night and day. 
When the Fairy King has power. 

That I sunk down in a sinful fray. 

And, 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away 
To the joyless Elfin bower.' 

" But wist I of a woman bold, 
W^ho thrice my brow durst sign, 

I might regain my mortal mold. 
As fair a form as thine." 

She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twic*- 

That lady was so brave ; 
Tlie fouler grew his goblin hue. 

The darker grew the cave. 

She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ; 
He rose beneath her hand 



« See Appendix, Note 3 A. * Ibii Note i B. 

6 Ibid. Note 3 C « Ibid Note 3 D. ' Ibid Note 3 B 



r 



OANTO IV. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



21b 



The fairest knight on Scottish mold, 
Her brother, Ethert Brand 1 

Merry it Is in good greenwood, 

When the mavis and merle aie singing, 

Bat merrier weie they in Dunfermline gray, 
"When all the bells were ringing. 

XVI. 

Just as the minstrel somids were staid, 

A stranger climb'd the steepy glade 

Hia martial step, liis stately mien, 

His hmiting suit of Lincohi-green, 

His eagle glance, remembrance claims — 

'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. 

Ellen beheld as in a dream. 

Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream: 

" O stranger 1 in such hour of fear, 

What evil hap has brought thee here ?"— 

" An evil hap how c;m it be. 

That bids me look again on thee ? 

By promise bound, my former guide 

Met me betimes this morning tide. 

And marshall'd, over bank and bourne, 

The happy path of my retmn." — 

" The happy path ! — what 1 said he naught 

Of war, of battle to be fought. 

Of guarded pass ?" — " No, by my faith 1 

Nor saw I aught could augur scathe."— 

" O haste thee, Allan, to the kern, 

— Yonder his tartans I discern ; 

Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 

That he will guide the stranger sure 1^ 

What prompted thee, unhappy man ? 

The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 

Had not been bribed by love or fear, 

Unknown to him to guide thee here." — 

XVII. 
" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, 
Since it is worthy care from thee ; 
Yet life I hold but idle breath. 
When love or honor's weigh'd with death. 
Tb^n let me profit by my chance. 
And dpeak my pm-pose bold at once. 
I come to bear thee from a wild. 
Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; 
Bj this soft hand to lead thee far 
Fi '^vi frantic scenes of feud and war. 
Near Bochastle my horses wait ;' 
They bear us soon to Siirling gate. 
I'll place thee in a lovely bower, 

I'll guard thee like a tender flower" 

" O hush, Sir Knight, 'twere female art, 
To say I do not read thy heart ; 

MS. — " By Cambusmore my horses wait. 
«MS— Was id/ y/o»d f Ay praise to hear." 



Too much, before, my selfish ear 

Was idly soothed my praise to hear.^ 

That fatal bait hath lured thee back, 

In deathful hour, o'er danger^'is track 

Axid how, how, can I atone 

The wreck my vanity brought on ! — 

One way remains — I'U tell liim all — 

Yes, struggUng bosom, forth it shall ! 

Thou, whose Ught folly bears the blame, 

Buy thine own pardon with thy shame 1 

But first — my father is a man 

Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban ; 

The price of blood is on his head. 

With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 

StiU wouldst thou speak ? — then hear the tiuUt 

Fitz-James, there is a noble youth, — 

If yet he is I — exposed for me 

And mine to dread extremity — 

Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 

Forgive, be generous, and depart 1" 

XVIII. 

Fitz-James knew every wily train 

A lady's tickle heart to gain ; 

But here he knew and felt them vain. 

There shot no glance from Ellen's eye. 

To give her steadfast speech the he ; 

In maiden confidence she stood, 

Though mantled in her cheek the blood, 

And told her love with such a sigh 

Of deep and hopeless agony. 

As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom. 

And she sat sorrowmg on liis tomb 

Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye. 

But not with hope fled sympathy. 

He proffer'd to attend her side. 

As brother would a sister guide. — 

" ! Uttle know'st thou Rodeiick's heart! 

Safer for both we go apart. 

O haste thee, and from Allan lea.-n. 

If thou mayst trust yon wily kern " 

With hand upon liis forehead laid. 

The conflict of his mind to shade, 

A parting step or two he made ; 

Then, as some thought had cross'd his bi.uii, 

He paused, and turn'd, and came again. 

XIX. 
" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor swoi d 
Preserved the fife of Scotland's lord. 
Tliis rmg the gratefid Monarch gave,' 
And bade, when I had boon to crave. 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
The recompense that I would name. 

' MS. — '• Tlus rir^ of gold the monarch gave ' 



1 

fl6 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv 


Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 


To crag and cUif from dusky wmg ; 


But one who lives by lance and sword, 


Such spoUs her desperate step had sougot. 


Whose castle is his helm and shield, 


Where scarce was footing for the goat. 


His lordship the embattled field. 


The tartan plaid she first descried, 


What from a prince can I demand, 


And shriek'd till all the rocks replied ; 


Who neither reck of state nor land ? 


As loud she laugh'd when near they drew 


EUcn, thy hand — the ring is thine ;* 


For then the Lowland garb she knew; 


Each guard and usher knows the sign. 


And then her hands she wildly wrung. 


Seek thou the king without delay ;* 


And then she wept, and then she sung — 


rh:3 signet shaU secure thy way ; 


She sung ! — the voice, in better time, 


And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 


Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 


As ransom of his pledge to me." 


And now, though straiu'd and roughen'd, stLU 


He placed the golden circlet on, 

Paused— kissd her hand — and then was gone. 


Rung wUdly sweet to dale and hill, 


The aged Minstrel stood aghast. 


XXIL 


So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 


Song. 


He jom d liis guide, and wending do-\vu 


They bid me sleep, they bid me pray. 


The ridges of the mountain brown, 


They say my brain is warp'd and wrun£^— 


Across the stream they took their way, 


I cannot sleep on Highland brae. 


That joins Loch Katrine to Acliray. 


I cannot pray in Highland tongue.. 




But were I now where AUan"* glides, 


XX. 


Or heard my native Devan's tides, 


All in the Trosach's glen was stQl, 


So sweetly would I rest and pray 


Noontide was sleeping on the liill ; 


That Heaven would close my wintry day I 


Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high — 




" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ?" — 


'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid. 


He stammer'd forth — " I shout to scare' 


They made me to the church repair ; 


Yon raven from his dainty fare." 


It was my bridal morn they said. 


He look'd — ^he knew the raven's prey. 


And my true love would meet me there. 


His own brave steed : — " Ah ! gallant gray 1 


But woe betide the cruel guile 


For thee — for me, perchance — 'twere well 


That drown'd in blood the morning smile ! 


We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell. — 


And woe betide the fairy djeam 1 


Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 


I only waked to sob and scream. 


Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die I" 




Jealous and sullen on they fared, 


XXIIL 


Each silent, each upon liis guard. 


" W ho is this maid ? what means her lay ? 




She hovers o'er the hollow way. 


XXI. 


And flutters wide her mantle ^ray, 


Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 


As the lone heron spreads liis wing. 


Around a precipice's edge. 


By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." — 


W hen lo ! a wasted female form. 


" 'Tis Blanche of Devan," Mm-doch said, 


Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 


" A crazed and captive Lowland maid,* 


In tatter'd weeds and wild array,* 


Ta'en on the morn she was a bride. 


Stood on a cUff beside the way, 


When Roderick foray'd Devan-side. 


And glancing round her restless eye. 


The gay bridegroom resistance made, 


Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, 


And felt our Chief's imconquer'd blade. 


Seem'd naught to mark, yet all to spy. 


I marvel she is now at large. 


Her I row was wreath'd with gaudy broom; 


But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. — 


With gesture wild she waved a plume 


Hence, brain-sick fool !" — He raised his bow :- 


Of feathers, wliich the eagles fling 


" Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow. 


MS. — " Permit this hand — the nng is thine." 


Yon raven from his dainty fare.' " 


MS. — " ' Seek thou the Kin<r, and on thy knee 
Put forth thy suit, whate'er it be, 
As ransom of his pled£;e to me : 
My name and this shall make thy way.' 
He put the little signet on." 


* MS.—" Wrapp'd in a tatter'd mantle gray." 
6 The Jlllnn and Devan are two beautiful streams, tut 
latter celebrated in tlie poetry of Burns, which descend 
from the liills of Perthshire into the great carse or plain al 
Stirling. 


MB — " He stammer'd forth confused reply : 


' Saxon, ) 

- dir Kniehl. < * ''"'"'^'^ ''■" 'o "=^ 


« MS. — " ' A Saxon born, a crazy maia — 

'Tis Blanche of Devan.' Murdoch said. ' 



OANTU IV. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



21 'i 



m pitch thee from the cliff as far 

A.S ever peasant pitch'd a bar !" 

" Thanks, champion, thanks !" the Maniac cried. 

And press'd her to Fitz-James's side. 

" See the gray pennons I prepare,' 

To seek my true-love through the air ? 

£ will not lend that savage groom,' 

To break his fall, one downy plume 1 

No ! — deep amid disjointed stones. 

The wolves shall batten on his bones, 

And then shall his detested plaid. 

By bush and brier in mid air staid, 

Wave forth a banner fair and free, 

Meet signal for their revelry." — 

XXIV. 
Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still I" — 
" 1 thou look'st kindly, and I wilL — 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been, 
But still it loves the Lmcoln-green ; 
And, though mine ear is all unstrung, 
Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue. 

For my sweet William was forester true,* 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away 1 
Elis coat it was all of the greenwood hue, 
And so blithely he trill'd the Lowland lay ! 

• It was not that I meant to tell . . . 
But thou art wise and guessest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone, 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the Clansman, fearfully. 

She fix'd her apprehensive eye ; 
Then tiu"n'd it on the Knight, and then 
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 

XXV. 

' The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set, 

Ever sing merrUy, merrily ; 
Yh > bows they bend, and the knives they whet. 

Hunters live so cheerily. 

* It was a stag, a stag of ten,* 

Bearing its branches sturdily ; 

M8. — " With thee these pennons will T share, 

Tiien seeK my true love through the air.' 
' MS. — " But I'll not lend that savage groom, 
To break h,'« fall, one downy plume I 
Deep, deep mid yon disjointed stones, 
The wolf shall batten on his bones." 
MS. — " Sweet William was a woodman true, 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 
His coat was of the forest hue, 

And sweet he sung the Lowland lay." 
4 HavMg ten branches on his antlers. 

* '■ No machinery can be conceived more clumsy for effecting 

!he del)< .ranee of a distressed hero, than the introduction of a 

aad \*( lan, who, without linowing or caring about the wan- 

<«i»r iJUTOs him by a sotg, to take care of the ambash that 

28 



Hs came stately down the glen, 
Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

" It was there he met with a woimded doe. 

She was bleeding deathfuUy ; 
She warn'd him of the toils below, 

0, so faithfully, faithfully ! 

" He had an eye, and he could heed, 
Ever sing warily, warily ; 

He had a foot, and he could speed- 
Hunters watch so narrowly.'" 

XXVL 
Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd. 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost • 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought. 
And Blanche's song conviction brought — 
Not Uke a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the himt aware, 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
" Disclose thy treachery, or die !" 
Forth at fuU speed the Clansman flew," 
But in his race liis bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 
And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast.- - 
Murdoch of Alpine I prove thy speed, 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need ! 
With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 
The fierce avenger is behind 1 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit death — the prize is life I 
Thy kindred ambush lies before. 
Close couch'd upon the heathery moor: 
Them couldst thou reach ! — ^it may not 

be—' 
Thine ambush'd kin tuou ne'er shalt see. 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee I 
— Resistless speeds the deadly tlirust. 
As Ughtning strikes the pine to dust ; 
With foot and hand Fitz-James must 

strain. 
Ere he can win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye," 
He grimly smiled to see him die ; 

was set for him. The maniacs of poetry have indted hsu t 
prescriptive right to be musical, since the days of Opbmi, 
downwards ; but it is rather a rash extension of tliis {•riviloct 
to make them sing good sense, and to make sensible people m 
guided by them." — Jeffrey. 

s MS. — " Forth at full speed the Clansman went; 
But in his race his bow he bent. 
Halted — and back an arrow sent " 
" It may not b»- 



'MS.- 



'MS.- 



The fiery Saxon gains on thee. 
Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt sec 
Resistless as the lightning's flame, 
The thrust betwixt his shoulder came." 
-" Then o'er him hung, with fa con eye. 
And grimly smiled to see hie dic> " 



118 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOllKS. 



CANTO n 



Then slower wended back his way, 
Where the pool maiden bleeding lay. 

XXVII. 
She saie beneath the bu-chen-tree, 
Her elbow resting on her knee ; 
She had withdrawn the falal shaft, 
And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd ; 
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, 
Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 
The Knight to stanch the hfe-stream tried, — 
" Stnuiger, it is in vain !" she cried. 
" This hour of death has given me more 
Of reason's power than years before ; 
For, as these ebbing veins decay. 
My pbrensied visions fade away. 
A. helpless injured wretch I die,' 
And something tells me in thine eye, 
That thou wert mine avenger born. — 
Seest thou this tress J — ! still I've worn 
This little tress of yellow hair. 
Through danger, phrensy, and despair 1 
It once was bright and clear a* thine, 
But blood and tears have dinim'd its shine. 
I wiU not tell thee when 'twas shred. 
Nor from what gmltless victim's head — 
My brain would tm-n ! — but it shall wave* 
Like plumage on thy hehnet brave. 
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 
And thou wilt bring it me again. — 
I waver still. — God ! more bright 
Let reason beam her parting light ! — 
! by thy kniglithood's honor'd sign, 
And for tliy life preserved by nune, 
When thou slialt see a darksome man, 
Wlio boasts him Cliief of Alpine's Clan, 
With tartan's broad and shadowy plume, 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom. 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong ! 
Tliey watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the paih . . God ! . . . farewell," 

XXVIIL 

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-Jamea ; 
Fast pour'd his eyes at pity's claims, 
And now with mingled grief and ire, 
3e saw the murder'd maid expire. 
"God, in my need, be my rehef,' 
As I wreak tliis on yonder Chief!" 
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 
He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 
The mingled brsud in blood he dyed, 
And placed it on his bonnet-side : 

' MS, — " A guiltless injured wretch I die." 

• M3 — ' But now my champion, — it shall wave." 

' MS.—" God, in my need, to me he true, 



" By Him whose word i- truth ,' I Bwear, 

No other favor will I wear. 

Till this sad token I imbrue 

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu ! 

— But hark ! what means yon faint hallo J 

The chase is up, — but they shall know 

The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe." 

Barr'd from the known but guarded way 

Tlirough copse and cliffs Fitz-James mus(. e»»*j 

And oft must change liis desperate track, 

By stream and precipice turu'd back. 

Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, 

From lack of food and loss of strength, 

He couch'd him in a tliicket hoar. 

And thought his toUs and perils o'er : — 

" Of all my rash adventures past. 

This frantic freak must prove the last ! 

Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd. 

That all this Highland hornet's nest 

Would muster up in swarms so soon 

As e'er they heard of bands at Doune ? — 

Like bloodhounds now they search me out,— 

Hark, to the whistle and the shout ! — 

If farther thi'ough the wilds I go, 

I only fall upon the foe : 

I'll couch me here till evenuig gray, 

Then darkling try my dangerous way." 

XXIX. 

The shades of eve come slowly down. 

The woods are wrapt in deeper brown. 

The owl awakens from her dell, 

The fox is beard upon the fell ; 

Enougli remains of glimmering hght 

To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figm^e to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and ear awake. 

He climbs the crag and tlireads the brake ; 

And not the summer solstice, there, 

Teraper'd the midnight mountain air, 

But every breeze, that swept the wold, 

Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold. 

In dread, in danger, and alone, 

Famish'd and cliill'd, through ways unknown 

Tangled and steep, he journey 'd on ; 

Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd, 

A watch-fire close before him burn'd. 

XXX. 

Beside its embers red and clear,* 
Bask'd, in liis plaid, a mountaineer ; 
And up he sprung with sword in hand, — 
" Thy name and purpose I Saxon, stand I"— • 

As I wreak this on Roderick Dho " 

* MS. — " By the decaying flame was laid 
A warrior in his Hiehland plaiil.' 



£ANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



211 



" A stranger." — " What dost thou require ?" — 

" Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My hfe's beset, my path is lost, 

The gale has chill'd my Umbs with frost." — 

* Art thou a friend to Roderick ?"— " No."— 
" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ?"— 

'' I dare 1 to him and all the band' 

He brings to aid his murderous hand." — 

•' Bold words ! — but, though the beast of game 

The privilege of chase may claim. 

Though space and law the stag we lend, 

Ere hound we shp, or bow we bend, 

Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when, 

The jirowling fox was trapp'd or slain ?' 

Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 

Who say thou earnest a secret spy !" 

* They do, by heaven ! — Come Roderick Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two. 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." — 

" If by the blaze I mark aright. 

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight" — 

" Then by these tokens mayst thou know 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 

" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 

XXXI. 
He gave him of his Highland cheer, 
The harden'd flesh of mountain deer ;' 
Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 
And bade the Saxon share iiis plaid. 
He tended him hke welcome guest, 
Then thus his farther speech address'd. 
" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true : 
Each word against his honor spoke. 
Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said, 
^ mighty augury is laid. 
It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
It rests with me, here, brand to brand. 
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 
But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause. 
Will I d spart from honor's laws ; 
To aaeail a wearied man were shame, 
And stranger is a holy name ; 
Guidance and rest, and food and fire. 
In vain he never must require. 
Then rest thee here tiU dawn of day ; 
Myself win guide thee on the way, 
O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 

MS. — " I dare ! to hirr an<' al' tb j p ^arm 

He brings to aid hii> m^rdrjrui arm." 

iJee Api)endii, Note 3 V. 
See Aoieudix, Note 3 G. 



TiU past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, 

As far as Coilantogle's ford 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword."— 

" I take thy courtesy, by heaven. 

As freely as 'tis nobly given 1" — 

" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's ory 

Smgs us the lake's wild luUaby." 

With that he shook the gather'd heath. 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 

And the brave foemen, side by side, 

Lay peaceful down, like brothers tried, 

And slept until the dawning beam* 

Purpled the moimtain and the stream, 



^\)t Cabg of tl}c Cab 



CANTO FIFTH. 



^t)Z Combat 
L 

Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light. 

When fii-st, by the bewUder'd pilgrim spied, 
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night, 

And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide. 
And l^hts the fearful path on mountain-side ;— 

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far. 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 

Shine martial Faith, and Coiu"tesy's bright star. 
Through aU the wreckful storms that cloud ths 
brow of War, 

II. 

Tliat early beam, so fair and sheen. 
Was twinkling through the hazy screen, 
When, roushig at its glimmer red. 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Look'd out upon the dappled sky, 
Mutter'd their soldier matms by, 
And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier meaL 
That o'er, the Gael" aromid hun threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
And, true to promise, led the way. 
By tliicket green and mountain gray. 
A wUdering path 1 — they wmded now 
Along the precipice's brow. 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 

* MS. — " And slept until the dawning streak 

Purpled the mountain and the lake." 
6 MS. — " And lights the fearful way along iu side." 
6 The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Oaa BM 
terms the Lowlanders, Sassenach, or Saxona. 



220 



SCOTT'b POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO % 



And all the vales beneath that lie, 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, smik in copse, their farthest glance 
Gain'd not the length of horseman's lance. 
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So tangled oft, that, bursling througli, 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,— 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
It riYals all but Beauty's tear. 

III. 

At length they came where, stern and steep,' 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver flows. 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
Ever the hollow path twined on, 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ; 
An hundred men might hold thtj post 
With hardihood against a host. 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
WaB dwarfish slirubs of birch and oak,' 
With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 
And patches bright of bracken green, 
And heather black, that waved so higli. 
It held the copse in rivalry. 
But where the lake slept deep and still, 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill; 
And oft both path and hill were torn. 
Where wintry torrents down had borne, 
And heap'd upon the cumber'd land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand- 
So toilsome was the road to trace, 
The guide, abating of his pace, 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws, 
And ask'd Fitz-James, by what strange cause 
He sought these wilds ? traversed by few, 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 

IV. 
" Brave Gael, my pass in danger tried, 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
" I dreamt not now to claim its aid.* 
When here, but three days since, I came, 
Dewilder'd in pursuit of game. 
All seem'd as peaceful and as still, 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous Chief was then afar. 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide. 
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." — 

■ MS. — " At length they paced the mountain's side, 

And saw beneath the waters wide." 
* MS — ' The nigged moantain's Blunted screen 
shraba I 



Was dwarfish • 



conse t 



with cliffs between." 



" Yet why a second \ enture try ?" — 
" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves oiu- free course by such fix'd cauaej 
As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
Shght cause will then suffice to guide 
A Knight's free footisteps fkr and wide,—* 
A falcon flown, a greyhound stray'd. 
The merry glance of mountain maid : 
Or, if a path be dang'erous known. 
The danger's self is lure alone."— 

V. 
" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; — 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot. 
Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war. 
Against Clan- Alpine, raised by Mar ?" 
— " No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
This muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." — • 
" Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 
Their silken folds sliould feast the motL 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan- Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, Stranger, peaceful since you came, 
BewUder'd in the mountain game. 
Whence the bold boast by which you show 
Vich- Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe V — 
" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 
Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Save as an outlaw'd desperate n.an. 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Wlio, m the Regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabb'd a knight : 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." 

VI 

Wrothful at such arraignment foal, 
Dark lower'd the clansman's sable scowL 
A space he paused, then sternly said, 
" And heard'st thou why he drew liis blaie 
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blo^ 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on bis foe if 
What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood 
On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood ? 
He riglits such wrong where it is given, 
If it were in the comt of heaven." — 



» MS. — " I dream'd not now to draw my blade.' 

« MS.-" My errant footsteps < ^^ ^^^ ^,^ 

A knight's bold wanderings ) 
' MS.—" Thy secret keep, I ask it not." 
» MS. — " Which else in hall had peaceful hong." 



;anto v. the lady of THE LAKE. 22 » 


" Still -was it outrage ; — ^yet, 'tis true, 


Is aught but retribution true ? 


Not then claim'd sovereignty his due ; 


Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu"— . 


Wliiie Albany, with feeble hand, 




Hela borrow'd truncheon of command,' 


VIII, 


Thf younp- Kire-, mew'd in Stirling 


Answer'd Fitz-James, — " And, if I sought, 


tow*'-. 


Think'st thou no other could be brought ' 


Was stranger to respect and power. 


WTiat deem ye of my patli waylaid ? 


But then, thj Chieftain's robber life !— 


My life given o'er to ambuscade ?" — 


Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 


" As of a meed to rashness due : 


Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain 


Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,— 


His herds and harvests rear'd in vain. — 


I seek my hound, or falcon stray'd. 


Methinks a soul, like tliine, should scorn 


I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, — 


The ipoUs from such foul foray borne." 


Free hadst thou been to come and go: 




But secret path marks secret foe. 


VII. 


Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 


The Gael beheld him gi-im the wliilo, 


Hadst thou, imheard, been doom'd to die. 


And answer'd with disdainful smile, — 


Save to fulfil an augury ."- 


" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 


" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 


I mark'd thee send delighted eye, 


Fresh cause of enmity avow. 


Far to the south and east, where lay, 


To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 


Extended in succession gay, 


Enough, I am by promise tied 


Deep waving fields and pastures green. 


To match me with this man of pride : 


W^ith gentle slopes and groves between : — 


Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 


These fertile plains, that soften'd vale, 


In peace ; but when I come agen. 


Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 


I come with banner, brand, and bow, 


The stranger came with u-on hand, 


A § leader seeks his mortal foe. 


And from our fathers reft the land. 


For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, 


Where dwell we now ! See, rudely swell 


Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 


Orag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 


As I, until before me stand 


Ask we tliis savage liill we tread, 


This rebel Chieftain and his band 1" — * 


For fatten'd steer or household baead ; 




Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 


IX. 


And well the mountain might reply, — 


" Have, then, thy wish 1" — he whistled shrilJL 


To you, as to your sires of yore, 


And he was answer'd from the hill ; 


Belong the target and claymore ! 


"Wild as -the scream of the curlew. 


[ give you shelter in my breast. 


From crag to crag the signal flew.* 


Your own good blades must win the 


Instant, through copse and heath, arose 


rest.-' 


Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 


Pent in this fortress of the North, 


On right, on left, above, below. 


riiink'st thou we will not sally forth, 


Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 


To spoil the spoUer as we may, 


From shingles gray their lances start, 


And from the robber rend the prey ' 


The bracken bu-sh sends forth the dart. 


Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 


Tlie rushes and the willow-wand 


The Saxon rears one sb^ck of grain ; 


Are bristling into axe and brand. 


Wliile, of ten thousand herds, there strays 


And every tuft of broom gives life* 


But one along yon river's maze, — 


To plaided warrior arm'd for strife 


The Gael, of plain and river heir. 


That whistle garrLson'd the glen 


Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.* 


At once with full five htmdred m«ai. 


Where hve the mountain Chiefs who hold, 


As if the yawning hill to heaven 


rhat plundering Lowland field and fold 


A subterranean host had given.'' 


See Appendix, Note 3 H. 2 Ibid. Note 3 I. 


That whistle mann'd the lonely glen 


MS.—" This d.irk Sir Roderick j i,- l j „ 


With full five hundred armed men." 


__, . -_, . - , AnQ Ills uEnu. 
This savage Chieftain 


' The Monthly reviewer says — " We now come to the cAe/' 


MS. — " From copse to copse the signal flew. 


d'cBuvre of Walter Scott, — a scene of more vigor, nature. anJ 


Instant, through copse and crags, arose." 


animation, than any other in all his poetry." Another anony 


MS. — The bracken bush shoots forth the dart." 


mous critic of the poem is not afraid to quote, with refereno* 


MS. — \nd each lone tuft of broom gives life 


to the effect of this passage, the sublime language of the Pro 


r« plaided warrior arm'd for st^'fe. 


phet Ezekie! ; — "Then said he unto me, Prophesr onto tUt 



222 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ▼. 



Watfbing their leader's beck and will,' 

All silent there they stood, and still. 

Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hoUow pass, 

As if an infiint's touch could urge 

Their headlc«ig passage down the verge, 

With step and weapon forward flung, 

Upon the mountain-side they hung. 

The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's living side, 

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow 

Full on Fitz-James — " How say'st thou now ? 

These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu 1" 

X. 

Fitz-James was brave : — Though to his heart 

The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start, 

He mann'd himself with dauntless air, 

Return'd the Cliief his haughty stare, 

His back against a rock he bore. 

And firmly placed his foot before : — 

" Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as I."' 

Sir Roderick mark'd — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise. 

And the stern joy wliich warriors feel 

In foemen worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hand : 

Down sunk the disappearing band ; 

Each warrior vanish'd where he stood. 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seem'd as if their mother Earth 

Had swallow'd up lier warlike birth. 

The wind's last breath had toss'd in air, 

Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill-side. 

Where heath and fern were waving wide : 

The sun's last glance was glinted back. 

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — 



wind, prophesy, eon of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith 
.he liOni God ; Come from tlie four winds, O breath, and 
rreailie upon these slain, that they may live. So I prophesied 
U he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they 
bed and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army," 
—(hair xxxvii. v. 9, TO. 
» MS. — " All silent, too, they stood, and still, 

VVatoliing their leader's beck and will, 
While forward step and weapon sliow 
They long to rush upon the foe, 
Like the loose crags, whose tottering mass 
Hung threatening o'er the hollow pass." 
'DaviJ de .^trathbogie Earl of Athole, when about to en- 
fs^e Sir Andrew Moray at the battle of Kilblene, in 1335, in 
vhich hi was slain, made an apostrophe of the same kind : — 
" — At a little path was there 
All samen they a.ssembleci were 
B in ir the path was Earl Davy 



The next, aU unreflected, shone 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

XL 

Fitz-James look'd roimd — ^yet scarce belieyed 

The witness that his sight received ; 

Such apparition well might seem 

Delusion of a dreadful dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 

And to his look the Chief replied : 

" Fear naught — nay, that I need not say — 

But — doubt not auglit from mine array. 

Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 

As far as Coilaiitogle ford : 

Nor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand,' 

Though on oiu" strife lay every vale 

Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.* 

So move we on ; — I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant. 

Deeming this path you might pursue 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."* 

They mo«ed : — I said Fitz-James was braye^ 

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 

Yet dare not say, that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and temper'd flood, 

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 

That seeming lonesome pathway tlirough, 

Which yet, by fearful proof was rife 

With lances, that, to take his life. 

Waited but signal from a guide. 

So late dishonor'd and defied. , 

Ever, by stealth, liis eye sought round 

The vanish'd guardians of the groimd, 

And still, from copse and heather deep, 

Fancy saw spear and broadsword peop,' 

And in the plover's shrilly strain. 

The signal whistle heard again. 

Nor breathed he free till far behind 

The pass was left ; for then they wina 

Along a wide and level green. 

Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 

And to a great stone that lay by 
He said By God his face, we twa 
The flight on us shall samen* ta." 
' MS. — " For aid against one brnve man's hand ' 
4 "This scene is excellently described. The fri oknsn IM 
high-souled courage of the two warriors, — the reliance wliioii 
the Lowlander places on the woul of the Highlander to gnida 
him safely on his way the next morning, although lie h«i 
spoken threatening and violent words against Roderick, whose 
kinsman the mountaineer professes himself to be, — these cir- 
cumstances are all admirably imagined and related. " — Monthly 
Review. 
' See Appendix, Note 3 K. 

• MS. — " And still, from copse and he?the' baab 

Fancy saw spear and broauswoi^ rush." 

• At the same time or tojretner. 

Mote in tkt Author't MS. not ajind to any/o'^ntr «tHn«n of tht 



SANTO V. 



THE LADY uF THE LAKE. 



22) 



Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

XII. 
The Chief in sUence strode before, 
And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore, 
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
Fronc Vennachar in silver breaks, 
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 
On Bochastle the mouldering hues,* 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of fore her eagle wings unfurl'd.' 
Ai d here his course the Chieftain staid, 
Threw down his target and his plaid, 
And to the Lowland warrior said : — 
" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust. 
Tliis murderous Chief, this ruthless man, 
This head of a rebeUious clan. 
Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward. 
Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A Cliieftain's vengeance thou shalt feeL 
See here, all vantageless I stand, 
Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand :' 
For tills is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

XIII. 

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delay'd, 

When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 

Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death : 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 

And my deep debt for hfe preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved : 

Can naught but blood our feud atone ? 

Are there no means ?" — " No, Stranger, none ! 

And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 

For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 

Between the hving and the dead ; 

' Who spills the foremost foeman's life. 

His party conquers in the strife.' " — 

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 

'Thp riddle is already read. 

Sf ek yonder brake beneath the cliif, — 

Tber? lies Red Murdoch, stark and utiff. 

riius Fate has solved her prophecy. 

Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 

To James, at Stirling, let us go, 

1 MS - -" On Bochastle the martial lines." 
» See Appendix, Note 3 L., 3 Ibid. Note 3 M. 

* MS. — " In lightning flash'd the Chief's dark eye." 
6 MS — " He stoops not, he, to James nor Fate." 

' " The two principal figures are contrasted with nncommon 
W,c<ty. Fitz James, who more nearly resembles the French 
> nrv tne Fourth '1 f n the Scottish James V., is gay amor- 



Whea, if thou wilt be stiU his fbe, 
Or if the King shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favor free, 
I plight mine honor, oath, and word. 
That, to thy native strengths restored, 
With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
That aids thee now to guard thy land." 

XIV. 
Dark lightning flash'd from Roderick's ay&— • 
" Soars thy presumption, then, so liigh, 
Because a wretched kern ye slew, 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate 1* 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : — 
.My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight. 
Who ill deserved my courteous care. 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair."— 
" I thank thee, Roderick, for the word I 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone 1- 
Yet think not that by thee alone. 
Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt— 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." — 
Tlien each at once his falchion drew, 
Each on the groimd liis scabbard threw. 
Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain. 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed. 
In dubious strife they darkly closed.* 

XV. 
ni fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he tlu-ew,' 
Wliose brazen studs and tough buU-hido 
Had death so often dash'd aside ; 
For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practised every pass and ward, 

ous, fickle, intrepid, impetnons, affectionate, conrteons, graoe 
ful, and dignified. Roderick is gloomy, vindictive, arrogant 
undaunted, but constant in his all'ections, and true to his ei> 
gagements ; and the whole passage in which these personage* 
are placed in opposition, from their first meeting to their fina 
conflict, is conceived and written with a sublimity which niv 
been rarely equalled." — Quarterly Reviev, ISIO. 
' See Appendix, Note 3 V. 



^24 



SCOTI'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 1 



To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintain'd unequal war.' 
Tliree times in closing strife they stood, 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; 
No stiiiied draught, no scanty tide, 
ITie gushing flood the tartans dyed- 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
Azid su jwer'd his blows like wintry rain ; 
4nd, as firm rock, or castle-roof, 
Against the winter shower is proof, 
Tlie foe, invulnerable still, 
Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill; 
TiU, at ad^antfige ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 
And backward borne upon the lea, 
Bn>ught the proud Chieftain to his knee.' 

XVI. 

" 'Now yield thee, or by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade !"- 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die."* 
— Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through tlie toil, 
Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
FuU at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ;* 
Received, but reck'd not of a woimd. 
And lock'd his arms liis foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 
Through bars of brass and triple steel 1 
They tug, they strain ! down, down they go. 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Cliieftain's gripe his throat compress'd. 
His knee was planted in his breast ; 
His clotted locks he backward threw. 
Across his brow his hand he drew. 
From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
Tlien gleam'd aloft his dagger bright ! — 
— But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of hfe's exhausted tide. 
And all too late the advantage came. 
To turn tlie odds of deadly game ; 
Foi-, while tl e dagger gleam'd on high, 
Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye. 
Down came the blow ! but m the heath 
nie erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing giasp ; 

MS. — " Not Roderick thus, though stronger far. 
More tall, and more inured to war." 

This conplet is not in the MS. 

See Appendix, Note 3 O. 

MS. — " ' Yield tliey alone who fear to die.' 

Like mountain-cat who guards her yonng. 
Full at Fiiz-James'» throat he sprung." 



Unwounded from the dreadful close. 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.* 

XVIL 
He falter'd thanks to Heaven fer hfe, 
Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife ;* 
Next on his foe his look he cast. 
Whose every gasp appear'd his last ; 
In Roderick's gore he dipt the braid, — 
" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paitl 
Yet with tliy foe must die, or live. 
The praise that Faith and Valor give." 
With that he blew a bugle-note. 
Undid the collar from his throat, 
Unbonneted, and by the wave 
Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 
Then faint afar are heard the feet' 
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 
The sounds increase, and now are seen 
Four mounted squires in Lincoln -green; 
Two who bear lance, and two who lead, 
By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed ; 
Each onward held his headlong course. 
And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse,— 
With wonder view'd the bloody spot — 
— " Exclaun not, gallants ! question not.— 
You, Herbert and Luflhess, aUght, 
And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 
Let the gray palfrey bear his weight. 
We destined for a fairer freight, 
And bring him on to StirHng straight 
I will before at better speed, 
To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 
Tlie sun rides liigh ; — I must be bouoe, 
To see the archer-game at noon ; 
But lightly Bayard clears the lea. — 
De Vaux and Herries, foUow me. 

XVIIL 
" Stand, Bayard, stand I" — the steed oljey'd 
With arcliing neck and bended head. 
And glancing eye and quivering ear, 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid, 
But wreathed his left hand in the mane^ 
And lightly boimded from the plain, 
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirr'd his coiu"age with the steel 
Boimded the fiery steed in air. 
The rider sate erect and fair, 

MS. — " Panting and breathless on the sanda, 
But all unwounded, now he stands." 
• MS. — " Redeemed, unhoped, from deadly stiil'a i 

Next on his foe his look he ) ,*'*'"• 
' threw, 

Whose everv breath appear'd his ;a«t." 

' Mi?. — " Faint and afar are heard tha fner ' 



rANTO V, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



226 



Th'^n like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launch'd, along the plain they go. 
They dash'd that rapid torrent through. 
And up Carhonie's hill they flew ; 
Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight, 
His men-y-men follow'd as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith 1 they ride, 
And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
ToiTy and Lendrick now are past. 
And Deanstown lies behind them cast ; 
They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune,' 
They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair-Diimimond sees the hoofs strike fire,' 
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kier ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides, 
And on the opposing shore take groimd. 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth 1* 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray Sth-Hng, with her towers and town, 
Upon their fleet career look'd down. 

XIX. 

As up the flinty path they strain'd* 

Sudden his steed the leader rein'd ; 

A signal to his squire he flung, 

Who instant to his stirrup sprung :-*- 

" Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gr/iy, 

Wlio townward holds the rocky way, 

Of stature tall and poor array ? 

Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride. 

With which he scales the mountain-side ?• 

Know'st thou from whence he comes, or 

whom ?" — 
" No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's train would nobly grace." — 
" Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply, 
And jealousy, no sharper eye ? 
Ain, ere to the hUl he drew, 
'll;at stately form and step I knew ; 
Likf form in Scotland is not seen, 
Tread^ not such step on Scottish green, 
Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle 1' 
The uncle of the banish'd EarL 

» The rui a of Donne Caatle, formerly the residence of the 
Curls oi Aienteith, now the property of the Earl of Moray, are 
Bttrited at the confluence of the Ardoch and the Teith. 
s MS. — " Blair-Drumraond saw their hoofs of fire." 
' It may be worth noting, that the Poet marks the progress 
of the King by naming in succession places familiar and dear 
to his own early recollections — Blair-Drummond, the seat of 
the Homes of Kaimes ; Kier, that of the principal family of 
Jie name of Stirling ; Ochtertyre, that of John Ramsay, the 
well-known antiquary, and correspondent of Burns; and 
>«isforth, that of the Callenden of Craigforth, almost nnder 
29 



Away, away, to court, to show 

The near approach of dreaded foe : 

The King must stand upon his guard ; 

Douglas and he must meet prepared." 

Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and sti ai^lr* 

They won the castle's postern gate. 

XX. 

The Douglas, who had bent his way 

From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray, 

Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf. 

Held sad communion with himself:—- 

" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 

A prisoner lies the noble Grseme, 

And fiery Roderick soon will feel 

The vengance of the royal steel. 

I, only I, can ward their fate, — 

God grant the ransom come not late ! 

The Abbess hath her promise given. 

My child shall be the bride of Heaven ;— 

— Be pardon'd one repining tear ! 

For He, who gave her, knows how dear. 

How excellent 1 but that is by, 

And now my business is — to die. 

— Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 

And thou, O sad and fatal mound !' 

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound. 

As on the noblest of the land 

Fell the stem headsman's bloody hand, — 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom ! 

— But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ? 

And see 1 upon the crowded street. 

In motley groups what masquers meet I 

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, 

And merry morrice-dancers come. 

I guess, by all this quamt array. 

The burghers hold their sports to-day.' 

James will be there ; he loves such show. 

Where the good yeomen bends his bow. 

And the tough wrestler foils his foe, 

As well as where, in proud career. 

The liigh-born tilter shivers spear 

I'll follow to the Castle-park, 

And play my prize ; — King James shall mark 

If age has tamed these sinews slwk, 

the walls of Stirling Castle ; — all hospitable roofs, nnder whiM 
he had spent many of his jounger davs.^ — Ed. 
i MS*. — " As up the steepy path they strain'd." 
6 MS. — "With which he gains the mountain-side." 
6 The Edinburgh Reviewer remarks on "that nnhappj 
couplet, where the King himself is in such distress t-jr a rhymt 
as to be obliged to apply to one of the obscurest saints in tht 
calendar." The reading of the MS. is — 

" 'Tis James of Douglas, by my word. 
The uncle of the banish'd Lord." 
See Appendix, Note 3 P e JWd. Not* 1 f» 



126 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Canto ▼. 



Whose force so oft, in happier days, 
Qifl boyish wonder loved to praise." 

XXL 
The Castle gates were open tlung, 
Tlie quivering drawbridge rock'd and rung, 
A.nd echo'd loud the flinty street 
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, 
A.8 slowly down the steep descent 
Fair Scotland's King and nobles went,' 
VVTiUe all along the crowded way 
Was jubilee and loud huzza. 
Ajid ever ^ames was bending low 
To his white jennet's saddle-bow, 
Doffing liis cap to city dame, 
Who snuled and blush'd for pride and shame. 
And well the siniperer might be vain, — 
He choie the fairest of the train. 
Gravely he greets each city sire. 
Commends each pageant's quaint attire. 
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, 
Arid smiles and nods upon the crowd, 
Wbo reud the heavens with their acclaims, 
" Long hvo the Commons' King, King James 1" 
Behind the King throng'd peer and knight, 
And noble dame and damsel bright, 
Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay 
Of the steep street and crowded way. 
— But in the train you might discern 
Dark lowering brow and visage stern ; 
ITiere nobles mourn'd their pride restrain'd,' 
And the mean burgher's joys disdain'd ; 
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, 
Were ( ach from home a banish'd man. 
There thought upon their own gray tower, 
Tlieir wavmg woods, their feudal power. 
And deem'd themselves a shameful part 
Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 

XXII. 

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 
Tlieir checker'd bands the joyous rout. 
Tliere raorricers, with bell at heel. 
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ;' 
But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
BrA'i Robin Hiod* and all his band, — 

• MS.— King James and all his nobles went . . 
Ever the King was bending low 
To his white jennet's saddle-bow, 
Doffing his cap to burgher dame, 
Who smiling blush'd for pride and shame." 
MS.-—" Nobles who mourn'd their power restrain'd. 
And the poor burgher's joys disdain'd ; 
Dark chief, who, hostage for his clan, 
Was from his home a banish'd man, 
Who thought upon his own gray tower, 
The waving woods, his feudal bower, 
And deem'd himself a shameful part 
Of paceant that he carsed in heart." 



Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, 
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, 
Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, 
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ; 
Their bugles challenge all that will, 
In archery to prove their skill. 
The Douglas bent a bow of might,— 
His first shaft center'd in the white. 
And when in turn he shot again. 
His second spUt the first in twain. 
From the King's hand must DougHs tak* 
A silver dart, the archer's stake ; 
Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,* 
Some answermg glance of sympathy,—- 
No kind emotion made reply 1 
Indifferent as to archer wight. 
The monarch gave the arrow bright, 

XXIIL 
Now, clear the ring 1 for, hand to hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose, 
And proud demanded mightier foes. 
Nor call'd in vain ; for Douglas came. 
— For Ufe is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 
Whom senseless home his comrades bear 
Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring,' 
While coldly glanced his eye of blue, 
As frozen drop of wintry dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
His struggling soul his words suppress'd 
Indignant then he tiu"n'd him where 
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare. 
To hiu-l the massive bar in air. 
When each his utmost strength had shown 
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 
From its deep bed, then heaved it high. 
And sent the fragment tlirough the sky, 
A rood beyond the farthest mark ; — 
And still in Stirling's royal park. 
The gray-hair'd sires, who know the past^ 
To strangers point the Douglas-cast, 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern day.* 

» The MS. adds :— 

" With awkward stride there city groom 
Would part of fabled knight assume." 

• See Appendix, Note 3 R. 

• MS. — " Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye, 

For answering glance of sympathy, — 
But no emotion made reply I 
Indifferent as to unknown ) . 
Cold as to unknown yeoman \ * ' 
The king gave forth tlie arrow bright 

• Bee Appendix, Note 3 S. 
' Ibid. Note 3 T. 

« MS. — " Of mortal strength in moiem day. 



UANTO V. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



221 



XXIV. 
The vale with loud applauses rang, 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 
The King, with look unmoxed, bestow'd 
A purse well fiU'd with pieces broad.' 
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, 
A.nd tlirew the gold among the crowd,' 
Wlao now, with anxious wonder, scan, 
And sharper glance, the dark gray man ; 
rUl ~ hispers rose among the throng, 
Tha* heart so free, and hand so strong. 
Must to the Douglas blood belong ; 
The old men mark'd, and shook the head, 
To see his hair with silver spread, 
And wink'd aside, and told each son, 
Of feats upon the Enghsh done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand' 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised liis stately form, 
Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm ;* 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 
Tm murmur rose to clamors loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled round the King, 
With Douglas held comm"nion kind. 
Or call'd the banish'd man to mind •,' 
No, not from those who, at the chase, 
Once held his side the honor'd place, 
Begirt his board, and, in the field. 
Found safety underneath his shield ; 
For he, whom royal eyes disown. 
When was his form to courtiers known I 

XXV. 

The Monarch saw the gambols flag, 
And bade let loose a gallant stag. 
Whose pride, the holiday to crown. 
Two favorite greyhounds should pull down, 
That venison free, and Bordeaux wine. 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide. 
The fleetest hound in all the North, — 
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 
She left the royal hoimds mid-way, 
And dashing on the antler'd prey, 
Svmk her sharp muzzle in his flank, 
And deep the flowing hfe-blood drank. 
The King's stoui huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short, 

MS.— " A pnrse weigVd down with pieces broad." 
MS. — " Scattered the gold among the crowd." 
MS. — " Ere James of Douglas' stalwart hand." 
MS. — " Though worn by many a winter storm." 
MS — " Or call'd his stately form to mind." 
MS —" Clamor'd his comrades of the train." 



Came up, and with his leash unbound. 

In anger struck the noble hound. 

— The Douglas had endured, that m'^.m, 

The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn 

And last, and worst to spirit proud. 

Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 

But Lufra had been fondly bred. 

To share liis board, to watch his bed, 

And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 

In maiden glee with garlands deck ; 

They were such playmates, that with naire 

Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 

His stifled wrath is brimming high, 

Li darken'd brow and flashing eye ; 

As waves before the bark divide. 

The crowd gave way before his stride ; 

Needs but a buffet and no more. 

The groom Ues senseless in his gore. 

Such blow no other hand could deal, 

Though gaimtleted in glove of steel. 

XXVL 

Then clamor'd loud the royal train,' 

And brandish'd swords and staves amain. 

But stem the Baron's warning — " Back 1' 

Back, on your hves, ye menial pack I 

Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! behold, 

King James 1 the Douglas, doom'd of old, 

And vainly nought for near and far, 

A victim tflUone the war, 

A willing victim, now attends. 

Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." — 

" Thus is my clemency repaid ? 

Presumptuous Lord !" the monarch said ; 

" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 

Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man. 

The only man, in whom a foe 

My woman-mercy would not know . 

But shall a Monarch's presence brook* 

Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 

What ho 1 the Captain of our Guard . 

Give the offender fitting ward. — 

Break off the sports !" — for tiunult rose, 

And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, — 

" Break off the sports !" he said, and frowD'd 

" And bid our horsemen clear the grand." 

XXVIL 
Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen prick'd among the crowu. 
Repell'd by threats and insult loud ;' 

1 MS. — " But stem the warrior's warning — ' Back I ' 

8 MS. — " But in my court, injurious blow, 

And biarded thus, and thus out-dared ' 
What ho I the Captain of our Guard !" 

• MS. — " Their threats repell'd by msult loud 



J28 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto f 


To earth are borne the old and weak, 


Bless'd him who staid the civil strife ; 


The timorous fly, the women sliriek ; 


And mothers held their babes on high. 


With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, 


The self-devoted Chief to spy, 


The hardier urge tiunultuous war. 


Triumphant over wrongs and iie. 


At once round Douglas darkly sweep 


To whom the prattlers owed a sire : 


The royal spears in circle deep. 


Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ; 


And slowly scale the pathway steep ; 


As if behind some bier beloved. 


JHiile on the rear in thunder pour 


With trailing arms and drooping head, 


The rabble with disorder'd roar. 


The Douglas up the hill he led. 


With grief the noble Douglas saw 


And at the Castle's battled verge. 


The Commons rise against the law, 


With sighs resign'd his honor'd charge 


And to the leading soldier said, — 




" Su- John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade 


XXX. 


That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 


The offended Monarch rode apart, 


For that good deed, permit me then 


With bitter thought and swelling heart, 


A word with these misguided men. 


And would not now vouchsafe again 




Through Stirling streets to lead liis train. 


XXVIII. 


" Lennox, who would wish to rule 


" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet for me, 


This changeling crowd, this common fool ? 


Te break the bands of fealty. 


Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim. 


My life, my honor, and my cause. 


With which they shout the Douglas' name 


I tender free to Scotland's laws. 


With like acclaim, the vulgar throat 


Are these so weak as must require 


Strain'd for King James their morning note ; 


The aid of your misguided ire ? 


With Uke acclaim they hail'd the day 


Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, 


When fii-st I broke the Douglas' sway ; 


Is then my selfish rage so strong, 


And like acclaim would Douglas greet, 


My sense of public weal so low, 


If he could hurl me from my seat. 


That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 


Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, 


Those cords of love I should unbind, 


Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain 1 


Which knit my country and mj0nd ? 


Vain as the leaf upon the stream,' 


Oh no ! Believe, in yonder tower 


And fickle as a changeful dream ; 


It will not soothe my captive hour, 


Fantastic as a woman's mood, 


To know those spears our foes should dread. 


And fierce as Phrensy's fever 'd blood. 


For me in kindred gore are red ; 


Thou many-headed monster thing," 


To know, in fruitless brawl begun, 


who woidd wish to be thy king 1 


For me, that mother wails her son ; 




For me, that widow's mate expires ; 


XXXI. 


For me, that orphans weep their sires ; 


" But soft ! what messenger of speed 


That patriots mourn insulted laws, 


Spurs hitherward his panting steed ? 


And curse the Douglas for the cause. 


I guess his cognizance afar — 


let your patience ward such ill. 


What from our cousin, John of Mar ?" — 


And keep your right to love me still !" 


" He prays, my liege, yoiu' sports keep bound 




Within the safe and guarded ground : 


XXIX. 


For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 


The crowd's wild fury sunk again' 


Most sure for evU to the throne, — 


In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 


The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 


With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd 


Has simimon'd his rebellious crew ; 


For blessings on liis generous head. 


'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 


\Mio for his country felt alone. 


These loose banditti stand array'd. 


And prized her blood beyond his own. 


The F.arl of Mar, this mom, from Doune, 


Old men, upon the verge of life. 


To break their muster march'd, and soon 


1 MS.—" The crowd's wild fary ebb'd amain 


Which would increase his evil. He that depends 


In tears, a» tempests sink in rain." 


Upon your favors, swims with fins of lead, 




And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye 1 Trust ft 


» MS.—" Vain as the sick man's id\e dream." 






With every minute you do change a mind ; 


• " Who deserves greatness, 


And call him noble, thit was now your hate, 


Deserves your hate ; and yonr affections are 


Him vile that was your garland." 


& sick man's appetite, who desires most that 


Coriolanu8, Act. I. 8cea« 1 



0ANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



221 



Your grace will hear of battle fought ; 
But earnestly the Earl besought, 
riU for such danger he provide, 
With Kanty train you will not ride." — * 

XXXIL 

" Thou waj-n'st me I have done amiss, — 
I should have earlier look'd to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
— Retrice with speed thy former way; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
"We do forbid the intended war : 
Roderick, this morn, in single fight. 
Was made our prisoner by a knight ; 
And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host, 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel, 
For their Chief's crimes, avenging steeL 
Bear Mar our message, Braco : fly 1" 
He turn'd his steed, — " My liege, I hie,— 
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, 
I fear the broadswords will be drawn." 
The tmf the flying courser spurn'd, 
And to his towers the King return'd. 

XXXIII. 

Ill with King James's mood that day 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng, 
And soon cut short the festal song. 
Nor less upon the sadden'd town 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The burghers spoke of civil jar. 
Of rmnor'd feuds and mountain war, 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms : — the Douglas too. 
They mourn'd him pent within the hold, 
" Where stout Earl WilUam was of 

old"—" 
And there his word the speaker staid. 
And finger on his Up he laid. 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen, from the west, 
At evening to the Castle press'd ; 
And busy talkers said they bore 
I'idings of fight on Katrine's shore ; 
.^t noon th(! deadly fray begun. 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumor shook the town. 
Till closed the Night her pennons brown. 

1 MS. — ' On distant chase yon will not ride." 
* fltaljbeo by James II. in Stirling Castle. 



^t Cabs of t\)t Cake. 



CANTO SIXTH 



Ste fflfuartJ=a£ioom 



The sun, awakening, through the smoky ail 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance. 
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care. 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance 

Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance 

And warning student pale to leave his pen. 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse tit 
men. 

What various scenes, and, ! what scenes of woo 

Are witness'd by that red and struggling beam 
The fever'd patient, fi-om his pallet low, 

Thi-ough crowded hospital beholds it stream 
The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam. 

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail. 
The love-lorn wretch starts firom tormenting 
dream; 

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes Lis 
feeble waiL 

II. 
At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon-clang. 
While drums, with rolling note, foretf U 
Relief to weary sentinel. 
Through narrow loop and casement barr'd,* 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard. 
And, struggling with the smoky air, 
Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. 
In comfortless alliance shone* 
The lights through arch of blacken'd stone. 
And show'd wild shapes in garb of war. 
Faces deform'd with beard and scar, 
All haggard from the midnight watch. 
And fever'd with the stern debauch ; 
For the oak table's massive board, 
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. 
And beakers di-ain'd, and cups o'erthrown, 
Show'd in what sport the night had flowc 
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
Some labor'd still their thirst to quench ; 
Some, chill'd with watching, spread their hanai 
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 

s MS. — " Through blacken'd arch and easement baif'd." 
< MS. — " The lights in strange alliance shone 

Bineath the arch of blacken'd 8ton<« " 



190 



si\vrr"8 roKTuwi- W(^rKv^. 



CANTO VI 



Wlulo rv>\mvl tluMU. t>v bo!^uU> thorn fliuvjj, 
At ovon !>top tlioir harness i»nijc, 

111 
Tlu'so ilrow not tW thoii tioUls tho swvud. 
IJko tojwuits i>t" a tVuvhil lorvJ, 
Niir t>w«i\l tho jvitrisuvhal claim 
Of rhiot'taiu in thoir U\>ulor"s iiamo ; 
A»lvoiUiivors thoy, tVi>u> fav who i\>vovl. 
To livo In Ivittlo whioh thov lovoil.' 
Thoro tho Italian"!* oloiulovl tu^v. 
Tho s\varth\ Siv-uiiard's thovo you trac* ; 
Tho tuountnin-loviiig i^witnor tluuv 
Mv>rt> tn^oly hvoathoil in mountain air: 
'i'ho Flomiii^ tl\oio dospisovl tho soil 
That {vvid so ill tho lalH>vor's toil ; 
Tlu-iv n>lls shv>\v\l VVonoh an»l (ronumi nsuiip; 
An..! nioiTY Knglands oxilos oamo. 
To sliaro, witlv ill-iXMUvaril »lisihuu, 
i'*!' Si><thuurs jvay tho so;u\ty pvin. 
All bitivo in arms, woll tiiiinM to wioUl 
Vho l»oavy hallH>r\l. brand, and sliitUd ; 
In oan>j\-i licontiovis, wiUl, and K>hl ; 
In i^illugo tioroo and nniwntroUd ; 
And n>nv,by holytido luul toast, 
From rnlos of ilisoiphuo n^loasod. 

IV 
Thoy hold doWto of bUvdy fray. 
Fvniirht 'twist l.tK'k Katrino smd Aohray. 
Kioioo was thoii s|<oooh, and, 'n\id thoir worvis, 
Thoir hands ot> grapplod to Uioir swi\rvis ; 
N«vr svmk thoir to«o to sj^aro tho o:vr 
Of woundoil ivnuiulos s:r\>iinini; noar, 
Wbivso tnan^lod litnlw, and KhHos ij\>rod, 
Boro tokon of tho tniuintsun swi»r\l. 
Thoviglu uoij:hWrii\>: to tho Omirt of Guard. 
llioir prayors a«d fovorish wails woro hoanl ; 
Sail burdon to tho rutViaiv joko, 
\iul s.avai:>< ivkth by fvuy sjH>ko ! — * 
At loiurth up startod JivJin of Bront, 
A yotunsn frvnw tho Ivinks of 'lYtnit ; 
A stran^<r to rosjHVt or foar, 
In poaco a ohasor of tho door, 

» l»j» AiHwndii, Not* 3 I'. 

» Ms — •■ Sa>> hur\l««n to th* rurtisn jest. 

AuJ ru>l» oath* r»nt«Hl by tlw nwt." 

» Baivhanalian intu^jwlion, bonviwwi) troiu th» Puloh. 

♦ "Tlie swatwt hipiutth in th* |Hx^m. « tho HhaUirr and 

vll vu'sAtil>- whioh is put into tlw »M>alhs ol" th«> wUtwry in 
Ibe fusrvl-jvviin. Mr. 8*-«lt ha» tx>mleA-«iut<Ht to wrttf a soiij 
Vw llit>u>. wlwih will t># tr.Ail with \w»n>. we aiw iH>r»naiUHl. 
|r«ii b. hi« xvium««it »iimm'r» ; aiul hi* who'.t< sj^-iuus, an^l 
»>v» hi» |v««<r ot" vemittv-ation, kvhw to ile«>rt him when he 
Ut(>iu)>t« to wiw^t thoir c«n\erMmon. Here is some ol" the 
rt»>r whioh ha> ilwpiXHt. in this inans(uoious attempt, t'rwiu 

Imt l<en ol'sne of the first of poeU of his aj* o» oounuy," Ifeo. 
ko — Jtr» KBT. 



In host « hardy mntinoor, 

l»nt still tho lH>Kiost of tho crow. 

Whou dood of ihuv^or was to do. 

Ho sjriovod, thiit day. thoir .^anios t-nt shorty 

Auvl marr'd tJto dioors brawhni; s|Hirt, 

And sltoutotl loutl, " Uonow tho Ih>\v1I 

.\nil, whilt> a ntorry oatoh 1 troll. 

Lot oaoh tho buxom chorus lH>ar, 

liko brotlirtui (.>f tho briUtil anti sjh'sit.* 



.SolTilfv's .Soufl. 
Our vicar still jnoachos that Totor and Vt^ulo 
l«'vid a swiui^inj;; Kniif curso ini tho Innuiy brown 

Ih>wI, 
Th.-tt thoros wrath *x\d despair in tho jolly 

black jack. 
And tho sovon doailly sins in a tlaj^ni of sack ; 
Yot whiH>p, liarnaby ! t>tV with thy liquor. 
Prink u|V!kios* out, sutd a tig for tho viiMu- 1 

Our vicar ho calls it dauuiatii\n to sip 
Tho ripo ruddy ilow of a wom:n\'s dear lip. 
Says, that Uool/.obub lurks in hor korchiof so sly 
And Apt>llytnt sluH>ts daits tV\un hor inorry blaci 

oyo ; 
Yot whiH>p. .lack ! kiss Uilli;m tho tpiickor, 
TOl slto bliHnn liko a rose, tuid a tig l\>r tho vicar I 

Our vicar thus proadios — jtnd why slunild ho not 
Kor tho duos of his curti !vrt> tho plackot suid jx>t ; 
And "tis right of his otWco jvH^r layu\on to lurch. 
^Vho infringe tho donxiiins of our gvHid Motho. 

Olnnvh. 
Yot whiHip. bully -b<.>y9 ! otf with your liipior, 
Swoot M;u-jorio"s tho word, and a tig for tho viciir 

VI. 

Tho wanlor's challougo. hoard without. 
Staid in mid-ro.ar tho morry shout. 
A soldier to tho {xvrtal wont, — 
" Here is old liertram. sirs, of Ghent 
.\nd, — Ivat for jubilee tho druu> ! 
A nt.'vid !uui niiustrol with huu ciuue." 



■• The I.ailv of the Lake is saiil to be intVnor. as a poem. t« 
Waller Sivit's former prvxlwotions, bnt ix-ally one hantb 
knows how to exaiiiin* sueh eomiHwitions as pivniw All 
that one oan KhA fiw is to timt In-aiitifnl |v,vw.v:\>s m them, 
•ml 1 own that ttiere are some i»art» of the Irfiily of the Lak* 
whiv-h plea.-* me mor* than any ihinj: in Walter Svvtt's t'oi* 
mer (Hiems. He hM a jtrtsit ileal of un«j:ination. anil is ee^ 
tamly a very skilful i>ainter. The nteetin^ betwivn IVn^l.-w 
(uul his ilauijhter. the Kinjt Oesv-endinj; from Stirlinij Oaslle lo 
assist at the t«>stival of the to» nsmen ^thoujh borrvwtsi in a 
ivnsiiU-rable lU-jiree from Ih-yiWn's rrf-'iiwea a»ii .IrtttA, and 
the i:uani-twiu at the besjinnin.s of the last canto, all »liow 
extraonlin,\ry jH>\vers of ilesi-rtption. If he wnne lew auc 
nuw earet\i\!y. he wouUI Ih> a very oonsi.lerab!e (KVt."— Sl< 
S.VMIKL ROMILLT. [Ok!. \SH\]— l.\J« . xol. U p. 34i 



CAnrro VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



291 



B<;rtrain, a Kleminij, gray and w;arr''l. 

Wan (filtering now th<} (Jourt of Guard, 

A larper with him, arul in plaid, 

All iiiiMfA done, a mountain r/iaid. 

Who backward «hrunk to 'ncupH the view 

Of the teoue «ccne and iK^iijteroufl crew, 

" What nowK V they roar'']. — " I only know, 

From noon till avf. we fought with foe, 

Ah wild and a« uj'tameahle 

Ah the rude mountairiH wherf- they dwell; 

On ^,KJth (fides Htore of bhxjd in lost, 

Nor much buccchb can either >x>aBt." — 

" But whence; thy captives, friend ? 8uch »[Xjil 

Ab theirs rniKjt needs reward thy toil.' 

Old doHt thou wax, and warn fjrow sliarp; 

Tliou now ha.Ht glee-maiden and Irnrp! 

Gel thee an ape, and trudge the lunfl, 

The leader of a juggler band." — ^ 

VIL 
" No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine. 
After the fight these »fjught our line, 
lliat aged liarper and the girl. 
And, having audience of the Earl, 
Mar bade I Khwild purvey them steed. 
And bring them hitljerward with speei 
ForUiar your mirth and rude alarm, 
Fcr none shall do them sliame or harm." — 
" Hear ye liis lK>a«t ?" cried Jolin of Brent, 
Ever to strife and janglirjy bent ; 
" Shall he strike doe beside our lodge. 
And yet the jealouB niggard grudge 
To pay the forester liis fee f 
I'll have rny share, howe'er it be, 
DeHpite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 
Bertram liis forward step withstfxjd ;' 
And, burning in Ids vengeful mf»od, 
Old Allan, though unfit for strife. 
Laid liand upon Jiis dagger-knife ; 
But Ellen Ix'ldly stepped l>etween, 
And dropp'd at once the tartan screen :— 
So, froL lis morriing cloufl, appears 
The sun of May, through summer tears. 
The savage sfjldiery, amazed,* 
A« on descended angel gazed ; 
Evf-n liardy Brent, abash'd and tamed. 
Stood half admiring, half ashamed 

VIIL 
BoMly she spoke, — " Soldiers, attend ! 
Mj father was the eohJier's friend ; 

The MS. khAb after thU :— 

" Get ttiee an ape, and then at once 
Thoo nnayirt renoonce the warder'i lance, 
And trDdi<e through horouigh aad through land, 
Th<j leader ofa jaggter hand." 

8«e Appendix Note 3 V 



Cljeer'd him in camj^s, in marches led. 
And with him in the battle ble'L 
Not from the valiant, or the strf/ng. 
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." — • 
Answer'd De Breut, most forward still 
In every feat or g'xxl or ill, — 
" I shame me of the part I play'd : 
And thou an outlaw's child, jxx^r maid I 
An outlaw I by forest laws, 
Afid merry Needwo^xl knows the caose. 
]'<x)r Jt'fse, — if Bx^se Ixj livi/ig now," — * 
He wiped liij« iron eye and Ijrow, — 
"Mu-^it bear such age, f think, as thou.— - 
Hear ye, my mates ; — f go t<i call 
The Captain of our watch to hall: 
lliere lies my Iwlbeni on the fl'xjr; 
And he tliiit steps my lialberd o'er, 
To do the maid injurious part. 
My sliuft sliall quiver in his heart ! — 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough ; 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough " 

IX 

Their Captain camo, a gallant young — 

(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung). 

Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 

Gay was his mien, his humor hght, 

And, though by cjurtesy cfjntroll'd. 

Forward his speech, his bearing IxjI'L 

T\ui high-lx;m maiden ill c/^uld br'Xjk 

Tlie scanning of }m curious kxjk 

And dauntless eye ; — and yet, in so^jth. 

Young Lewirt was a generous youth ; 

But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 

ni suited U) the garb and scene. 

Might hghtly lx;ar construction strange. 

And give loose fancy scope to range. 

" Welcfjrne Ui Stirling towers, fair maid I 

Coma ye to seek a champion's aid. 

On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 

Like errant damosel of yore ? 

Does thy high quest a knight require. 

Or may the venture suit a squire ?" — 

Her dark eye flash 'd ; — she paused and sigii'd— 

" O what have I U) do with pride 't — 

Tlirough scenes of sorrow, shame, and fftrifa, 

A suppliant for a father's hfe, 

I crave an aufiience of the King. 

Behold, U> back my suit, a ring, 

The royal pledge of grateful claims. 

Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."' 

• MS.—" Bertram } *"" i violence withntood." 

' ioch > 

• MS. — " While the rude wldierv. arnazed." 

» MS. — " Should Kilen Douglas foHer wrong." 

• M.S. — " ' My Rfxe,' — he wipe<l hi« iron eye tn<l bnw 

' Pixir Rot*, — il Roue he living now.' " 
' MS. — " The .Monarch gave to James Fitz-Jaaw* 



eSi. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



X. 


" We Southern men, of long descent ; 


The signet-ring young Lewis took, 


Nor wot we how a name — a word — 


With deep respect and alter'd look ; 


Makes clansmen \oosals to a lord: 


And said, — " This ring our duties own ; 


Yet kind my noble landlord's part,— 


And pardon, if to worth unknown, 


God bless the house of Beaudesert 1 


In semblance mean obscurely veil'd, 


And, but I loved to drive the deei. 


liady, in aught my folly fail'd. 


More than to guide the laboring steer, 


Scon as the day flings wide his gatea» 


I had not dwelt an outcast here. 


The King shall know what suitor waits. 


Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 


Please you, meanwhUe, in fitting bower 


Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see." 


Repose you tiU his waking hour ; 




Female attendance shall obey 


XIL 


Tour hest, for service or array. 


Then, from a rusted iron hook. 


Permit I marshal you the way." 


A bunch of ponderous keys he took. 


But, ere she followed, with the grace 


Lighted a torch, and AUan led 


And open bounty of her race, 


Through grated arch and passage dread. 


She bade her slender purse be shared 


Portals they pass'd, where, deep within, 


Among the soldiers of the guard. 


Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din ; 


The rest with thanks their guerdon took ; 


Through rugged vaults," where, loosely stoied 


But Brent, with shy and awkward look, 


Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 


On the reluctant maiden's hold 


And many an hideous engine grim, 


Forced bluntly back the proflfer'd gold ; — 


For wrenching joint, and crushing' hmb, 


" Forgive a haughty EngUsh heart, 


By artist form'd, who deem'd it shame 


And forgot its ruder part ! 


And sin to give their work a name. 


The vacant purse shall be my share,' 


They halted at a low-brow'd porch, 


Which in my barret-cap I'll bear, 


And Brent to Allan gave the torch. 


Perchance, in jeopardy of war. 


While bolt and chain he backward roll'd, 


MTiere gayer crests may keep afar." 


And made the bar unhasp its hold. 


With thanks— 'twas all she could — the maid 


They enter'd : — 'twas a prison-room 


His rugged courtesy repaid. 


Of stern security and gloom. 




Tet not a dungeon ; for the day 


XL 


Through lofty gratings found its way, 


When Ellen forth with Lewis went. 


And rude and antique garniture 


Allan made suit to John of Brent : — 


Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor ;* 


" My lady safe, let your grace 


Such as the rugged days of old 


Give me to see my master's face ! 


Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 


His minstrel I, — to shai'e his doom 


" Here," said De Brent, " thou mayst remain* 


Bomid from the cradle to the tomb. 


TiU the Leech visit him again. 


Tenth in descent, since first my sires 


Strict is his charge, the warders tell. 


Waked for his noble house their lyres, 


To tend the noble prisoner well." 


Nor one of all the race was known 


Retiring then, the bolt he drew. 


But prized its weal above their own. 


A nd the lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 


With the Cluef 's birth begins our care ; 


Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 


Our harp must soothe the infant heir 


A captive feebly raised his head ; 


Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 


The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew— 


His earUest feat of field or chase ; 


Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu ! 


In peace, in war, our rank we keep. 


For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, 


We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 


They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought 



Nor leave him till we pour our verse — 
A doleful tribute ! — o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot ; 
It is my right — deny it not !" — 
" Little we reck," said John of Brent, 

MS. — " The silken purse shall serve for me. 

And in my barret-cap shall flee." 
MS. — " 7,910 broad vaults." 
MS.—'- Stretching." < MS.—" Flinty floor." 



XIIL 

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
Shall never stem the biUows more, 
Deserted by her gallant band. 



•MB. 



" Thou mayst remain 



And then, retiring, bolt and chiia, 
And rusty bar, he drow again. 
Roused at the eoand," &c. 



CAHTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



28r 



Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 


He witness'd from the mountain's height. 


So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu 1 


With what old Bertram told at night,* 


And oft his fever'd limbs he threw 


Awaken'd the full power of soi^, 


In toss abrupt, as when her sides 


And bore him in career along ; — 


Lie rocking in the advancing tides, 


As shallop launch'd on river's tide. 


That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 


That slow and feai-ful leaves the side. 


Yet cannot heave her from her seat; — 


But, when it feels the middle stream. 


! how unlike her course at sea !' 


Drives downward swift as lightning's beaia 


Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 




Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, 


XV. 


« What of thy lady ?— of my clan ?— 


aSattle u£ aSear an ISufne.' 


My mother ?— Douglas ? — tell me all 1 


" The Minstrel came once more to view 


Have they been niin'd in my fall ? 


The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 


Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ? 


For, ere he parted, he would say 


Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear." — 


Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — 


(For Allan, who his mood well knew, 


Where shall he find, in foreign land. 


Was choked with grief and terror too.) — 


So lone a lake, so sweet a strand I 


" Who fought — who fled ?— Old man, be brief;— 


There is no breeze upon the fern. 


Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 


Nor ripple on the lake. 


W ho basely live ? — who bravely died ?" — 


Upon her eyry nods the erne. 


" 0, calm thee, Chief 1" the Minstrel cried. 


The deer has sought the brake ; 


" Ellen is safe."—" For that, thank Heaven ?"— 


The small birds will not sing aloud, 


" And hopes are for the Douglas given; — 


The springing trout Ues stfil. 


The Lady Margaret, too, is weU ; 


So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud. 


And, for thy clan, — on field or fell, 


That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 


Has never harp of mmstrel told,* 


Benledi's distant hill. 


Of combat fought so true and bold. 


Is it the thimder's solemn sovmd 


Thy stately Pine is yet unbent. 


That mutters deep and dread,- 


Though many a goodly bough is rent." 


Or echoes from the groaning ground 


/ 


The warrior's measured tread ? 


XIV. 


Is it the lightning's quivering glance 


The Chieftain rear'd bis form on high. 


That on the thicket streams. 


And fever's fire was in his eye ; 


Or do they flash on spear and lance 


But ghastly, pale, and Uvid streaks 


The sun's retiring beams ? 


Checker'd his swarthy brow and cheeks. 


— I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 


— " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play, 


I see the Moray's silver star. 


With measure bold, on festal day. 


Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, 


In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er 


That up the lake comes winding far 1 


Shall harper play, or warrior hear 1 . . . 


To hero bound for battle-strife. 


That stu-ring air that peals on high, 


Or bard of martial lay. 


O'er Dermid's race our victory. — 


'Twere worth ten yeais of peaceful life, 


Strike it !^ — and then (for well thou canst), 


One glance at their array 1 


pTee from thy minstrel-spirit glanced. 




Fliug,- me the picture of the fight, 


XVI. 


When met my clan the Saxon might. 


" Their light-arm'd archers far and near 


I'll listen, till my fancy hears 


Survey'd the tangled ground, 


The clarjg of swords, the crash of spears 1 


Their centre ranks, with pike and epeai 


These grates, these walls, shall vanish then. 


A twilight forest frown'd, 


Far the fair field of fighting men. 


Their barbed horsemen, in the rear. 


And my free spu-it burst away. 


The stern battalia crown'd. 


A« if it ».>ar'd from battle fray." 


No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang, 


The trembhng Bard with awe obey'd,— 


Still were the pipe and drum ; 


Slow on the harp hi^.hand he laid ; 


Save heavy tread, and armor's clang. 


But soon remembrance of the sight 


The sullen march was dumb. 


' MS. — " Oh ! how unlike her course on main I 


Of combat fought so fierce and well.' 


Or his tree step on hill and plain 1" 


* See Appendix, Note 3 VV. * The MS. bai cot UkSM 


MS. — Shall never harp of minstrel tell. 


s See Appendix, Note 3 X. 



234 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cahtovj 


There breathed no wind their crests to shake, 


Above the tide, each broadsword bright 


Or wavi! their flags abroad ; 


Was brandishing like beam of light, 


Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake, 


Each targe was dark below ; 


That shadow'd o'er their roai 


And with the ocean's mighty swing. 


Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, 


When heaving to the tempest's wing, 


Can rouse no lurking foe, 


They hurl'd them on the foe 


Nor spy a trace of living thing, 


I heai-d the lance's sliivering crash. 


Save -when they stirr'd the roe 


As when the whirlwind rends the ash. 


The host moves, like a deep-sea wive. 


I heard the broadsword's deadly clang. 


Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 


As if an hundred anvUs rang ! 


High-swelling, dark, and slow. 


But Moray wheel'd his rearwai-a rank 


The lake is pass'd, and now they gain 


Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's flank. 


A. TiaTTOw and a broken plain. 


— ' My banner-man, advance 1 


Before the Trosach's rugged jaws; 


I see,' he cried, 'their cohimn shale.— 


And here the horse and spearmen pause 


Now, gallants ! for your ladies' 8<ike, 


WhUe, to explore the dangerous glen, 


Upon them with the lance !' 


Dive through the pass the archer-mea 


The horsemen dash'd among the rout, 




As deer break through the broom ; 


XVIL 


Then- steeds are stout, their swords are ouf» 


" At once there rose so wUd a yell 


They soon make lightsome room. 


Within that dark and narrow dell. 


Clan- Alpine's best are backward borne— 


As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, 


W here, where was Roderick then 1 


Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell 1 


One blast upon his bugle-horn 


Forth from the pass ia tumult driven, 


Were worth a thousand men ! 


lake chaff before the wmd of heaven, 


And refluent through the pass of fear* 


The archery appear ; 


The battle's tide was pour'd ; 


For life ! for life 1 their plight they ply — 


Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear. 


And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 


Vanish'd the mountain-sword. 


And plaids and bonnets waving high. 


As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steeps 


And broadswords flashing to the sky, 


Receives her roaring linn, 


Are maddening in the rear. 


As the dark caverns of the deep 


Onward they drive, in dreadful race. 


Suck the wild whirlpool in. 


Pursuers and pursued ; 


So did the deep and darksome pass 


Before that tide of flight and chase, 


Devour the battle's mingled mass : 


How shall it keep its rooted place. 


None linger now upon the plain. 


The spearmen's twilight wood ? — 


Save those who ne'er shall fight agaia 


' Down, down,' cried Mar, ' your lances down I 




Bear back both friend and foe !' — 


XIX. 


Like reeds before the tempest's frowu, 


" Now westward rolls the battle's din. 


That serried grove of lances brown 


That deep and doubling pass within, 


At once lay levell'd low ; 


— Minstrel, away, the work of fate* 


And closely shouldering side to side. 


Is bearing on : its issue wait. 


The bristling ranks the onset bide. — ' 


Wliere the rude Trosach's dread defili, 


' We'll quell the savage mountaineer, 


Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. — 


As their TincheP cows the game 1 


Gray Benvenue I soon repass'd. 


They come as fleet as forest deer. 


Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 


We'll drive them back as tame.' — 


The sun is set ; — the clouds are met, 




The lowering scowl of heaven 


XVIIL 


An inky view of vivid blue 


" Bearbg before them, in their course, 


To the deep lake has given ; 


The relics of the archer force, 


Strange gusts of wmd from mountain-glen 


Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 


Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. 


Right onward did 01 an- Alpine come. 


I heeded not the eddying surge. 


' The M8. has not thisconplet. 


s MS. — " And refluent down the darksome pan 


» A circle of sportsmen, who, by snirounding a great space. 


The battle's tide was pour'd ; 


tnd gradnally narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer 


There toil'd the spearman's struggling ipew 


Kigether, which usually made desperate eflurts to break through 


There raged tl>e mountain sword." 


fae Tinchu 


« MS.—" Away 1 away ! the work of fate i'» 



CANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



3sa 



Mine ey< but saw the Trosach's gorge, 
Mine eai but heard the sullen sound, 
Which like an earthquake shook the ground, 
And spoke the stern and desperate strife 
That parts not but with parting life,* 
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll* 
The dirge of many a passing souL 
Nearer it comes — the dim-wood glen 
The martial flood disgorged agen. 

But not in mingled tide ; 
The pJaided warriors of the North 
Tligh on the mountain thimder forth 

And overhang its side ; 
While by the lake below appears 
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.' 
At weary bay each shatter'd band. 
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand ; 
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail. 
That flings its fragments to the gale, 
And broken arms and disarray 
Mark'd tho fell havoc of the day. 

XX. 

" Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, 
The Saxon fttood in sullen trance, 
Tftl Moray pointed with his lance, 

And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! — 
See ! none are left to guard its strand. 
But women weak, that wring the hand : 
'Tis there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bopnet-pieces store. 
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er. 
And loose a snallop from the shore. 
Lightly we'll tame the war- wolf then. 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' 
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung. 
On earth his casque and corslet rung. 

He plunged him in the wave ;— 
All saw the deed — the purpose knew. 
And to their clamors Benvenue 

A mingled echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 
The helpless females scream for fear. 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
TVas theiij as by the outcry riven, 
Poiir'd down at once the lowering heaven ; 
A wbirlwin*! swept Loch Katrine's breast. 
Her oillows rear'd tneir snowy crest. 



I — 



-" the loveliness in death 



That parts not quite with parting breath." 

Byron's Oiaour. 

• MS. — " And seem'd, u) minstrel ear, to toll 

Thj par'inff d'lge of many a sonl." 

• MS. — " W liie by the darken'd lake below. 

File out the spearmen of the foe." 
The MS. reads— 

" It tinged the boats and Wie with flame " 



Well for the swimmer swell'd they high, 

To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 

For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and hail. 

The vengeful arrows of the Gael. — 

In vain — He nears the isle — >iud lo 1 

TTis hand is on a shallop's bow. 

— Just then a flash of lightning came 

It tinged the waves and strand with flame ;^ 

I mark'd Duncraggan's widoVd dame. 

Behind an oak I saw her stand, 

A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand : 

It darken'd, — but, amid the moan 

Of waves, I heard a dying groan ; 

Another flash ! — the spearman floats 

A weltering corse beside the boats. 

And the stem matron o'er him stood. 

Her hand and dagger streaming blood- 

XXL 

" ' Revenge I revenge I' the Saxons cried. 

The Gaels' exulting shout replied- 

Despite the elemental rage. 

Again they hurried to engage ; 

But, ere they closed in desperate fight,. 

Bloody with spurring came a knight. 

Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag. 

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag 

Clarion and trumpet by his side 

Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, 

While, in the Monarch's name, afar 

An herald's voice forbade the war. 

For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold. 

Were both, he said, in captive hold." 

— But here the lay made sudden stand I— 

The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand I— 

Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 

How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy : 

At first, the Chieftain, to the chime. 

With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 

That motion ceased, — ^yet feeling strong 

Varied his look as changed the song f 

At length, no more his deafen'd ear 

The minstrel melody can hear ; 

His face grows sharp, — his hands are clench' c. 

As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd 

Set are his teeth, his fading eye' 

Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ; 

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu ! — • 

The eight closing lines of the stanza are interpolated ok ■ 
slip of paper. 
' MS. — " Glow'd in his look, as swell'd the song." 
6 MS. " hU I |'*=''°« j eye." , 

' " Rob Ro7, while on his deathbed, learned that a person, 
with whom he was at ennoity, proposed to visit him. ' RaiM 
me from my bed,' said the invalid ; ' throw my plaid around 
me, and bring me my claymore, dirk, and piste U— it iliaS 



230 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



JANTU n 



Old Alkn-Baae look'd on aghast, 
Wliile grim and still his spirit pass'd : 
But when he saw that life was fled, 
He pour'd hia wailing o'er the dead, 

XXIL 
" Jlament. 

" And art thou cold and lowly laid,' 
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan- Alpine's shade I 
For thee shall none a requiem say ? 
— For thee, — who loved the minstrel's lay, 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, 
Th i shelter of her exiled line,* 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I'll wail for Alpine's houor'd Pine 1 

" What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill 1 
What tears of burning rage shall thriU, 
WTien mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Thy laU before the race was won, 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 
There breathes not clansman of thy line; 
But would have given his life for thine.— 
woe for Alpine's honor'd Pine 1 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage I — 
The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
The prison'd eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain 1 
And, when its notes awake again. 
Even she, so long beloved in vain, 
Shall with my harp her voice combine 
And mix her woe and tears with mine, 
To wail Clan- Alpine's honor'd Pine." — * 

XXIIL 
Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 
Remain'd in lordly Ijower apart. 
Where play'd with many-color'd gleama, 
Throrgh storied pane the rising beams. 
In vain on gilded roof they fall. 
And lighten'd up a tapestried wall. 
And for her use a menial train 



v»t w be iaid that a tbeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defence- 
«« and unarmed.' His foeman, conjectured to be one of the 
MacLarens before and after mentioned, entered and paid his 
lompliments, inquiring after the health of his formidable neigh- 
Dor. Rob Roy maintained a cold, haughty civility during 
their short conference ; and so soon as he hud left the house, 
'Now,' he said,' 'all is over: let the piper play, Ha til mi 
tulidh' [we return no more], and he is said to have expired 
before the dirge was finished." — Introduction to Rob Roy. 
^averletf Novels, vol. vii. p. 85. 

• MS.- ' ' And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said." 

• MS.- -"The mightiest of a mighty line." 

• MS. — To the Printer. — " I have three pages ready to be 
•or'ed yon may send for them in about ac hour. The rest 



A rich coUation spread in vain. 

The banquet proud, the chamber gay,* 

Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; 

Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say, 

With better omen dawn'd the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high ^ 

The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; 

Where oft her noble father shared 

The simple meal her care prepared, 

While Lufra, crouching by her side, 

His station claim'd with jealous pride. 

And Douglas, bent on woodland game,* 

Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme, 

Whose answer, oft at random made. 

The wandering of his thoughts betray'd,— 

Those who such simple joys have known, 

Are taught to prize them when they're gona 

But sudden, see, she lifts her head 1 

The window seeks with cautious tread. 

What distant music has the power 

To win her in this woful hour ! 

'Twas from a turret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was sung, 

XXIV. 
Haji of tj)c Emjprfsonrt JIguntsmaii. 
" My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
My idle greyhoimd loathes his food, 
My horse is weary of his stall. 
And I am sick of captive thraU. 
I wish I were, as I have been, 
Himting the hart in forest green. 
With bended bow and bloodhoimd free. 
For that's the life is meet for me.* 
I hate to learn the ebb of time. 
From yon duU' steeple's dj-owsy chime^ 
Or mai'k it as the sxmbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
The lark was wont my matins ring,' 
The sable rook my vespers sing ; 
These towers, although a king's they be, 
Have not a haU of joy for me." 
No more at dawning morn I rise. 
And sun myself in EUen's eyes. 
Drive the fleet deer the forest through 

i 
of my flax is on the spindle, but not yet twisted ini« fffopti 
yarn. I am glad you like the battle of Beal' an Duine It ii 
rather too long, but that was unavoidable. 1 hope yo« wiL 
push on the notes. To save time 1 shall send tiie copy wbsi 
ready to St. John Street.— W. S." 

4 MS — " The banquet gay, the chamber's pride. 
Scarce drew one curious glance aside." 

» MS. — ' Earnest on his game." 

* MS. " was meant for me." 

' MS. — " From darken'd steeple's." 

* MS. — • The lively lark my matins rung, 

The sdble rook my vespers sung." 

* MS.—" Have not a hall should harboi me " 



fANTO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



237 



And homeward wend with evening dew; 


Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 


A blithesome welcome bhthely meet, 


To him each lady's look was lent ; 


And lay my trophies at her feet, 


On him each courtier's eye was bent 


While fled the eve on wing of glee, — 


Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen. 


That life is lost to lovp and me 1" 


He stood, in simple Lincoln-green, 




The centre of the gUttering ring. 


XXV. 


And Suowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King",!* 


The heart-sick lay was hardly said, \ 




The Ust'ner had not turn'd her head, 


XXVIL 


[t trickled still, the starting tear. 


As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast, 


When light a footstep struck her ear, 


&ades from the rock that gave it rest, 


^jid Suowdoun's graceful knight was near. 


Poor EUen glided from her stay,* 


She tm-n'd the hastier, lest again 


And al the Monarch's feet she lay; 


The prisoner should renew his strain. — 


No word her choking voice commands, — 


" welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she said ; 


She show'd the ring, she clasp'd her hands. 


" How may an almost orphan maid 


1 not a moment could he brook, 


Pay the deep debt" " say not so ! 


The generous prince, that suppliant look ! 


To me no gratitude you owe. 


Gently he raised her ; and, the while, 


Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 


Check'd with a glance the circle's smile , 


And bid thy noble father live ; 


Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd. 


I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, 


And bade her terrors be dismiss'd : — 


With Scotland's king thy suit to aid. 


" Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-Jame« 


No tyrant he, though ire and pride 


The fealty of Scotland claims. 


May lay his better mood aside. 


To him thy woes, thy wishes bring ; 


Come, Ellen, come ! 'tis more than time, 


He wiU redeem his signet ring. 


He holds his court at morning prime." 


Ask naught for Douglas; yester even, 


With beatmg heart, and bosom wrung, 


His prmce and he have much forgiven. 


As to a brother's arm she clung. 


Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 


Gently he dried the falling tear. 


I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 


And gently wlusper'd hope and cheer ; 


We would not, to the vulgar crowd. 


Her faltering steps half led, half staid, 


Yield what they craved with clamor loud • 


Through gallery fair, and high arcade, 


Calmly we heard and judged his cause. 


Till, at its touch, its wings of pride 


Our council aided, and our laws. 


A portal arch unfolded wide. 


I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stem, 




With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencaim ; 


XXVI. 


And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 


Within 'twas brilliant all and light,' 


The friend and bulwark of om- Throne, 


A thronging scene of figures bright ; 


But lovely infidel, how now ? 


It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight, 


What clouds thy misbelieving brow ? 


As when the setting sun has given 


Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 


Ten thousand hues to simimer even. 


Thou must confirm this doubting maid." 


And from their tissue, fancy frames 




Aerial knights and fairy dames. 


XXVIIL 


Still by Fitz-James her footing staid ; 


Then forth the nob]| Douglas sprung. 


A few faint steps she forward made. 


And on his neck his daughter himg. 


Then slow her drooping head she raised. 


The Monarch drank, that happy hour, 


And fearful round the presence gazed ; 


The sweetest, hohest draught of Power,— 


For liim she sought, who own'd this state, 


W hen it can say, with godhke voice. 


The dreaded prince whose will was fate. 


Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 


She gazed on many a princely port. 


Yet would not James the gea'ral eye 


Might well have ruled a royal court ; 


On Natiu-e's raptures long should pry , 


On many a splendid garb she gazed, 


He stepp'd between — " Nay, Douglaa, nay; 


Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed. 


Steal not my proselyte away 1 


For all stood bare ; and, in the room, 


The riddle 'tis my right to read. 


• MS.— ' Within 'twas brilliant all, and bright 


8 See Appendix, Note 3 Y.; 


The vision glow' J on Ellen's sight." 




MS — ' For him who own'd thb royal state." 


« MS. " shrinking, quits h«r itar ' 



238 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAKTO VI 



rhat brought this happy chance to speed. 

Tes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 

In life's more low but happier way,' 

'Tis under name which veils my power, 

Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower 

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,* 

And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 

Tims learn to right the injured cause."— 

Theiv, in a tone apart and low, — ^ 

" Ah, httle traitress ! none must know 

What idle dream, what lighter thought, 

What vanity full dearly bought, 

jom'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew 

M.J spell-bound steps to Benvenue,' 

In dangerous hour, and all but gave 

Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive !" — 

Aloud he spoke — " Thou stOl dost hold 

That little talisman of gold, 

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring — * 

What seeks fair Ellen of the King 1" 

XXIX. 

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd 
He probed the weakness of her breast ; 
But, with that consciousness, there came 
A Ughtening of her fears for Graeme, 
And* more she deem'd the Monarch's ire 
Bandied 'gainst him, who, for her sire, 
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ; 
And, to her generous feeling true 
She craved the gi'ace of Roderick Dhu. 
♦ " Forbear thy suit : — the King of Kings 
Alone can stay life's parting wings, 
I know his heart, I know his hand, 
Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand : — 
My fairest earldom would I give 
To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live I — 

' MS. — " In lowly life's more happy way." 

• See Appendix, Note 3 Z. 

• MS -" Tliy sovereign back > ^^ Benvenne." 

Thy sovereign's steps ) 
« MS.—" Pledge of Fitz-Jaraes's faith, the ring." 

• MS. ~" And in her breast strove maiden shame ; 

More deep she deem'd the monarch's in 
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire, 
Against his sovereign broadsword drew ; 
And, with a pleadings warm and true. 
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhn." 
» '• Mm.colm Grseme has too insignificant a part assigned 
tiin, considering the favor m which Ire is held both by Ellen 
tnd the author ; and in bringing out the shaded and imperfect 
tharacter of Roderick Dim, as a contrast to the purer virtue of 
bis rival, Mr. Scott seems to have fallen intotlie common error, 
ef making him more interesting than him whose virtues he was 
Intended to set oft', and converted the villain of the piece in 
•ome measure into its hero. A modem poet, however, may 
perhaps be pardoned for an error, of which Milton himself is 
bought not to have kept clear, and for which there seems so 
tatnra! a cause in the difterence between poetical and amiable 
>fc«iacten."— JBrrRKT. 



Haat thou no other boon to crave ? 
No other captive friend to save ?" 
Blusliing, she tum'd her from the King, 
And to the Douglas gave the ring. 
As if she wish'd her sire to speak 
The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek.— 
" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, 
And stubborn justice holds her coiu-se. — 
Malcolm, come forth !" — And, at the word, 
Down kneel'd the Graeme" to Scotland's Lord. 
" For thee, rash youth, no suppUant sues, 
From thee may Vengeance claim her duea^ 
Who, nurtiu-ed imderneath our smile. 
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, 
And sought amid thy faithful clan, 
A refuge for an outlaw'd man, 
Dishonormg thus thy loyal name. — 

Fetters and warder for the Graeme 1" 

His chain of gold the King unstrung, 
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flimg. 
Then gently drew the "flittering band. 
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.' 



Harp of the North, farewell !' The hills grow dark 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, 

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 
Thy mmibers sweet with nature's vespers blending, 

With distant echo from the fold and lea, 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and himi of housing 
bee. 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp ! 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway. 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 



' " And now, waiving myself, let me talk to yon of 

the Prince Regent. He ordered me lo be presented to him %t 
a ball ; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal 
lips, as to my own attem|)ts, .le '.alkeii to me of yon ind your 
immortalities ; he preferred you to every bard past and present, 
and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a 
difficult question. I answered, I thought the Lay.' He Bali 
his own opinion was ne»ffly similar. In speaking of the oinen, 
I told him that I thougot you more partii'ularly the .- let of 
Princes, as they never appeared more fascinating tuan in 
' Marmion' and the ' Lady of the Lake.' He was plea.sed t* 
coincide, and to dwell on the description of your James's as nt 
less royal than poetical. He spoke altem.itely of Homor and 
yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both," &c. — L.ette» 
from Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott, July 6, 1812. — By- 
ron's Life and Works, vol. ii. p. 156. 

8 MS. — To the Printer. — " I send the grand finale, and so 
exit the Lady of the Lake from the head she has tormented for 
six months. In canto vi. stanza 21, — stern and still, read grim 
and still ; sternly occurs four Unes higher. For a similar reason, 
stanza 34 — dun-Aeet, read yZeet-deer. I will probably call tbii 
moming. — Yours truly, 

W, 8." 



BASIO VI. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



3 St 



Mnch have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 
Through secret woes the world has never known, 

When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, 
And bitterer was the grief devoiu-'d alone. 

That I o'erlive such woes. Enchantress 1 is thine own. 

Bark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 
*lome Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 

' " On a comparison of the merits of this Poem with the two 
iBrmer productions of the same unquestioned genius, we are 
inclined to bestow on it a very decided preference over both. 
(t would perhaps be difficult to select any one passage of such 
genume inspiration as one or two that might be pointed out in 
the Lay of the Last Minstrel — and perhaps, in strength and 
liiscrimination of character, it may fall short of Marmion ; al- 
though we are loth to resign either the rude and savage gen- 
erosity of Roderick, the romantic chivalry of James, or the 
playful simplicity, the affectionate tenderness, the modest cour- 
age of Ellen Douglas, to the claims of any competitors in the 
ast-mentioned poem. But, for interest and artificial manage- 
ment in the story, for general ease and grace of versification, 
and correctness of language, the Lady of the Lake must be 
universally allowed, we think, to excel, and very far excel, 
either of her predecessors." — Critical Review. 

" There is nothing in Mr. Scott of the severe and majestic 
style of Milton — or of the terse and fine composition of Pope — 
or of the elaborate elegance and melody of Oampbell — or even 
of the flowing and redundant diction of Southey, — but there is 
a medley of lirij,;ht images and glowing, set carelessly ind 
loosely togethei - a diction tinged successively with the careless 
richness of Shakespeare — I he harshness and antique simplicity 
of the old Mmances — the homeliness of vulgar ballads and 
anecdotes— au'l the nentiniental glitter of the most modern 
poetiy, — passing' fitjm the borders of the ridicnlous to those of 
the aib'ime — a'.lemateiy minute and energetic — sometimes arti. 
Iei«l, »tiA W •'Mv<.j nevUgent, br, '\lwayB foil of tpirit vai 



'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 
'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 

Receding now, the dying numbers ring 
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 

And now the moimtain breezes scarcely bring 
A wandering witch-note of the distant spell— 

And now, 'tis silent all ! — Enchantress, fare tbe« 
Weill' 

vivacity — abounding in images that are striking at first sight to 
minds of every contexture — and never expressing a sentiment 
which it can cost the most ordinary reader any exertion to 
comprehend. Upon the wliole we are inclined to think more 
highly of the Lady of the Lake than of either of its author's 
former publications We are more sure, however, that it ha» 
fewer faults than that it has greater beauties ; and as its beau 
ties bear a strong resemblance to those with which the publio 
has been already made familiar in these celebrated works, we 
should not be surprised if its popularity were less splendid and 
remarkable. For our own parts, however, we are of opinion 
that it will be oftener read hereafter than either of them ; and 
that, if it had appeared first in the series, their reception would 
have been less favorable than that which it has experienced 
It is more polished in its diction, and more regular in its versi 
fication ; the story is constructed with infinitely more skill and 
address ; there is a greater proportion of pleasing and tender 
passages, with much less antiquarian detail ; and, upon the 
whole, a larger variety of characters, more artfully and judi- 
ciously contrasted. There is nothing so fine, perhaps, as the 
battle in Marmion — or so picturesque as some of the scattered 
sketches in the Lay ; but there is a richness and a spirit in the 
whole piece which does not pervade either of these poems — a 
profusion of incident, and a shifting brilliancy of colorinf , that 
reminds us of the witchery of Ariosto — and a constant elastioUj 
and occasional energy, which seem to belong VHirBoasaliMll fi 
th« author now before as." — Jurrar . 




APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

The heights of Uam-far, 

And roui id the cavern, where, 'tis told, 
A giant ^ade his den of old. — P. 185. 

Vr \ar, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaigh- 
mar, is a mountair, to tlie northeast of the village of Callender 
in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den, 
or cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south 
side, said, by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. In 
latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have 
been only extirpated within Jiese forty or fifty years. Strictly 
•peaking, this strongho'1 is not a cave, as the name would im- 
ply, but a sort uf smaii enclosure, or recess, surrounded with 
large rocks, and open above head. It may have been originally 
lesigned as a toil for deer, who might get in from the outside, 
•Dt would find it difficult to return. This opinion prevails 
mong the old sportsmen and deerstalkers in the Deighborhood. 



TfoTK B. 



Two (togs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 
Unmatch'dfor courage, breatk 'nd speed. — P. 186. 

" The hounds which we call Sa.nt Hubert's hounds, are com- 
monly all blacke, yet neuertheless, the race is so mingled at 
these days, that we find them of all colours. These are the 
hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept soma 
of tkeir raoe or kind, in honour or remembrance of the saint, 
which was a hunter with S. Ensta*^. Whereupon we may 

^oefine that (by the grace of God) aD good hantsmen shall 
follow them into paradise. To return vnto my former purpose, 
this kind of dogges hath bene dispersed through the counties of 
Henanit, Lorayne, Flanders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty 
3f body, neuertheless their legges are low and short, likewise 
they are not swift, although they be very good of sent, hunting 
chaces wbich are farre straggled, fearing neither water nor cold, 
and doe more conet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bore, and 
Kuch like, than other, because they find themselves neither of 
• wiftness nor co'irage to hunt and kill the chaces that are lighter 
and swifter. The bloodhounds of this colour proue good, e»- 
necially tho»e that are cole blacke, but I made no great account 
«) T>reea on tnem, or to keepe the kind, and yet I found a book 
*hich a hunter did dedicate to a prince of Lorayne, which 
wipmed to loue hunting much, wherein was a blcison which the 
eme nunter gave lu his bloodhound, called Souyllard, which 
va» white : — 

' My name came first from holy Hubert's raoe, 
Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace. 

'AhatL.<pon we may presume that some of the kind prone 
««.te sometimes, bnt they are not of the kind of the Greffien 
K Bonxes, which we haue at these dares." — The noble Art 
>/ Venerie or Hunting, translated and collected for the Use 
%f ail ^^oblenen and Cte\tleme>i «oad. 1611. 4to, p. 19. 



NotbC. 

For the death-wound and death-halloo 

Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew. — P. 188. 

When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hnntei had tb« 
perilous task of going in upon, and killing or disabling the de* 
perate animal. At certain times of the year this was held paf 
ticularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horn beinn 
then deemed poisonous and more dangerous than one from the 
tusks of a boar, as (he old rhyme testifies : — 

" If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier, 
Bnt barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore Ihoi 
need'st not fear." 

At all times, however, the task was dangerous, and to be ad ' 
ventured upon wisely and warily, either by getting behind the 
stag while he was gazing on the hounds, or by watching an op. 
portnnity to gallop roundly in upon him, and kill him with the 
Bword. See many directions to this purpose in the Booke of 
Hunting, chap. 41. Wilson the historian has recorded a prov- 
idential escape which befell him in this hazardous sport, whil« 
a youth and follower of the Earl of Essex. 

" Sir Peter Lee, of Lime, in Cheshire, invited my lord one 
summer to hunt the stagg. And having a great stagg in chase 
and many gentlemen in the pursuit, the stagg took soyle. And 
divers, whereof I was one, alighted, and stood with sword* 
drawne, to have a cut at him, at his coming out of the water. 
The staggs there being wonderfully fierce and dangerous, mad* 
us youths more eager to be at him. But he escaped us all. 
And it was my misfortune to be hindered of my coming nere 
him, the way being sliperie, by a falle ; which gave occasion 
to some, who did not know mee, to speak as if I had falne 
through feare. Which being told mee, I left the stagg, and 
followed the gentleman who [first] spake it. Bnt I found him 
of that cold temper, that H seems his words made m eacap* 
from him ; as by his denial and repentance it appeared. Ba 
this made mee more violent in the pursuit of the stagg, to n^ 
cover my reputation. And ' happened to be the only hors^ 
man in, when the dogs sett him up at bay ; and approaching 
near him at horsebacke, he broke through the dogs, and run at 
me*, and tors »»iy horse's side with his homes, close by my 
thigh. Then i quitted my horse, and grew more cunning (foi 
the dogs had sette him up againe), stealing behind him with 
my sword, and cut his hamstrings ; and then got upon his back, 
and cnt his throate ; which, as I was doing, the company cam* 
in, and blamed my rashness for running sncli a hazard ' - 
Pkck's Desiderata Curiosa, ii. 464. 



Note D. 



And now to issue from the glen, 
JVs pathway meets the wa'K^erer' s ken 
Unless he climi, with foaling nice, 
A far projecting precipice. — P. 187. 

Until the present road was made through the romantic paa 
which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the pr» 
Mding stanzas, there was no mode of issuing oat of the defiW 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



241 



Mll«d the Trosachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of 
•be branches and roots of trees. 



Note E. 



To meet with Highland plunderers here, 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — P. 188. 

r'le clans who inhabited the romantic regions in the neigb- 
Oorhooil of Loch Katrine, were, even until a late period, 
m "fih addicted to predatory incursions upon their Lowland 
nei^'»bors. " In former times, those parts of this district, which 
are situated beyond the Grampian range, were rendered almost 
inaccessible by strong barriers of rocks, and mountains, and 
lakes. It was a border country, am., though on the very verge 
of the low country, it was almost totally sequestered from the 
world, and, as it were insulated with respect to society. 'Tis 
well known that in the Hignlands, it was, in former times, ac- 
counted not only lawful, but honorable, among hostile tribes, 
to commit depredations on one another ; and these habits of the 
age were oerhaps strengthened in this district, by the circum- 
stances which have been mentioned. It bordered on a country, 
the inhabitants of which, while they were richer, were less 
warlike than they, and widely differenced by language and man- 
ners." — Graham's Sketches of Scenery in Perthshire. Edin. 
1806, p. 97. The reader will therefore be pleased to remem- 
•er, thut the scene of this poem is laid in a time, 

" When tooming fanlds, or sweeping of a glen, 
Had dtill been held the deed of gallant men." 



Note F. 



A gray-hair'' d sire, whose eye intent, 
Was on './Se vision' d future bent. — P. 189. 

«f force of evidence could authorize as to believe facts incon- 
sistent with the geaeiid laws of nature, enough might be pro- 
iuced in favor of the existence of the Second-sight. It is called 
m Gaelic Taishitarau,fh, from Taish, an unreal or shadowy 
appearance ; and those possessed of the faculty are called Taish- 
atrin, which may be aptly translated visionaries. Martin, a 
steady believer in the uecond-sight, gives the following account 
of it:— 

" The second-sight is a singular faculty, of seeing an other- 
vfixe invisible object, without any previous means used by the 
person that used it for that end : the vision makes such a lively 
impression upon the seers, that they neither see, nor think of 
«ny thing else, except the vision, as long as it continues ; and 
then they appear pensive or jovial, according to the object that 
was represented to them. 

" 4it the sight of a vision, fhe eyelids of the person are 
•rected, and the eyes continue staring until the object vanish. 
This is obvious to others who are by, when the persons happen 
.0 f"*s s «;»'on, andoccurred more than once to my own obser- 
lation, and to others that were with me. 

" There i! one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance observed, 
hit when he sees a vision, the inner part of his eyelids turns 
10 Tar upwards, that, after the object disappears, he must draw 
hem down with his fingers, and sometimes employ others to 
Iraw them down, which he finds to be the much easier way. 

"Tl.is faculty of the second-sight does not lineally descend 
m a family, as some imagine, for I know several parents who 
are endowea with it, but their children not, and vice versa ; 
neither is it acquired by any previous compact. And, after a 
strict inquiry, 1 could nevtr learn that this faculty was com- 
municable any way whatsoever. 

" The seer knows neither the object, time, nor place of a 
vison, before it appears ; and the same object is often seen by 
iifferent persons livin? at a considerable distance from one an- 



other. The true way of judging as to the time and circum 
stance of an object, is by observation ; for several persons ol 
judgment, without this faculty, are more capable to judge ol 
the design of a vision, than a novice that is a seer. If an ob- 
ject appear in the day or night, it will come to pass sooner oi 
later accordingly. 

" If an object is seen early in the morning (which is not fr» 
quent), it will be accomplished in a few hours afterwaias li 
at noon, it will commonly be accomplished that very day. It 
in the evening, perhaps that night ; if after candles be ligTii?d, 
it will be accomplished that night : the later always in accon» 
plishment, by weeks, months, and sometimes years, accordlnf 
to the time of night the vision is seen. 

'■ When a shroud is perceived about on;, it is a sure prog- 
nostic of death ; the time is judged according to the height ol 
it about the person ; for if it is seen above the middle, death is 
not to be expected for the space of a year, and oerhaps some 
months longer ; and as it is frequently seen to sscend higher 
towards the head, death is concluded to be at hand within a 
few days, if not hours, as daily experience confirms. Exam- 
ples of this kind were shown me, when the persons of wnom 
the observations were then made, enjoyed perfect health. 

" One instance was lately foretold by a seer, that was a nov 
ice, concerning the death of one of my acquaintance ; this 
was communicated to a few only, and with great confidence ■ 
I being one of the number, did not in the least ragard it, until 
the death of the person, about the time foretold, did confirn^ 
me of the certainty of the prediction. The novice mentioned 
above, is now a skilful seer, as appears from many late instan 
ces ; he lives in the parish of St. Mary's, the most northern in 
Skie. 

" If a woman is seen standing at a man's left hand, it is a 
presage that she will be his wife, whether they be married to 
others, or unmarried at the time of the apparition. 

" If two or three women are seen at once near a man's left 
hand, she that is next him will undoubtedly be his wife first, 
and so on, whether all three, or the man, be single or married 
at the time of the vision or not ; of which there are several 
late instances among those of my acquaintance. It is an ordi 
nary thing for them to see a man that is to come to the house 
shortly after : and if he is not of the seer's acquaintance, vet 
he gives such a lively description of his stature, complexion 
habit, &c. that upon his arrival he answers the character given 
him in all respects 

" If the person so appearing be one of the seer's acquaint- 
ance, he will tell his name, as well as other particulars, and he 
can tell by his countenance whether he comes in a good or bid 
humour. 

" I have been seen thus myself by seers of both sexes, at 
some hundred miles' distance ; some' that saw me in this man- 
ner had never seen me personally, and it happened according 
to their vision, without any previous design of mine to go to 
those places, my coming there being purely accidental. 

" It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, and treeo, 
in places void of all three : and this in progress of time uses t* 
be accomplished : as at Mogshot, in the Isle of Skie when 
there were but a few sorry cowhouses, thatched with jtrav 
yet in a very few years after, the vision, which appeared ofU%. 
was accomplished, by the building of several good houjn an 
the very spot represented by the seers, and by the planting * 
orchards there. 

" To see a spark of fire fall upon one's arm or breast, u t 
forerunner of a dead child to be seen in the arms of those otsw 
sons ; of which there are several fresh instances. 

" To see a seat empty at the time of one's sitting in it, is a 
presage of that person's death soon after. 

" When a novice, or one that has lately obtained the second- 
sight, sees a vision in the night-time without-doiirs, and he be 
near a fire, he presently falls into a swoon. 

" Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of people, hav- 
ing a corpse which they carry along with them ; and after 
such visions, the seers come in sweating %nd describe the pe% 



242 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



f\e that appeared : if tliere be any of their acqnaintance among 
'em, they give an account of their names, as also of the bearers, 
but they know nothing concerning the corpse. 

" All those who have the second-sight do not always see 
these visions at once, though they be togetlier at the time. 
But if one who has liiis faculty, designedly touch his fellow- 
teei ?t the instant of a vision's appearing, then the second sees 
it as wed as the tirst ; and this is sometimes discerned by those 
that are near them on such occasions." — Martin's descrip- 
tion of the Western Islands, 1716, 8vo, p. 300, et seq. 

To tJiese particulars innnmerable examples might be added, 
^ attested by grave and credible authors. Bui, in despite of 
evidence which neither Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson were able 
to f**ist, the Taisc/t, with all its visionary properties, seems to 
be now universally abandoned to the use of poetry. The ex- 
quisitely beautiful poem of Lochiel will at once occur to the 
lecoUection of every reader. 



Note G. 



Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 

Some chief had framed a rustic bower. — P. 190. 

The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed 
to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domains, 
•ome place of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as cir- 
cumstances would admit, was a lower, a cavern, or a rustic 
but, in a strong and secluded situation. One of these last 
gave refuge to the nnfortnnate Charles Edward, in his perilous 
wanueiings after the battle of CuUoden. 

" It was situated in the face of a very rough, high, and 
rocky mountain, called Letternilichk, still a part of Benalder, 
full of great stones and crevices, and some scattered wood in- 
terspersed. The habitation called the Cage, in the face of that 
m untain, was within a small thick bush of wood. There 
iTcre first .some rows of trees laid down, in order to level the 
ioor for a habitation ; and as the place was steep, this raised 
the lower side to an equal height with the other : and these 
trees, in the way of joists or planks, were levelled with earth 
and gravel. There were betwixt the trees, growing naturally 
on their own roots, some stakes fi.xed in the earth, which, with 
the trees, were interwoven with ropes, made of heath and birch 
twigs, up to the top of the Cage, it being of a round or rather 
Dval shape ; and the whole thatched and covered over with 
fog. The whole fabric hung, as it were, by a large tree, which 
reclined from the one end, all along the roof, to the other, and 
which gave it the name of the Cage ; and by chance there 
nappened to be two stones at a small distance from one anoth- 
er, in the side next the precipice, resembling the pillars of a 
chimney, where the tire was placed. The smoke had its vent 
»Dt bere, all along the fall of tlie rock, which was so much of 
inr same color, that one could discover no difference in the 
elt<uw; day." — Home's History of the Rebellion, Lond. 
W«, 4to. - 381. 



Note H. 

My atr^ a tall form might grace the part 
Of Ferragus or Aicabart. — P. 190. 

Thest two sons of Anak flourished in romantic fable. The 
Bivt is well known to the admirers of ^riosto, by the name of 
Ferrau He was an antagonist of Orlandi, and was at length 
ilain bj him in single combat. There is a romance in the 
4nchinleck MS., in which Ferragus is thus described:— 

" On a day come tiding 
Unto Charls the King, 

Al of a doughti knight 
Ylti comen to Naven, 



Stoat he was and fere, 

Vemagu he bight. 
Of Babiloun the soudan 
fhider him sende gan, 

With King Charls to fight. 
So hard he was to fond' 
That no dint of brond 

No greued him, aplight. 
He hadde twenti men strengtho 
And forti fet of lengthe, 

Thilke painira hede,' 
And four feet in the face, 
Y-meten' in the place. 

And fifteen in brede.< 
His nose was a fot and more , 
His brow, as bristles wore ;' 

He that it seighe it sede. 
He loked lotheliche. 
And was swart^ as any piche, 

Of him men might adrede." 

Romance of Charlcnagnt, 1. 461-484 
Auchinleck MS., folio 265. 

Ascapatt, or Ascabart, makes a very material figure in tb 
History of Bevis of Hampton, by whom he was conquered 
His effigies may be seen guarding one side of a gate at Soatb 
ampton, while the other is occupied by Sir Bevis himsell 
The dimensions of Ascabart were little inferior to th(>«e of Fof 
ragus, if the following description be correct :— 

" They metten with a geaunt. 
With a lotheliche serablaunt. 
He was wonderliche strong, 
Rome' thretti iote long 
His berd was bot gret and rowe ;8 
A space of a fot beiweene is^ bro fre ; 
His clob was, to yeue'" a strok, 
A lite bodi of an oak.n 

" Beaes hadde of him wonder gret 
And askede him what a het,'* 
And yaf '^ men of his contr6 
Were ase meche'^ ase was he. 
' Me name,' a sede,'^ ' is Ascopaid, 
Garci me sent hiderward, 
For to bring this quene ayen, 
And the Beues her of-slen.w 
Icham Garci isi' champioun, 
And was i-driue out of me'S tonn 
Al for that ich was so lite.i' 
Eueri man me wolde smite, 
Ich was so lite and so merugh,* 
Eueri man me clepede dwerugh,* 
And now icliam in this londe, 
1 wax morS'- ich understonae. 
And stranger than other tene ;M 
And that schel on us be sene." 

Sir Bevis of Hampton, ', 351 2 
Auchinleck MS. fol. 18J>. 



Note L 



Though all unasked his birth and name. — P. 191, 

The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to « panctilioa. 
excess, are said to have considered it as churlish, to aik 
a stranger his name or lineage, before be had taken lefneb- 
meat. 

1 Found, proved.— 5 Had.— 8 Measured. — 4 Brendth.— 5 Were. — 6 Black 

1 Folly. — 8 Rough. — 9 He. — 10 Give.— U Tlie etem of a little ofik-tra« 

— liHe hi)!ht,wa« called.— 18 If.— 14 Great.— IB He laid.— It SlsT-- 
n Hia.- 18 My.— 19 Little.— SC Lean.- 21 Dwarf.— SS Greater, taller - 
SST» 



Peods were so frequent amcng them, that a contrary rule would 
b many cases have produced the discovery of some circam- 
it&nce, which might have excluded the guest from the benefit 
of ttie assistance he stood iu need of. 



Note K. 
-and still a harp unseen. 



Fiird u] the symphony between. — P. 191. 

"They" (meKning tlie Highlanders) " delight much in mu- 
Bsti, bat chiefly in harps and clairschoes of their own fashion. 
The strings of the clairschoes are made of brass wire, and the 
stjirgs of the harps, of sinews ; which strings they strike either 
with their navies, growing long, or else with an instrument ap- 
pointed for that use. They take great pleasure to decke their 
harps and clairschoes wim silver and precious stones , the poore 
c^es that cannot attayne hereunto, decke them with christall. 
They sing verses prettily compound, contayning (for the most 
part) prayses of valiant men. There ii not almost any other 
argument, whereof their rhymes intreat. They speak the an- 
cient French language altered a little."' — " The harp and 
clairschoes are now only heard in the Highlands in ancient song. 
At what period these instruments ceased to be used, is not on 
record ; and tradition is silent on this head. But, as Irish harp- 
ers occasionally visited the Highlands and Westeni Isles till 
lately, the harp might have been extant so late as the middle 
of the last century. Thus far we know, that from remote 
times down to the present, harpers were received as welcome 
juests, particularly in the Highlands of Scotland ; and so late 
as the latter end of the sixteenth century, as appears by the 
above quotation, the harp was in common use among the na- 
tives of the Western Isles. How it happened that the noisy 
and unharmonious bagpipes banished the soft and expressive 
harp, we cannot say ; but certain it is, that the bagpipe is now 
the only instrument that obtains universally in the Highland 
districts." — Campbell's Journey through JVorth Britain. 
Lond. 1808. 4to. I. 175. 

Mr. Gunn, of Edinburgh, has lately published a curious Es- 
say upon the Harp and Harp Music of the Highlands of Scot- 
land. That the instrument was oncte in common use there, is 
most certain. Clelland numbers an acquaintance with it among 
tne few accomplishments which his satire allows to the High- 
landers : — 

" In nothing they're accounted sharp, 
Except in bagpipe or in harp." 



Note L. 



Mora's genial influence roused a minstrel gray. — P. 193. 

That Highland chieftains, to a late period, retained in their 
>erice the bard, as a family oflBcer, admits of very easy proof. 
Th nuthor of the Letters from the North of Scotland, an offi- 
sor of engineers, quartered at Inverness about 1720, who cer- 
Rifc'y cannot be deemed a favorable witness, gives the follow- 
j!^ iuoount of the office, and of a bard whom he heard exer- 
jisf hiB tal«i>jt of recitation :— " The bard is skilled in the gene- 
b!o?> of all tne Highland famiUes, sometimes preceptor to the 
young laird celebrates in Irish verse the original of the tribe, 
die lamons warlikt actior' of the successive heads, and sings 
■lis own lyiicks as an opiate to the chief when indisposed for 
ileep ; but poets are not equally esteemed and honored in all 
eonntries. I happened to he a witness of the dishonor done to 
(he mnae at the house of one of the chiefs, where two of these 
jirds were set at a good distance, at the lower end of a long 
able, with a parcel of Highlanders of no extraordinary appear- 

' fide, " Certayne Matters concerning the Realme of Scotland, &c. as 
t»y wera Anno IXDmi'ii 1597. Lond. 1603." 4to. 



ance, over a cup of ale. Poor inspiratior. ! T)iey were noi 
asked to drink a glass of wine at our table, though the whoii 
company consisted only of the great man, one of his near re- 
lations, and myself. After some little time, the chief ordered 
one of them to sing me a Highland song. The bard readily 
obeyed, and with a hoarse voice, and in a tune of few variouf 
notes, began, as I was told, one of his own lyricks ; and whei 
he had proceeded to the fourth or fifth stanza, I perceived, b; 
the names of several persons, glens, and moantains, "rhich 
had known or heard of before, that it was an account of 3or>« 
clan battle. But in his going on, the chief (who piqties b.ni 
self upon his school-learning), at some particular pas-oage, biii 
him cease, and cried out, ' There's nothing like that . Virgil 
or Homer.' I bowed, and told him I believed so. Tnis voy 
may believe was very edifying and delightful." — Letters, ii 
167. 



Note M. 



'The Orceme.—?. 194. 



The ancient and powerful family of Graham (which, for met- 
rical reasons, is here spelt after the Scottish pronunciation) 
held extensive possessions in the counties of Dumbarton and 
Stirling. Few families can boast of more historical renown, 
having claim to three of the most remarkable characters in the 
Scottish annals. Sir John the Grsme, the faithful and un- 
daunted partaker of the labors and patriotic warfare of Wal- 
lace, fell in the unfortunate field of Falkirk, in 1298. The cel- 
ebrated Marquis of Montrose, in whom De Retz saw realized 
his abstract idea of the heroes of antiquity, was the second ol 
these worthies. And, notwithstanding the severity of his tem 
per, and the rigor with which he executed the oppressive man 
dates of the prmces whoni he served, I do not hesitate to name 
as a third, John Grieme of Claverhouse, Viscount of Dundee, 
whose heroic death in the arms of victory may be allowed to 
cancel the memory of his cruelty to the non-conformists, during 
the reigns of Charles II. and James II. 



Note N. 



This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd. — P. 194. 

T am not prepared to show that Saint Modan was a per 
former on the harp. It was, however, no unsaintly accom 
plishmenl ; for Saint Dunstan certainly <lid play upon thai 
instrument, which retaining, as was natural, a portion of the 
sanctity attached to its master's character, aimonneed future 
events by its spontaneous sound. " But laboring once in 
these mechanic arts for a devojt matrone that had sett him 
on work, his violl, that hung b) him on the wall, of its iwj 
accord, without anie man's helpt, distinctly sounded this an 
thime : — Oaudent in cmlis anima sanctorum qui Ckristi 
vestigia, sunt secuti ; et quia, prs eius amore sav^u.neir 
suum fuderunt, idea cum Christogaudent ccternum. Wher» 
at all the corapanie being much astonished, turned theii evM 
from beholding him working, to looke on that strange c^oi- 
dent." * • • " jJot long after, manie of the cour, tnal 
hithemnto had home a kind of fayned friendship towards him 
began now greatly to envie at his progress and rising in gotid 
nes, using manie crooked, backbiting meanesto diftame his ver- 
mes with the black maskes of h/pocrisie. And the better m, 
authorize their calumnie, they brought in this that hnppfc..eH 
in the violl, affirming it to have been done by art magi'ik 
What more ? This wicked rumour increased dayly, till the 
king and others of the nobilitie taking hould thereof, Dnnstaii 
grew odious in their sight. Therefore he resolued to leane lh« 
court and go to Elphegus, surnamed the Bauld, then Bishop o! 
Winchester, who was his ^o/en. Which his enemies under 
standing, they layd wavt Tor him in the way, ana t>safD> 



throwne him off his horse, beate liim, and dragged him in the 
dun in tne most miserable manner, meaning to have slaine 
him. had not a corapanie of mastiue dogges that cama nnlookt 
npfMin them defended and redeemed him from their crneltie. 
W"hen with sorrow he was asriambd to see dopges more hu- 
mane than they. And giuing thanksa to Almightie God, he 
lensihly acaine perceined that th*- tunes M" his violl had giuen 
li'ji> a w:irning of future accident!." — Flcr:'r of the Lives of 
tkf WHS' renowned Saivcts nf F.vglund Hcutland, and Ire- 
land, hu tht: R. Father Hikrcmk Poster. Doway, 1632, 
ito tome I. p. 43e). 

The samt: supernatural circumstance is alluded to by the 
Utonymous author of " Grim, the Collier of Croydon." 



'■ lDu7istan' s harp sounds on the waWl. 

" Forest. Hark, hark, my lords, the holy abbot's harp 
Sounds by itself so hanging on the wall ! 

" Dunstan. Unhallow'd man, that scorn'st the sacred rede. 
Hark, how the testimony of my truth 
j Sounds heavenly music with an angel's hand, 
To testify Dunstan's integrity 
Ani orava thy active boast of no effect." 



Note O. 



Ere Douglases, to rnin driven, 

ff'ere exiled from their native heaven.- 



-P. 194. 



The downfall of the Douglases of the house of Angus during 
the reign of James V. is the event alluded to in the text. The 
Earl of Angus, it will be remembered, had married the queen 
lowager. and availed himself of the right which he thus ac- 
'juired, as well as of his extensive power, to retain the king 
in a sort of tutelage, which ajiproached very near to captivity. 
Several open attempts were made to rescue James from this 
ihraldom, wijji which he was well known to be deeply dis- 
.'nsted ; but the valor of the Douglases and their allies gave 
ihem the victory in every conflict. At length the King, while 
residing at Falkland, contrived to escape by night out of his 
own court and palace, and rode full speed to Stirling Castle, 
where the governor, who was of the opposite faction, joyfully 
received him. Being thus at liberty, James speedily sum- 
moned around him such peers as he knew to be most inimical 
to the domination of Angus — and laid his complaint before 
them, says Pitscottie, " with great lamentation ; showing to 
them how he was holden in subjection, thir years bygone, by 
the Er>rl of Angus and his kin and friends, who oppressed the 
whole co-intry and spoiled it, under the pretence of justice and 
his authority ; and had slain many of his lieges, kinsmen, and 
friends, because they would have had it mended at their hands, 
and put him at liberty, as he ought to have been, at the conn- 
lel of his whole lords, and not have been subjected and 
;orrected with no particular men, by the rest of his nobles. 
Therefore, said he, I desire, my lords, that I may be satisfied 
of the said earl, his kin, and friends ; for I avow that Scotland 
jhall not hold m both while [i. e. till] I be revenged on liim 
tnd his. 

" The lords, .paring the king's complaint and lamentation. 
Old hIso the gieat rage, fury, and malice that he bore towards 
the Earl of Angus, his kin and friends, they concluded all, and 
ihonght it best that he should be summoned to underly the 
aw ; if he found no caution, nor yet compear himself, that 
ne should be put to the horn, with all his kin and friends, so 
many as were contained in the letters. And farther, the lords 
ordained, by advice of his majesty, that his brother and friends 
<honld be summoned to find caution to underly the law within 
a certain day, or else be put to the horn. But the earl aji- 
peared not, nor none for him ; and so he was put to the horn, 
with all his kin and frienrts ; so many as were contained in 
the summons that compeared not were banished, and holden 
uaitors to the kinj;." 



Note p. 

In Holy-Rood a Knight he t lew. — P. 195. 

This was by no means an nncom non occnrrence in U4 
Court of Scotland ; nay, the presence c f the sovereign himsel 
scarcely restrained the ferocious ami inveterate feuds which 
were the perpetual source of bloodshed among the Scottish 
nobility. The following instance of the murder of Sir Wil- 
liam Stuart of Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the celebrated 
Francis, Earl of Bothwell, may be produced among many ' 
but as the offence given in the royal court will hardly bear t 
vernacular translation, I shall leave the story in Johnston* • 
Latin, referring for farther particulars to the naked simplicity 
of Birrell's Diary, 30th July, 1588. 

" Mors improbi hominis non tarn ipsa immerita, guaw- 
pessimo exemplo in publicum, fcede perpetrata. Oulielmul 
Stvartus Jilkiltrius, Arani frater, nnturd ae moribus, cu- 
jus stepius memini, vulgo propter sitem sanguinis sangni- 
narius dictus, a Bothvelio, in Sanctee Crucis Regid, exarde- 
scente ird, mendacii probro lacessitus, obscmnum osculum 
liberius retorquebat ; Bothvelius hanc contumeliam tacitua 
tulit, sed ingentum irarum molem animo concepit. Utrin- 
que postridie Edinburgi conventum, totidem numero comiti- 
bus armatis, prtesidii causa, et acriter pugnatum est ; ccete- 
ris amicis et clitmtibus metu torpentibus, axit vi absterritis, 
ipse Stuartus fortissime dimicat ; tandem exciisso gladio i 
Bothvelio, Scythicd feritate transfoditur, sine cujusquam 
misericordid ; habuit itaque quern debnit exitum. Dignus 
erat Stuartus qui pateretur ; Bothvelius qui faceret. Vul- 
gus sanguinein. sanguine pradicabit, et horum cruore innoc- 
uorum mnnibus egregie parcntatum." — JoHNSTONi Histom 
Rerum Brilannicarum. ab anno 1572 ad annum 1628. Am 
stelodami, 1655, fol. p. 135. 



Note Q. 

The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 
Disowned by every noble peer. — P. 195. 

The exile state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in 
this and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against 
the race of Douglas was so inveterate, that numerous as their 
allies were, and- disregarded as the regal authority had usually 
been in similar cases, their nearest friends, even in the most 
remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, unless nn 
der the strictest and closest disguise. James Douglas, son oi 
the banished Earl of Angus, afterwards well known by tha 
title of Earl of Morton, lurked, during the exile of his family 
in the north of Scotland, under the assumed name of Jamet 
Innes, otlierwise James the Orieve (i. e. Reve or Bailiff). 
" And as he bore the name," says Godscroft, " so did he also 
execute the office of a grieve or overseer of the lands and 
rents, the corn and cattle of hiin with whom he lived." From 
the habit-s of frugality and observation which he acquired in 
his humble situation, the historian traces that intimate ac- 
quaintance with popular character which enabled him *o ria* 
so high in the state, and that honorable economy by which h« 
repaired and established the shattered estates of Anguf ati<* 
Morton. — History of the House of Douglas, Edinborgb 
1743, vol. ii. p. 160. 



Note R. 

-Maroiinan's ceil. 



-P. 195. 



The parish of Kilmaronock. at th, vaanm extremity of Loch 
Lomond, derives its name tro» d cell or chapel, dedicated ta |i 
Saint Maronock, or Mamcjk, or Maronnan. abont whoM 
sanctity very little is now remembered. There is a fonntaia 
devoted to him in the same parish ; but its virtues likp Ui4 
merits of it« patron, have fallen into oblivioa. 



Note S. 
-Bracklinn's thundering wave. — P. 195. 



This iB a beaatiful cascade made by a raoantain stream 
jailed the Keltie, at a place called the Bridge of Bracklinn, 
tbout a mile from the village of Callender in Menteith. Above 
a chasm, where the brook precipitates itself from a height of 
at least lifty feet, there is thrown, for ihe convenience of the 
aeighborhood, a rustic footbridge, of about three feet in 
Vreadlh, and without ledges, which is scarcely to be crossed 
»y a stranger without awe and apprehension. 



Note T. 



For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. — P. 196. 

Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate 
'n all his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tine- 
MAN, because he lined, or lost, his followers in every battle 
which he fought. He was vanquished, as every reader must 
remember, in the bloody battle of Homildon-hill, near Wooler, 
where he himself lost an eye, and was made prisoner by Hot- 
•pur. He was no less unfortunate when allied with Percy, 
being wounded and taken at the battle of Shrewsbury. He 
was so unsuccessful in an attempt to besiege Roxburgh Castle 
that it was called the Foul Raid, or disgraceful expedition. 
His ill fortune left him indeed at the battle of Beaug6 in 
France ; but it was only to return with double emphasis at the 
tnbsequent action of Vernoil, the last and most unlucky of 
his encounters, in which he fell, with the flower of the Scot- 
tish chivalry, then serving as auxiliaries in France, and about 
'wo thousand common soldiers, A. D. 1424. 



Note U. 



Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 
The footstep of a secret foe. — P. 196. 

The ancient warriors, whose hope and confidence rested 
•hiefly in their blades, were accustomed to deduce omens 
com them, especially from such as were supposed to have 
6een fabricated by enchanted skill, of which we have various 
instances in the romances and legends of the time. The won- 
Jetfu] sword Skofnung, wielded by the celebrated Hrolf 
Kraka, was of this description. It was deposited in the tomb 
jf the monarch at his death, and taken from thence by Skeg- 
fo. a celebrated pirate, who bestowed it upon his son-in-law, 
Kormak, with the following curious directions : — " ' The raan- 
uer of using it will appear strange to you. A small bag is at- 
tached to it, which take heed not to violate. Let not the rays 
•f the sun touch the upper part of the handle, nor unsheathe 
it, unless thou art ready for battle. But when thou comest to 
the place of fight, go aside from the rest, grasp and extend the 
rword, and breathe upon it. Then a small worm will creep 
tDt of the handle ; lower the handle, that he may more easily 
"etorn 'nto it.' Kormak, after having received the sword, re- 
mmed home to his mother. He showed the sword, and at- 
tempted to draw it, as unnecessarily as ineifectually, for he 
lould not pluek it out of the sheath. His mother, Dalla, ex- 
slaimed, ' Do no despise the counsel given to thee, my son.' 
Kormak. howeve;, repeating his efforts, pressed down the han- 
dle with his feet, and tore otf the bag, when Skofnung emitted 
a hollow groan : but still he could not unsheathe the sword. 
Kormak then went out with Bessus, whom he had challenged 
t6 fight with him, and dtew apart at the place of combat. He 
1^1 down upon the ground, and ungirding the sword, which he 
jore above his vestments, did not remember to shield the hilt 
from the rays of the sun. In vain he endeavored to draw it, 
all he placed his foot against the hilt ; then the worm issued 
fcom it. But Kormak did not rightly handle the weapon, in 



consequence whereof good fortune deserted it. A^3 he na 
sheathed Skofnung, it emitted a hollow murmur. '' — Barlha 
lini de Causis Contemptce a Danis adhuc Oentilibts-a JiJortia 
Libri Tres. Hofni<B, 1689, 4to. p. 574. 

To the history of this sentient and prescient weapon, 1 bej 
leave to add, from memory, the following legend, lor whicn 
cannot produce any better authority. A young nobleman, ol 
high hopes and fortune, chanced to lose his waj in the towi 
which he inhabited, the capital, 'f I mistake not, cf a Girma* 
province. He had accidentally involved himself among tii' 
narrow and winding streets of a suburb, inhabited by the 1ot> 
est order of the people, and an appioachir^ thuiitier-slio ac. 
determined him to ask a short refuge in the n-.t'st decent lial> 
itation that was near him. He knocked at the ;'oor, whirh 
was opened by a tall man, of a grisly and ferocious aspect, 
and sordid dress. The stranger was readily ushered to a tuam 
her, where swords, scourges, and machines, which seemed tJ 
be implements of torture, were suspended on the wall. Una 
of these swords dropped from its scabbard, as the nobleraarj, 
after a moment's hesitation, crossed the threshold. His host 
immediately stared at him with such a marked expression, 
that the young man could not help demanding his name and 
business, and the meaning of his looking at him so lixedly. 
" I am," answered the man, " the public executioner of this 
city ; and the incident you have observed is a sure augury 
that T shall, in discharge of my duty, one day cut oft" youi 
head with the weapon which has just now spontaneously un- 
sheathed itself." Thf nobleman lost no time in leaving l.i- 
place of refuge ; but, engaging in some of the plots of tb- 
period, was shortly after decapitated by that very man a«; 
instrument. 

Lord Lovat is said, by the author of the Letters from Sco; 
land, to have affirmed, that a number of swords that hung u 
in the hall of the mansion-house, leaped of themselves out ol 
the scabbard at the instant he was bom. The story passei 
current among his clan, but, like that of the story I have jua 
quoted, proved an unfortunate omen. — Letters from Scotin-rJ 
vol. ii. p. 214. 



Note \ 



Those thrilling sounds thai call the might 
Of old Clan-Mpine to the fight.— P. 196. 

The connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover in a we* 
composed pibroch, the imitative sounds cf march, conflict, 
flight, pursuit, and all the "current of a heady fight." To 
this opinion Dr. Beattie has given his suffrage, in the following 
elegant passage : — " A pibroch is a species of tune, pectiliar, 
I think, to the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland. It 
is performed on a bagpipe, and differs totally from all other 
music. Its rhythm is so irregular, and its notes, especially in 
the quick movement, so mixed and huddled together, that a 
stranger finds it impossible to reconcile his ear to it. so as Wi 
perceive its modulation. Some of these pibrochs, -jeii^ i_ 
tended to represent a battle, begin with a grave motion resent 
bling a march ; then gradually quicken into the onset ; run of 
with noisy confusion, and turbulent rapidity, to iin!t»te th« 
conflict and pursuit ; then swell into a few flourishes ci Ana 
phant joy ; and perhaps close with the wild and slow WBilirgi 
of a funeral procession." — Essay on Laughter and Luit 
crous Composition, chap. iii. Note. 



Note W. 

Roderigh rich Alpine dhu, ho '. ieroe!—P 197 

Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chienj 
used in the intercourse witli tiie Lo>vland3 every Hi£hlai)»* 



246 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



chief had an epithet expres»!ve of his patriarchal dignity as 
heiit of the clan, and wkicli was common to all his predeces- 
lore and successors, as Pharaoh to tlie kings of Egypt, or Ai^ 
6ace» to those of Parthia. This came was usually a patro- 
nymic, expressive of his descent from the founder of the family. 
Tiius the Duiie of Argyle U called MacCallum More, or the 
son tif Coiiti the Great. Sometimes, however, it is derived 
ftt.m t.rmorial distinction*, or the memory of some great feat ; 
Utus Lonl Seaforth, as chief of the JVIackenzies, or Clan-Ken- 
let beare the epithet of Caber-fae, or Buck's Head, as repre- 
MCtalive of Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the family, who 
laved the Scottish king wlien endangered by a stag. But 
besides this title, which belonged to his office and dignity, the 
ahititain had usually another peculiar to himself, which dis- 
tinguished him from the chieftains of the same race. This 
Has sometimes derived from complexion, as dhu or roy ; 
(onietinies from size, as beg or more ; at other times from some 
peculiar exploit, or from some peculiarity of habit or appear- 
ance. The 1 ne of the text therefore signifies, 

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

The song itself is intended as an imitation of the jorrams, 
or boat-songs, of the Highlanders, which were usually com- 
[»osed in lionor of a favorite chief. They are so adapted as 
10 keep time with the sweep of the oars, and it is easy to dis- 
tinguish between those intended to be sung to the oars of a 
galley, where the stroke is lengthened and doubled, as it 
were, and those which t»ere timed to the rowers of an ordi- 
nary boat. 



Note X. 



The best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. — P. 197. 

The Lennox, as the district is called, which encircles the 
lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to 
the incursions of the mountaineers, who inhajjited the inac- 
cessible fastnesses at the upper end of the lake, and the neigh- 
boring district of Loch Katrine. These were often marked by 
circumstances of great ferocity, of which the noted conflict of 
Gleii-t'ruin is a celebrated instance. This was a clan-battle, in 
which the Macgregors, headed by Allaster ^:acgregor, chief of 
the clan, encountered the sepl of Coli|uhoun3, commanded 
by Sir Humphry Colquhoun of Lnss. It is on all hands 
allowed that the action was desperately fought, and that the 
Col^uhouns were defeated with great slaughter, leaving two 
hundred of their name dead upon tlie field. But popular tra- 
dition has added other horrors to tlie tale. It is said that Sir 
Humphry Colquhoun, who was on horseback, escaped to the 
caaile of Benechra, or Banochar, and was next day dragged 
out and murdered by the victorious Macgregors in cold blood. 
Buchanan of Auchmar, however, speaks of his slaughter as a 
lobsequent event, and as perpetrated by the Macfarlanes. 
Aijai" it is reported that the .^'acgregor^ murdered a number 
»r you. us, whom rejiort of the intejided battle had brought to 
l>e npeciators, and whom the Colquhouis, anxious for their 
iafetj . had shut up in a barn to be out of danger. Oue ac- 
uouni of the Macgregors denies this circumstance entirely : an- 
other ascribes it to the savage and blood-thirsty disposition of a 
lingle milividual, the bastard brother of the Laird of Macgregor, 
wlio amused himself with this second massacre of tlie innocents, 
ID express disobedience to their chief, by whom he was l';ft 
iheir guardian during the pursuit of the Colqnhouns. It is 
»dded, that Macgregor bitterly lamented this atrocious action, 
ind prophesied the ruin which it must bring upon their ancient 
c'an. The following account of the conflict, which is indeed 
4i»WD up by a friend of the Clan-Gregor, is altogether silent 
•n loe murder of the youths. "In the spring of the year lfC2, 



there happened great dissensions at 1 troubles between the laird 
of Luss, chief of the Colquhouns, and Alexander, laird of .Mao- 
gregor. The original of these quarrels proceeded from tijuriei 
and provocations mutually given and received, not long before. 
Macgregor, however, wanting to have i tem ended ic I'riendly 
conferences, inarched at the head of tv,. hundred of his clan 
to Leven, which borders on Luss, his country, vvilli a view oJ 
settling matters by the mediation of friends : but Luss had no 
such intentions, and projected his measures with a difTereal 
view ; for he privately drew together a body of 300 horse and 506 
foot, composed partly of his own clan and their followers, and 
partly of the Buchanans, his neighbors, and resolved to cut clJ 
Macgregor and his party to a man, in case the issue of the con- 
ference did not answer his inclination. But matters fell other' 
wise than he exfiected ; and though Macgregor had previous 
information of his insidious design, yet dissembling his resent- 
ment, he kept the appointment, and parted good friends in 
appearance. 

" No sooner was he gone, than Luss, thinking to surprise 
him and his party in full security, and without any dread oi 
apprehension of nis treachery, followed with all speed, and 
came up with him at a place called Glenfroon. Macgregor, 
upon the alarm, divided his men into two parties, the great- 
est part whereof he commanded himself, and the other ha 
committed to the care of his brother John, who, by his oi^ 
ders, led them about another way, and attacked the Colqu- 
houns in flank. Here it was fought with great bravery on 
both sides for a considerable time ; and, notwithstanding the 
vast disproportion of numbers, Macgregor, in the end, ob- 
tained an absolute victory. So great was the rout, that 200 of 
the Colquhouns were left dead upon the spot, most of tht 
leading men were killed, and a multitude of prisoners taken. 
But what seemed most surprising and incredible in this defeat, 
was, that none of tlie Macgregors were missing, except John, 
the laird's brother, and one common fellow, though indeed 
many of them wee wounded." — Professor Ross's History oJ 
the family of Sut/ieriand, 163L 

The consequences of the battle of Glen-fruin were very 
calamitous to the family of Macgregor, who had already bee!i 
considered as an unruly clan. The widows of the slain Col- 
quhouns, sixty, it is said, in number, appeared in doleful pro 
cession before the King at Stirling, each riding upon a whits 
palfrey, and bearing in her hand the bloody shirt of her hus- 
band displayed upon a pike. James VI. was so much movetl 
by the complaints of this "choir of mourning dames," that 
he let loose his vengeance against the Macgregors, without 
either bounds or moderatioa. The very name of the clan 
was proscribed, and those by whom it had been borne were 
given up to sword and fire, and absolutely nunted down bj 
bloodhounds like wild beasts. Argyle and the Campbells, on 
the one hand, Montrose, with the Grahames and Buchanans, 
on the other, are said to have been the chief instrumtita in 
suppressing this devoted clan. The Laird of Macgregor sai- 
rendered to the former, on condition 'hat he w<iuld tako nim 
out of Scottish ground. But, to use Birrell's expression, I 6 
kept "a Highlandman's promise;" and, although he fulfilW 
his word to the letter, by carrying him as far as Berwick, bf 
afterwards brought him back to Edinburgh, wher; he wii 
executed with eighteen of his clan." — Birrel's 7ijarj, V 
Oct. 1603. The Clan-Gregor being thus driven to ntter ds 
spair, seem to have renounced the laws from the '-enefit at 
which they were excluded, and their depredations produced 
new acts of council, confirming the severity of theu jiroecrip- 
tion, which had only the effect of rendering them Mill mora 
united and desperate. It is a most extraordinary proof ol 
the ardent and invincible spirit of clanship, that, notwith- 
standing the repeated proscriptions providently ordained b» 
the legislature, " for the timeous preventing the disorder* 
and oppression that may fa'' out by the said name and clan 
of Macgregors, and their followere," they were in 1715 and 
1745 a potent clan, and continae to subsbt as a distinct and 
numerous race. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



24': 



"Note Y. 

The King's vindictive pride 

Boasts to have tamed the Border-side.- 



-P. 199. 



Id 1529, James V. made a convention at Edinburgh for the 
purpose of considering the best mode of quelling the Border 
robbers, who, during the license of his minority, and the 
t>"ub!es which followed, had committed many exorbitances. 
Accordingly, he assembled a flying army of ten thousand 
men, consi»';ng of nis principal nobility and their followers, 
who were directed to bring their hawks and dogs with them, 
that the monarch might refresh himself with sport during the 
intervals of military execution. With this array he swept 
through Ettrick Forest, where he hanged over the gate of his 
awn castle, Piers Cockburn of Henderland, who had prepared, 
according to tradition, a feast for his recejition. He caused 
Adam Scott of Tushielaw also to be executed, who was dis- 
tinguished by the title of King of the Border. But the most 
noted victim of justice, during that expedition, was John 
Armstrong of Gilnockie.^ famous in Scottish song, who, con- 
fiding in his own supposed innocence, met the King, with a 
retinue of thirty-six persons, all of whom were hanged at 
Jarleurig, near the source of the Teviot. The efiect of this 
severity was such, that, as the vulgar expressed it, " the rush- 
bush kept the cow," and, "thereafter was great peace and 
rest a !ong time, wherethrough the King had great profit ; for 
he had ten thousand sheep going in the Ettrick Forest in 
keeping by Andrew Bell, who made tiie King as good count 
of them as they had gone iu tlie bounds of Fife." — PiscOT- 
riK's History, p. J53. 



Note Z. 

What grace fai Highland Chiefs, judge ye 
By fate of Border chivalry. — P. 199. 

James was in fact eqnally attentive to restrain rapine and 
teudal Ojjpression in every part of his dominions. " The king 
past to the Isles, and there held justice courts, and punished 
both thief and traitor according to their demerit. And also he 
caused great men to show their holdings, wherethrough he 
found many of the said lands in non-entry ; the which he con- 
fiscate and brought home to his own use, and afterwards an- 
nexed them to the crown, as ye shall hear. Syne brought 
many of the great men of the Isles captive with him, such as 
Mudyart, M'Connel, M'Loyd of the Lewes, M'Neil, JVI'Lane, 
M'lutosh, John Mudyart, JVI'Kay, M'Kenzie, with many other 
that I cannot rehearse at this time, borne of them he put in 
ward and some in court, and some he took pledges for good 
rule in time coming. So he brought the Isles, both north and 
south, in good rule and peace ; wherefore he had great profit, 
lervice, and obedience of people a long time thereafter ; and 
as \tng as he had the heads of the country in subjection, they 
lived in great peace and rest, and there was great riches and 
poiic." by the King's justice." — Pitscottie, p. 152. 



Note 2 A. 



Rest safe till morning ; pity twere 

Siich cheek should feel the midnight air, — P. 201. 

JBardinood was in every jespect so essential to the charac- 
«r of a Highlander, that the reproach of effeminacy was the 
most bitter which could be thrown upon him. Yet it was 
•ometlmes hazarded on what we might presume to think 
i!i|(ht grounds. It is reported of Old Sir Ewen Cameron of 



Lochiel, when upwards of seventy, that he wjw snrpraed b) 
night on a hunting or military expedition. He wrap(>ed him 
in his plaid, and lay contentedly down upon the snow, with 
which the ground happened to be covered. Among tiii 
attendants, who were preparing to take their rest in the sam« 
manner, he observed that one of his grandsons, for his bettei 
accommodation, had rolled a l.irge snow-ball, and placed il 
below his head. The wrath of the ancient chief was awakened 
by a symptom of what he conceived to be degenerate luxury. 
— " Out upon thee," said he, kicking the frozen bolster from 
the head which it supported ; "art thou so elferainate as to 
need a pillow ?" The officer of engineers, whose curiona let- 
ters from the Highlands have been more than once quoted, 
tells a similar story of Macdonald of Keppocli, and subjoins 
the following remarks: — "This and many other stories are 
romantic ; but there is one thing, that at first thought might 
seem very romantic, of which I have been credibly assured, 
that when the Highlanders are constrained to lie among the 
hills, in cold dry windy weather, they sometimes soak the 
plaid in some river or burn (i. e. brook), and then, holding up 
a corner of it a little above their heads, they turn themselves 
round and round, till they are enveloped by the whole man- 
tle. They then lay themselves down on the heath, upon the 
leeward side of some hill, where the wet and the warmth of 
their bodies make a steam like that of a boiling kettle. The 
wet, they say, keeps them warm by thickening the stulT, and 
keeping the wind from penetrating. I must confess I should 
have been apt to question this fact, had I not frequently seen 
them wet from morning to night, and even at the beginning 
of the rain, not so much as stir a few yards to shelter, but 
continue in it without necessity, till they were, as we say, wet 
through and through. And that is soon effected by the loose- 
ness and sponginess of the plaiding ; but the bonnet is fre- 
quently taken off and wrung hke a dish-clout, and then put 
on again. They have been accustomed from their infancy to 
be often wet, and to take the water like spaniels, and this ii 
become a second nature, and can scarcely be called a hardship 
to them, insomuch that I used to say, they seemed to be of 
the duck kind, and to love water as well. Though I nevei 
saw this preparation for sleep in windy weather, yet, setting 
out early in a morning from one of the huts, I have seen the 
marks of their lodging, where the ground has been free from 
rime or snow, which remained all round the spot where tbey 
had lain." — Letters from Scotland, Lond. ITA, 8vo ii. 
p. 108. 



Note 2 B. 

• his henchman came. — P. 301. 



" This officer is a sort of secretary, and is to be ready, opoB 
all occasions, to venture his life in defence of his maj ter ; am! 
at drinking-bouts he stands behind his seat, at his hannoh, 
from whence his title is derived, and watches the conTen* 
tion, to see if any one offends his patron. An English ofQcai 
being in company with a certain chieftain, and several <ithm 
Highland gentlemen, near Killichuraen, had an argument wtfc 
the great man ; and both being well warmed with usky ' tl 
last the dispute grew very hot. A youth who was henchman 
not understanding one word of English, imagined his chief wa» 
insulted, and thereupon drew his pistol from his side, ana 
snapped it at the officer's head : but the pistol missed fire, 
otherwise it is more than probable he might have suffered deatk 
from the hand of that little vermin. But it is very disagree- 
able to an Englishman over a bottle, with the Highlanders, t» 
see every one of them have his gilly, that is, his servant, stand' 
ing behind him all the while, let what will be the Bubje<~t o 
conversation." — Letters from Scotland, ii. 159 



I See Border Minitnliy, >«1. i. p. 392. 



3 WkJAkv 



Note 2 C. 
ind tchtie the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round,— 

P. 2oa. 

When a chieftain desired to suniiuon liis clan, apon any 
Hidden or important emergency, he slew a goat, and making 
X cross of any light wood, seared its extremities in the fire, 
tnd extinguished them in the blood of the animal. This was 
■tiled the Fiery Cross, also Crean Tarigk, or ((he Cross of 
thame, because disobedience to what the symbol implied, in- 
•ned infamy. It was delivered to a swift and trusty messen- 
{e». who ran full speed with it to the next hamlet, where he 
presented it to the principal person, with a single word, imply- 
ng the place of rendezvous. He who received the symbol 
Has bouna to send it forward, with equal dispatch, to the 
lext village ; and thus it passed with incredible celerity through 
ill the district which owed allegiance to the chief, and also 
imong his allies and neighbors, if the danger was common to 
hem. At sight of the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen 
^ears old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged in- 
ctaiitly to repair, in his best arms and accoutrements, to the 
ilace of rendezvous. He who failed to appear suffered the 
extremities of fire and sword, which were emblematically de- 
aouuced to tlie disobedient by the bloody and burnt marks 
ipou this warlike signal. During the civil war of 1745-6, the 
fiery Cross often made its circuit ; and upon one occasion it 
passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of 
thirty-two miles, in three hours. The late Alexander Stewart, 
Esq., of Invernahyle, described to me his having sent round 
the Fiery Cross through the district of Appine, during the same 
commotion. The coast was threatened by a descent from two 
English frigates, and the flower of the young men were with 
the army of Prince Charles Edward, then in England ; yet the 
Bummons wa« so effectual, that even old age and childhood 
obeyed it ; and a force was collected in a few hours, so numei^ 
ons and "O enthusiastic, that all attempt at the intended divei^ 
sion upon tiie country of the absent warriors was in prudence 
abandoned, as desperate. 

This practice, like some others, is common to the Highland- 
ers with the ancient Scandinavians, as will appear by the fol- 
lowing extract from Olaus Magnus ; — 

" When the enemy is upon the sea-coast, or within the 
limits of northern kingdomes, then presently, by the command 
of the principal governours, with the counsel and consent of 
the old soldiers, who are notably skilled in such like business, 
a staff of three hands length, in the common sight of them 
all, is carried, by the speedy running of some active young 
man, unto that village or city, with this command, — that on 
the third, fourth, or eighth day, one, two, or three, or else 
every man in particular, from fifteen years old, shall come 
with his arms, and expenses for ten or twenty days, upon 
pain that his or tieir houses shall be burnt (which is intimated 
by the burning ^f the staif), or else the master to be hanged 
(which is signii d by tie" <'.ord tied to it), to appear speedily on 
lach a bank, oi field, or va».ey, to hear the cause^^be is called, 
»n'> U> hear orders from the said provincial governours what 
ke «nall do. Wherefore that messenger, swifter than any 
poit or waggon, having done his commission, comes slowly 
back again, bringing a token with him that he hath done all 
legally, and every moment one or another runs to every village, 
ind tails those places what they must do." .... "The 
messengers, therefore, of the footmen, that are to give warning 
io the people to meet for the battail, run fiercely and swiftly ; 
for no snow, no ram, nor heat can stop them, nor night hold 
them ; but they will soon run the race they undertake. The 
fiist messenger tells it to the next village, and that to tlie 
text ' and so tho hubbub runs all over ti\l they all know it 

] The Monition against the Robbers rf Tynedole and Redeedule, with 
*Uch I was fiivoret* ^v my frienri, Mr. Suttees, of Mainsforth, may be 



in that still or territory, where, when, and wherefore they moa 
meet." — Olaus Maonds' History of the Qotks, Enfllianwi 
by J a '«>>^ 1658, book iv. chap. 3. 4. 



Note 2 D. 
Tntit. moTiK, cf tavage form and face. — P 203. 

The state of religion in the middle ages afforded considerabl 
facilities for those whose mode of life excluded them frun 
regular worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistar^t 
of confessors, perfectly wilhng to adapt the nature of theil 
doctrine to the necessities and peo^liar circumstances of theii 
flock. Robin Hood, it is well known, had his celebrated do- 
mestic chaplain. Friar Tuck. And that same curtal friar wa» 
probably matched in manners and appearance by the ghostly 
fathers of the Tynedale robbers, who are thus described in ac 
excommunication fulminated against their patrons by Kichard 
Fox, Bishop of Durham, tempore Henrici VIII. " We have 
further understood, that there are many chaplains in the said 
territories of Tynedale and Redesdale, who are public anr open 
raaintainers of concubinage, irregular, suspended, excommuni- 
cated, and interdicted persons, and withal so utterly ignorant of 
letters, that it has been found by those who objected this to 
them, that there were some who, having celebrated mass foi 
ten years, were still unable to read the sacramental service. 
We have also understood there are persons among them who, 
although not ordained, do take upon them the offices of priest- 
hood ; and, in contempt of God, celebrate the divine and sa- 
cred rites, and administer the sacraments, not only in sacred 
and dedicated places, but in those which are f.fofane and in- 
terdicted, and most wretchedly ruinous ; they themselves being 
attired in ragged, torn, and most filthy \eBtnient3, altogethei 
unfit to be used in divine, or even in temporal offices. Tha 
which said chaplains do administer sacraments and sacramental 
rights to the aforesaid manifest and infamous thieves, robbers, 
depredators, receivers of stolen goods, and plunderers, and that 
without restitution, or intention to restore, as evinced by tha 
act ; and do also openly admit them to the rites of ecclesiasti- 
cal sepulchre, without exacting security for restitution, al- 
though they are prohibited from doing so by the sacred canons, 
as well as by the institutes of the saints and fathers. All 
which infers the heavy peril of their own souls, and is a per- 
nicious example to the other believers in Christ, as well as no 
slight, but an aggravated injury, to the numbers despoiled and 
plundered of their goods, gear, herds, and chattels."! 

To this lively anTi picturesque description of the confesson 
and churchmen of predatory tribes, there may be added some 
curious particulars respecting the priests attached to the sere 
ral septs of native Irish, during the reign of (ineen Elizabeth 
These friars had indeed to plead, that the incursions, which 
they not only pardoned, but even encouraged, were made upor 
those hostile to them, as well in religion as from national an' 
tipathy ; but by Protestant writers they are uniformly allaget 
to be the chief instruments of Irish insurrection, the very well 
spring of all rebellion towards the English government. I."lh 
gow, the Scottish traveller, declares the Irish wood-k^^lae v 
predatory tribes, to be but the hounds of their hunting priesu, 
who directed their incursions by their pleasure, parti/ for su» 
tenance, partly to gratify animosity, partly to foment general 
division, and always for the better security and easier doraina' 
tion of the friars."'' Derrick, the livehness and minuteness ol 
whose descriptions may frequently apologize for his doggere 
verses, after describing an Irish feast, and the encouragement 
given, by the songs of the bards, to its termination in an incur- 
sion upon the parts of the country mt re immediately ande* 

fotind in the original Latin, in the Appendii to tbc IstroducttOB t« at 
Border Minstrelsy, No. VII. vol. i. p. 214. 
a XithPow's Ttavela firs* '>dition D. 4A1. 



me dominion of the English, records the no less powerful argn- 
menta used ay the friar to excite their animosity :— 

' And more t' augment the flame, 

and rancour of their harte, 
The frier, of his counsells vile, 

to rebelles doth imparte. 
Affirming that it is 

an almose deede to God, 
To make the English subjectes taste 

the Irish rebells' rodde. 
To spoile, to kill, to bnrne 

this frier's counsell is ; 
And for the doing of the same, 

he warrantes heavenlie blisse. 
He teUs a holie tale ; 

the white he tournes to black ; 
And through the pardons in his male, 

he workes a knavishe knacke." 

The wreckful invasion of a part of the English pale is then 
fescribed with some spirit ; the burning of houses, driving oflf 
Battle, and all pertaining to such predatory inroads, are illus- 
irated by a rude cut. The defeat of the Irish, by a party of 
English soldiers from the next garrison, is then commemorated, 
and in like manner adorned with an engraving, in which the 
frier is exhibited mourning over the slain chieftain ; or, as the 
rubric expresses it, 

" The frier then, that treacherous knave ; with ongh ough- 

hone lament, 
To see his cousin Devill's-son to have so foul event." 

The matter is handled at great length in the text, of which 
lb* following verses are more than sufficient sample : 

' The frier seyng this, 

laments that lucklesse parte. 
And curseth to the pitte of hell 

the death man's sturdie hearte ; 
Yet for to qnight them with 

the frier taketh paine. 
For all the synnes that ere he did 

remission to obtaine. 
And therefore serves his booke, 

the candell and the bell ; 
But thinke you that such apishe toiea 

bring damned souls from hell 1 
It 'longs not to my parte 

infernall things to knowe ; 
But I beleve till later dale, 

thei rise not from belowe 
Yet hope that friers give 

to this rebellious rout, 
If that their souls should channce in heL 

to bring them quicklie out, 
Doeth make them leau snche lives, 

as neither God nor man. 
Without revenge for their desartes, 

oermitte or suffer can. 
Thus friers are the cause, 

the fountain, and the spring, 
Of hnrleburles in this lande, 

of eche unhappie thing. 
Thei cause them to rebell 

against theur sOveraigne queue. 
And through rebellion often tymes, 

their lives do vanish clene. 
So as by friers meanes, 

I TbM enriouB picture of Ireland was inserted by the author in the re- 
4Mi*attDn of Somert' Tracts, vol. i., in which the platei hAT« been alM 

■a 



in whom all foUie swimme. 
The Irishe kame doe often lose 
the life, with hedde and limme."> 

As the Irish tribes, and those of the Scottish Highlands 
are much more intimately allied, by language, mannere, dress, 
and customs, than the antiquaries of either country hare been 
willing to admit, I flatter myself I have here produced a Jtroog 
warrant for the chai-acter sketched in the text. The followizi^g 
picture, though of a different kind, serves to establish the ei» 
istence of ascetic religionists, to a comparatively late period, ia 
the Highlands and Western Isles. There is a great deal of 
simplicity in the description, for which, as for much similar in- 
formation, I am obliged to Dr. John Martin, who viiited the 
Hebrides at the suggestion of Sir Robert Sibbald, a Scottish 
antiquarian of eminence, and early in the eighteenth centurj 
published a description of them, which procured him admissior 
into the royal society. He died in London about 1719. Hi» 
work is a strange mixture of learning, observation, and gross 
credulity. 

" I remember," says this author, " I have seen an old lay- 
capuchin here (in the island of Benbecula), called in their lan- 
guage Brahir-bocht, that is. Poor Brother ; which is literally 
true ; for he answers this character, having nothing but what 
is given him ; he holds himself fully satisfied with food and 
rayment, aad lives in as great simplicity as any of his order ; 
his diet is very mean, and he dnnks only fair water ; his habit 
is no less mortifying than that of his brethren elsewhere : he 
wears a short coat, which comes no farther than his middle, 
with narrow sleeves like a waistcoat : he wears a plad above 
it, girt about tlie middle, which reaches to his knee : the plad 
is fastened on his breast ivith a wooden pin, his neck bare, and 
his feet often so too : he wears a hat for ornament, and tha 
string about it is a bit of a fisher's line, made of horse-hair 
This plad he wears instead of ^ gown worn by those of his or 
der in other countries. I told him lie wanted the flaxen girdle 
that men of his order usually wear : he answered me, that he 
wore a leathern one, which was the same thing. Upon the 
matter, if he is spoke to when at meat, he answers again ; 
which is contrary to the custom of his order. This poor man 
frequently diverts himself with angling of trouts ; he lies upon 
straw, and has no bell (as others have) to call him to his devo- 
tions, but only his consciiitce, as he told me." — MaRTIn'j 
Description of the fVestet'\ Highlands, p. 82. 



Note 2 E. 

Of Brian's birth strange talts were told. — P. 203. 

The legend which follows is not of the author's invention. 
It is possible he may differ from modem critics, in supposing 
that the records of human superstition, if peculiar to, and cha^ 
acteristic of, the country in which the scene is laid, are a legit- 
imate subject of poetry. He gives, however, a ready assent to 
the narrower proposition which condemns all attempts of an 
irregular and disordered fancy to excite terror, by accamtiatinj 
a train of fantastic and incoherent horrors, whether Oorrowei 
from all countries, and patched upon a narrative belonging lo 
one which knew them not, or derived from the author's owt 
imagination. In the present case, therefore, I appeal to the 
record which I have transcribed, with the variation of a very 
few words, from the geographical collections made by the 
Laird of Macfariane. I know not whether it be necessary t> 
remark, that the miscellaneous concourse of youths and maid 
ens on the night and on the spot where ihe miracle is said te 
have taken place, might, even in a crednVous age, have some- 
what diminished the wonder which acoo npanied the conceir 
tion of Gilli-Doir-MagrevoUich. 

inaerted, frono the only impressioni known to exist, belonging to ih« sofW 
in the Advocates' Library. See Somers' Tracts, ToU i. pp. 691, (M> 



260 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" There is bo'- two myles from Inverloghie, the church of 
Kilmalee, in Lochyeld. In anci« it tymes there was a'ne church 
huilded upon ane hill, \»hich was above this church, which 
doeth now stand in this toune ; and ancient men doeth say, 
that there was a battell foughten on ane litle hill not the tenth 
part of a myle from this church, be certaine men which they 
did not know what they were. And long tyrae thereafter, 
certaine herds of that toune, and of the next toune, called Un- 
?atti both wenches and youthes, did on a tyme conveen with 
ethers on that hill ; and the day being somewhat cold, did 
gather the bones of the dead men that were slayne long tyme 
before in that place, and did make a fire to warm them. At 
last they did all remove from the fire, except one maid or 
wench, which was verie oold, and slie did remaine there for a 
■pace. She being quyetlie her alone, without anie other com- 
panie, took up her eloaths above her knees, or thereby, to 
warm her ; a wind did come and caste the ashes upon her, and 
she was conceived of ane inan-chyld. Severall tymes there- 
after she was verie sick, and at last she was knowne to be with 
chyld. And then her parents did ask at her the matter heiroff, 
which the wench could not weel answer which way to satisfie 
tliem. At last she resolved tham with ane answer. As for- 
tune fell upon her concerning this marvellous miracle, the 
chyld being borne, his name was called Oili-doir Maghrevol- 
lich, that is to say, the Black Child, Son to the Bones. So 
called, his grandfather sent him to school, and so he was a 
good schollar, and godlie. He did build this church which 
doeth now stand in Lochyeld, called Kilmalie." — MacfaR- 
LANK, vX supra, ii. 188. 



Note 2 F. 



Tet ne'er again to braid her hair 

The virgin snood did Alice wear. — P. 203. 

The snood, or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided 
her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her 
maiden ciiaracter. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or 
toif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. 
But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to 
the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of mat- 
ron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced 
to the graver dignity of the curch. lu old Scottish songs there 
occur many sly allusions to such misfortune ; as in the old 
words to the popular tune of " Ower the muir aman^ the 
heather:" 

' Down amang the broom, the broom, » 

Down amang the broom, my dearie, 
The lassie lost her silken snood, 
That gard her greet till she was wearie.' 



Note 2 G. 



The desert gave him visions wild. 

Such as might suit the spectre's child. — P. 204. 

Id adopting the legend concerning the birth of the Founder 
of Uie Church of Kilmalie, the author has endeavored to trace 
the effects which such a belief was likely to produce, in a bar- 
oarons age. on the person to wliom it rivaled. It seems likely 
Jiat he must have become a fanatic or an impostor, or that 
mixture of both which forms a more frequent character than 
either of them, as existing separately. In truth, mad persons 
are frequently more anxious to impress upon others a faith in 
thoir visions, than they are themselves confirmed in their rsal- 
hy ; as, on the other hand, it is difficult for the most cool- 
aeaded impostor long to personate an enthusiast, without in 
lome degree believing what he is so eager to have believed. 

wa* a natural attribute of such a character 33 the supposed 



hermit, that he should credit the numerous snperstitioiu) Iriti; 
which the minds of ordinary Highlanders are almost ahray* 
imbued. A few of these are slightly alluded to in this stanza 
The River Demon, or Rivei^horse. for it is that form which h 
commonly assumes, is the Kelpy 0*" "'»' ^ ' wUnds, an evi! and 
malicious spirit, delighting to forebode and to witness ca;«naity. 
He frequents most Highland lakes and rivers ; and one of hii 
most memorable exploits was performed upon the baoiu ol 
Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms the eoet)« 
of our action : it consisted in the destruction of a funera. pro- 
cession with a'l its attendants. The "noontide hag," called 
in Gaelic Glas-lich, a tall, emaciated, gigantic fems'je &3,v.n 
is supposed in particular to haunt tne district of Knoidart. A 
goblin, dressed in antique armor, and iiavingone hand covered 
with blood, called from that circumstance, Lham-dearg, oi 
Red-hand, is a tenant of the forests of Glenmore and Rothie- 
murcus. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful .n shape ano 
malignant in disposition, are believed to frequent different 
mountains and glens of the Highlands, where any unusual 
appearance, produced by mist, or the strange lights that are 
sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never fails to pre- 
sent an apparition to the imagination of the solitary and mel 
ancholy mountaineer. 



Note 2 H. 



The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream. — P. 304. 

Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have 
a tutelar, or rather a domestic spirit, attached to them, who 
took an interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wail- 
ings, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant wa« 
called May Moullach, and appeared in the form of a girl, who 
had her arm covered with hair. Grant of Rothiemnrcus had 
an attendant called Bodach-an-dun, or the Ghost of the Hill ; 
and many other examples might be mentioned. The Ban- 
Schie implies a female Fairy, whose lamentations were often 
supposed to precede the death of a chieftain of particular fam- 
ilies. When she is visible, it is in the form of an old woman, 
with a blue mantle and streaming hair. A superstition of tha 
same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferioi 
ranks of the native Irish. 

The death of the head of a Highland family is also 8om» 
times supposed to be announced by a chain of lights of differ 
ent colors, called Dr'eug, or death of the Druid. The direc- 
tion which it takes, marks the place of the funeral. [See tl>« 
Essay on Fairy Superstitions in the Border Minstrelsy.] 



Note 2 I. 



Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 

Along Benharrow's shingly side. 

Where mortal horsemen ne'er might ride. — P. 904. 

A presage of the kind alluded torn the text, is still belibvM 
to announce death to the ancient Highland family of M'Leai 
of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is hearJ 
to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice «ronn( 
the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intima- 
ting the approaching calamity. How easily the eye, as wel 
as the ear, may be deceived upon such occasions, is evideai 
from the stories of armies in the air, and other spectral phe- 
nomena with which history abounds. Such an apparition ii 
said to have been witnessed upon the side of Southfell moun* 
tain, between Penrith and Keswick, upon the 23d Jane, 1744 
by two persons, William Lancaster of Blakehills, ajd Danii* 
Stricket, his servant, whose attestation to the fact, with a fnu 
account of the apparition, dated the 21st July, 1745, is printed 
in Clarke's Survey of the Lakes. The apparit wn consisted <■ 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



251 



|B»eral troops of horse moving in regular order, with a steady 
mpid motion, making a curved sweep around the fell, and 
•eeniing to the spectators to disapi^ar over the ridge of the 
mountain. Many persons witnessed this phenomenon, and 
observed the last, or last but one, of the supposed troop, oc- 
:;asionally leave his rank, and pass at a gallo,) to thA front, 
*riien he resumed the same steady pace. This curious appear- 
ince, making the necessary allowance for imagination, may be 
wrfcips sufficiently accounted for by optical deception. — Sur- 
tty ef the Lakes, p. 25. 

Huperniinral intimati.jEB of approaching fate are not, 1 be- 
ecvi, confined to Highland families. Howel mentions having 
teen at a lapidary's, in 1632, a monumental stone, prepared 
for four persons of the name of Oienham, before the death of 
each of whom, the inscription stated a white bird to have ap- 
r»eared and fluttered around the bed while the patient was in 
Jie last agony. — Familiar Letters, edit. 1726, 247. Glanville 
mentions one family, the members of which received this sol- 
5mn sign by music, the sound of which floated from the family 
residence, and seemed to die in a neighboring wood ; another, 
that of Captain Wood of Bampton, to whom the signal was 
given by knocking. But the most remarkable instance of the 
kind occurs in the MS. Memoirs of Lady Fanshaw, so exem- 
plary for her conjugal affection. Her husband. Sir Richard, 
and she, chanced, during their abode in Ireland, to visit a 
friend, the head of a sept, who resided in his ancient baronial 
castle, surrounded with a moat. At midnight she was awa- 
kened by a ghastly and supernatural scream, and, looking out 
of bed, beheld, by the moonlight, a female face and part of 
the form, hovering at the window. The distance from the 
ground, as well as the circumstance of the moat, excluded the 
possibility that what she beheld was of this world. The face 
was that of a young and rather handsome woman, but pale ; 
and the hair, which was reddish, was loose and dishevelled. 
The dress, which Lady Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her 
rt marking accurately, was that of the ancient Irish. This ap- 
parii.ion continued to exhibit itself for some time, and then 
vanished with two shrieks, similar to that which had first ex- 
cited Lady Fanjhaw's attention. In the morning, with infinite 
terror, she communicated to her host what she had witnessed, 
and found him prepared not only to credit but to account for 
.he apparition. " A near relation of my family," said he, 
" expired last night in this castle. We disguised our certain 
expectation of the event from you, lest it should throw a cloud 
over the cheerful reception which was due you. Now, be- 
fore such an event happens in this family and castle, the fe- 
male spectre whom you have seen always is visible. She is 
Believed to be the spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom 
one of my ancestors degraded himself by marrying, and whom 
afterwards, to expiate the dishonor done his family, he caused 
to be drowned in the castle moat." 



Note 2 K 



l^hose parents in Inch-Cailliaeh wave 

Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine' s grave. — P. 204. 

AWth-Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most 
•i«aiitii'i' islaud at the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. The 
■vb tich belonging to the former nunnery was long used as the 
^ace of worship for the parish of Buchanan, but scarce any 
restiges of it now remain. The burial-ground continues to be 
need, and contains the family places of sepulture of several 
neighboring clans. The raohuments of the lairds of Mao- 
Tegor, and of other families, claiming a descent from the old 
Bcottish King Alpir»9, are most remarkable. The Highland- 
»rs are us zeiloo? of their rights of sepulture as may be ex- 
acted from a people whose whole laws and government, if 

B«U'< flm. or AVbitanndoy. 



clanship can be called so, turned upon the single principle Oi 
family descent. " May his ashes be scattered on the water," 
was one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations which 
they used against an enemy. [See a detailed description o< 
the funeral ceremonies of a Highland chieftain in the Fair Mai<< 
of Perth. Waverlty J^ovels, vol. 43, chaps, x. and xi. Edit. 
1834.] 



Note 2 L. 



the dun-deer's hide 



On fieeter foot was ntver tied. — P. 005. 

The present brogue of the Highlanders is made of ha^Wried 
leather, with holes to admit and let out the water ; for walk- 
ing the moors dry-shod is a matter altogether out of the ques- 
tion. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made of un- 
dressed deer's hide, with the hair outwards ; a circumstance 
which procured the Highlanders the well-known epithet ol 
Red-shanks. The process is very accurately described by one 
Elder (himself a Highlander) in the project for a union between 
England and Scotland, addressed to Henry VIII. "We go 
a-hunting, and after that we have slain red-deer, we flay ofl 
the skin, by-and-by, and setting of our bare-foot on the inside 
thereof, for want of cunning shoemakers, by your grace's par' 
don, we play the cobblers, compassing and measuring so much 
thereof as shall reach up to our ankles, pricking the nppei 
part thereof with holes, that the water may repass where it 
enters, and stretching it up with a strong thong of the same 
above our said ankles. So, and please your noble grace, we 
make our shoes. Therefore, we using such manner of shoes, 
the rough hairy side outwards, in your grace's dominions o( 
England, we be called Roughfooted Sc<<ts." — PiNKBRroN** 
History, vol. ii. p. 397. 



Note 2 M. 



The dismal coronach. — P. 206. 

The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ulalatus of the 
Romans, and the Ululoo of the Irish, was a wild expression of 
lamentation, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a 
departed friend. When the words of it were articulate, they 
expressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan 
would sustain by his death. The following is a lamentation ai 
this kind, literally translated from the Gaelic, to some of th« 
ideas of which the text stands indebted. The tune is so {•opB- 
lar, that it has since become the war-march, or Gatbe^ng of 
the clan. 

Coronach on Sir Lauchlan, Chief of Maclean. 

*' Which of all the Senachies 
Can trace thy line from the root up to Paradise, 
But Macvuirih, the son of Fergus? 
No sooner had thine ancient stately tree 
Taken firm root in Albion, 
Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw. — 
'Twas then we lost a chief of deathless name. 



" 'Tis no base weed — no planted tree, 
Nor a seedling of last Autumn ; 
Nor a sapling planted at Beltain ;' 
Wide, wide around were spread its lofty branch) 
But the topmost bough is lowly laid I 
Thoa hast forsaken us before Sawaine.* 

" Thy dwelling is the winter house ; — 
Load, Bad, sad, and mighty is thy death-vng I 

I HaUowe'ta. 



f52 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Oh I conrteons champion of Montrose ! 
Oh I stately warrior of the Celtic Isles ! 
Thoi shalt buckle thy harness on no more I" 

The coronach has for some years past been superseded at 
funerals by the use of the bagpipe ; and that also is, like many 
•tfaer Highland peculiarities, falling intodisase, unless in remote 
iistrioU. 



Note 2 N. 



BtnUAi aatD the Cross of Fire, 

It glanced likt lightning up Strath-Ire. — P. 



207. 



Inspection of the provincial map of Perthshire, or any large 
nap of Scotland, will trace the progress of the signal through 
the small district of lakes and mountains, which, in exercise of 
my poetical privilege, I have subjected to tiie authority of my 
imaginary chieftain, and which, at the period of my romance, 
*as really occupied by a clan who claimed a descent from 
Alpine ; a clan the most unfortunate, and most persecuted, but 
neither the least distinguished, lea£t powerful, nor lesist brave, 
of the tribes of the Gael. 

" Slioch non rioghridh duchaisacb 
Bha-shios an Dun-Staiobhinish 
Aig an roubh crun na Halba othus 
'Stag a cheil ducha« fast ris." 

The first stage of the Fiery Cross is to Dnnoraggan, a place 
near the Brigg of Turk, where a short stream divides Loch 
Achray from Loch Vennachar. From thence, it passes to- 
wards Callender, and then turning to the left up the pass of 
Leny, is consigned to Norman at the Chapel of Saint Bride, 
which stood on a small and romantic knoll in the middle of 
the valley, called Strath-Ire. Tombea and Arnandave, or 
Artlmandave, are names of places in the vicinity. The alarm 
18 then supposed to pass along the lake of Lnbnaig, and 
through tiie various glens in the district of Balquidder, in- 
cluding the neighboring tracts of Glentinlas and Strathgartney. 



Note 2 0. 



J^ot faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze. — P. 208. 

It may be necessary to inform the southern reader, that the 
heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that the 
iheep may have the advantage of the young herbage produced, 
in room of the tough old heather plants. This custom (exe- 
crated by sportsmen) produces occasionally the most beautiful 
nocturnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge of a 
rolcano. This simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a 
warrior, in the fine ballad of Hardyknnte, is said to be " like 
Ore tc heather eet." 



Note 2 P. 

JVo oath, but by his chieftain's hand, 

JVo laie, but Roderick Dhu't command.- P. 208. 

The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clans- 
Bien to their chief, rendered this both a common and a solemn 
»ath. In other respects they were like most savage nations, 
sapricious in their ideas concerning the obligatory power of 
e&tbs. One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the dirk, 
hipiaj«tinc apoQ themselves death bv that or a similar weapon. 



if they broke their vow. But for oaths in the usual lurm, the) 
are said to have little respect. As for the reverence due to tht 
chief, it may be guessed from the following odd example of a 
Highland point of honor : — 

" The clan whereto the above-mentioned tribe belongs, ii 
the only one I have heard of, which is without a chief; that 
is, being divided into families, under several chieftains, with- 
out any particular patriarch of the whole name. And this ii 
a great reproach, as may appear from an affair that fell onl at 
my table in the Highlands, between one of that name and • 
Cameron. The provocation given by the latter was — ' MaOM 
your chief.' — The return of it at once was — ' Yov are a fooL 
They went out next morning, but having early notice of it, i 
sent a small party of soldiers after them, which, in all probar 
bility, prevented some barbarous mischief that might have en- 
sued ; for the chiefless Highlander, who is hinisr.lf a petty chief- 
tain, was going to the place appointed with a small-sword and 
pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old man) took with him only 
his broadsword, according to the agreement. 

" When all was over, and I had, at least seemingly, recon- 
ciled them, I was told the words, of which I seemed to think 
but slightly, were, U> one of the clan, the greatest of all provo- 
cations." — LetUfrt from Scotland, vol. ii. p. 221 



Note 2 Q. 



a loto and lonely cell. 

By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 

Has Coir-nan- Uriskin been sung. — P. 209. 

This is a vftry steep and moat romantic hollow in the moun- 
tain of Benvenue, overhanging the southeastern extrenity o( 
Loch Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and 
overshadowed with birch-trees, r^ingled with oaks, with spon- 
taneous production of the mountain, even where its cliffs ap- 
pear denuded of soil. A dale in so wild a situation, and amid 
a people whose genius bordered on the romantic, did not re- 
main without appropriate deities. The name literally ■mplies 
the Corri, or Den, of the Wild or Shaggy men. Perhaps this, 
as conjectured by Mr. Alexander Campbel),' may have origi- 
nally only implied its being the haunt of a ferocious banditti. 
But tradition has ascribed to the Urisk, wht gives name to 
the cavern, a figure between a goat and a man ; in short, how- 
ever much the classical reader may be startled, precisely tha* 
of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisk seems not to have inherited 
with the form, the petulance of the silvan deity of the classics 
his occupation, on the contrary, resembled those of Milton'» 
Lnbbar Fiend, or of the Scottish Brownie, though he differed 
from both in name and appearance. " The Urisks." sayi 
Dr. Graham, " were a set of lubberly snpernatnrals, who, like 
the Brownies, could be gained over by kind attention, to per- 
form the drudgery of the farm, and it was beheved that many 
of the families in the Highlands had one of t!ie order attached 
to it. They were supposeu to be dispersed over the Highland!, 
each in his own wild recess, but the solemn stated meetir.gs o. 
the order were regularly held in this Cave of Benvenue. Thii 
current superstition, no doubt, alludes to some circumstance in 
the ancient history of this country." — Scenery on the Southern 
Confines of Perthshire, p. 19, 1806. — It must be owned thai 
the Coir, or Den, does not, in its present state, meet our ideai 
of a subterraneous grotto, or cave, being only a small and 
narrow cavity, among huge fragments of rocks rudely piled 
together. But such a scene is liable to convulsions of nature, 
whici a Lowlander cannot estimate, and which may have 
choked up what was originally a cavern. At least the nama 
and tradition warrant the author of a fictitious tale to assert iU 
having been such at the remote period in which this avena if 
jaid. 

1 Journey from Edinburgh, ISOt, p. IW. 



Note 2 R. 

The wild pass of Beal-nam-bo. — P. 209. 

Bealach-nam-bo, or the pass of caltl&,'is a most magnificent 
glade, overhung with aged birch-trees, a little higher up the 
monntain than the Coir-nan-Uriskin, treated of in a former note. 
The whole composes the most sublime piece of icener^ that 
Imagination can conceive. 



Note 2 S. 



wS single page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attended on his lord. — P. 209. 

A Highland chief, being as absolute in his patriarchal an 
thority as any prince, had a corresponding number of officers 
ittached to his person. He had his body-guards, called 
Luichttach, picked from his clan for strength, activity, and 
sntire devotion to his person. These, according to their de- 
aerts, were sure to share abundantly in the rude profusion of 
his hospitality. It is recorded, for example, by tradition, that 
Allan MacLean, chief of that clan, happened upon a time to 
hear one of these favorite retainers observe to his comrade, 
that their chief grew old. — " Whence do yon infer that I" re- 
plied the other. — " When was it," rejoined the first, " that a 
soldier of Allan's was obliged, as I am now, not only to eat 
the flesh from the bone, but even to tear oft' the inner skin, or 
filament ?" The hint was quite sufficient, and MacLean next 
morSng, to relieve his followers from such dire necessity, un- 
dertook an inroad on the mainland, the ravage of which alto- 
gether effaced the memory of his former expeditions for the like 
purpose. 

Our officer of Engineere, so often quoted, has given ns a 
distinct list of the domestic officers who, independent of 
Luichttach, or gardes de corps, belonged to the establishment 
rf a Highland Chief. These are, 1. The Henchman. See 
Jiese Notes, p. 247. 2. The Bard. See p. 243. 3. Bladier, 
n spokesman. 4. Oillie-more, or sword-bearer, alluded to in 
the text. 5. Oillie-casfiue, who carried the chief, if on foot, 
over tlie fords. 6. OilHe-comstraine, who leads the chief's 
^orse. 7. Oi/lie-Trushanarinsh, the baggage man. 8. The 
piper. 9. The piper's gillie or attendant, who carries the 
iagpipe.i Although this appeared, naturally enough, very 
ridiculous to an English officer, who considered the master of 
such a retinue as no more than an English gentleman of jC500 
i-year, yet in the circumstances of the chief, whose strength 
and importance consisted in the number and attachment of his 
followers, it was of the last consequence, in point of policy, to 
have in his gift subordinate offices, which called immediately 
round his person those who were most devoted to him, and, 
aeing of value in their estimation, were also the means of re- 
Mrvding them. 



Note 2 T. 



The Taghairm call'd ; by liftich, afar, 

Our sires foresaw the events of war. — P. 211. 

The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various snper- 
it'tious modes of inquiring into futurity. One of the most 
noted was the Taghairm, mentioned in the text. A person 
was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-slain bullock, and de- 
posited beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or 
tn •ome other strange, wild, and unusual situation, where the 
icenery around him suggested nothing but objects of horror. 
In this situation, he revolved in his mind the question pro- 
posed ; and whatever was impressed upon him by his exalted 
hna^aation, passed for the inspiration of the disembodied 

1 Letters from Scotland, vol. ii. p 15. 

• The reader m«j h*--* xet with the story of the " King of the Cat«," 



spirits, who haunt the desolate recesses. In some of thesi 
Hebrides, they attributed the same oracular power to a larg« 
black stone by the sea-sliore, which they approacheo with eep 
tain solemnities, and considered the first fancy which came f.to 
their own minds, after they did so, to be the undoubted dictate 
of the tutelar deity of the stone, and, as such, to 3e, if posdi 
ble, punctually complied with. Martin has recort'ied the fol- 
lowing curious modes of Highland augury, in which th« j 
Taghairm, and its effects upon the person vho yra» vabjecta' 
to it, may serve to illustrate the text. 

" It was an ordinary thing among the over-curiom to *0^ 
suit an invisible oracle, concerning the fate of familieg and 
battles, &c. This was performed three different ways : th« 
first was by a company of men, one of whom, being detached 
by lot, was afterwards carried to a river, which was the boun- 
dary between two villages ; four of the company laid hold 
on him, and, having shut his eyes, they took him by the legs 
and arms, and then, tossing him to and again, struck his hips 
with force against the bank. One of them cried out, What 
is it you have got here? another answers, A log of birch- 
wood. The other cries again. Let his invisible friends appear 
from all quarters, and let them relieve him by giving an answer 
to our present demands ; and in a few minutes after, a number 
of little creatures came from the sea, who answered the que* 
tion, and disappeared suddenly. The man was then set at 
liberty, and they all returned home, to take their measurei 
according to the prediction of their false prophets ; but the 
poor deluded fools were abused, for their answer was still am- 
biguous. This was always practised in the night, and may 
literally be called the works of darkness. 

" I had an account from the most intelligent and judicious 
men in the Isle of Skie, that about sixty-two years ago, the 
oracle was thus consulted only once, and that was in the pa- 
rish of Kilmartin, on the east side, by a wicked and mischie- 
vous race of people, who are now extinguished, both root and 
branch. 

" The second way of consulting the oracle was by a party 
of men, who first retired to solitary places, remote from any 
house, and there they singled out one of their number, and 
wrapt him in a big cow's hide, which they folded about him ; 
his whole body was covered with it, except his head, and so 
left in this posture all night, until his invisible friends relieved 
him, by giving a proper answer to the question in hand ; which 
he received, as he fancied, from several persons that he found 
about him all that time. His consorts returned to him at tha 
break of day, and then he communicated his news to them ; 
which often proved fatal to those concerned in such nnwai* 
rantable inquiries. 

" There was a third way of consulting, which was a confi^ 
mation of the second above mentioned. The same company 
who put the man into the hide, took a live cat, and put him 
on a spit ; one of the number was employed to turn the spit, 
and one of his consorts inquired of him, What are yom doing 1 
he answered, I roast this cat, until his friends answer the quet- 
tion ; which must be the same that was proposed by the man 
shut up in the hide. And afterwards, a very big cat' comei, 
attended by a number of lesser cats, desiring to reJieve LIm 
cat turned upon the spit, and then answers the qaest^oa. 11 
this answer proved the same that was given to the aan in tht 
hide, then it was taken as a confirmation of the otiier, wUch, 
in this case, was believed infallible. 

" Mr. Alexander Cooper, present minister of North- Vist, 
told me, that one John Erach, in the Isle of Lewis, assured 
him, it was his fate to have been led by his curiosity with 
some who consulted this oracle, and that he was a night within 
the hide, as above mentioned ; during which time he felt and 
heard such terrible things, that he could not express them ; lh« 
impression it made on him was such as could never go off, and 
be said, for a thousand worlds he would never again be con 

in Lord Littleton's Lettera. It is well known in the Highlands M a narsev 

tale. 



254 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



rernrd in the like performance, for this had disordered him to a 
high degree. He confessed it ingenuously, and with an air of 
•Teat remorse, and seemed to be very penitent nnder a just 
«nse of so great a crime : he declared this about five vears 
lince, and is still living in the Lewis for any tiling I know." — 
Description of the Western Isles, p. 110. See also Pen- 
Hktcx'a Spottish Tour, vol. ii. p. 361. 



Note 2 U. 



The choicest of the prey we had, 

When swept our merry-men Oallangad. — P 211. 

1 know not if it be worth observing, that this passage is 
Wken almost literally from the month of an old Highland 
Kern or Ketteran, as they were called. He used to narrate 
the merry doings of the good old time when he was follower ^ 
of Rob Roy MacGregor. This leader, on one occasion, thought 
proper to make a descent upon the lower part of the Loch 
Lomond district, and summoned all the heritors and farmers 
to meet at the Kirk of Drymen, to pay him black-mail, i. e. 
tribute for forbearance and protection. As this invitation was 
supported by a band of thirty or forty stout fellows, only one 
gentleman, an ancestor, if I mistake not, of the present Mr. 
Grahame of Gartmore, ventured to decline compliance. Rob 
Roy instantly swept his land of all he could drive away, and 
among the spoil was a bull of the old Scottish wild breed, 
whose ferocity occasioned great plague to the Ketterans. " But 
ere we had reached the Row of Dennan," said the old man, 
"a child might have scratched his ears."> The circumstance 
b a minute one, but it paints the times when the poor beeve 
was compelled 

" To hoof it o'er as many weary miles, 
With goading pikenien hollowing at his heels, 
As e'er the bravest antler of the woods." 

Ethwald. 



Note 2 V. 



That huge cliff, whose ample verge 

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. — P. 211. 

There is a rock so named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by 
which a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place 
is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, 
who was supplied with provisions by a woman, who lowered 
them down from the brink of the precipice above. His water 
he procured for liimself, by letting down a flagon tied to a 
itring, into the black pool beneath the fall. 



Note 2 "W. 



Raven 

That, watching while the deer is broke. 

His morsel claims with sullen croak 7 — P 211. 

Mtvkti— Quartered — Every thing belonging to the chase was 
jBi'ter of solemnity among our ancestors ; but nothing was 
wore so than the mode of cutting up, or, as it was technically 
Jailed, breaking, the sl.iughtered stag. The forester had his 
allotted portion ; the hounds had a certain allowance ; and, to 
make the division as general as possible, the very birds had 
(heir share also. " There is a little gristle," says Turberville, 
' which is upon the spoone of the brisket, which we call the 
laven's bone ; and I have seen in some places a raven so wont 
and acca«tomed to it, that she would never fail to croak and 
cry for it 4u> the time yon were in breaking up of the deer, 
and woali. not depart till she had it." In the very ancient 

i Thii aiieu<1t>te wna, in former editions, inaccurately ascribed to George 
Uacgregsr o{ Glengyla, called UMun* Dhu, or Black-knee, a relation of 



metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, that peerless knight, who Ii 
said to have been the very diviset of all rules of chase, did 
not omit the ceremony : — 

" The raaen he yane his yiftes 
^at on the fonrched tre." 

Sir Tristrem. 

The raven might aiso challenge his rights by the Book of Si 
Albans ; for thus says Dame Juliana Bernen : — 



' Slitteth anon 



The bely to the side, from the corbyn bone ; 
That is corbyn's fee, at the death he will be." 



Jonson, in "The Sad Shepherd 
count of the same ceremony : 



gives a more po»t.vcal M 



" Marian. — He that undoes IiKa, 

Doth cleave tne onsKei oone, upon tne spoon 

Of which a little gristle grows — yon call it — 

Robin Hood. — The raven's bone. 

Marian. — Now o'er head sat a raven 
On a sere bough, a grown, great bird, and hoarse. 
Who, all the while the deer was breaking up, 
So croak'd and cried for't, as all the huntsmen, 
Especially old Scatlitock, thought it ominous." 



Note 2 X. 



Which spills the foremost foeman's life. 
That party conquers in the strife. — P. 212. 

Though this be in the text described as a response of th€ 
Taghairra, or Oracle of the Hide, it was of itself an angury 
frequently attended to. The fate of the battle was often an- 
ticipated in the imagination of the combatants, by observing 
which party first shed blood. It is said that the Highlander! 
under Montrose were so deeply imbued with this notion, that 
on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor, they murdered & 
defenceless herdsman, whom they found in the fields, merely 
to secure an advantage of so much conseqnetice to theii 
party. 



Note 2 T. 

* Mice Brand.— P. 213 

This little fairy tale is founded upon a very curious Danish 
ballad, which occurs in the Kmmpe Viser, a collection of 
heroic songs, first published in 1591, and reprinted in 1695, 
inscribed by Anders Sofrensen, the collector and editor, to 
Sophia, dueen of Denmark. I have been favored with a 
literal translation of the original, by my learned friend Mr. 
Robert Jamieson, whose deep knowledge of Scandinavian an- 
tiquities will, 1 hope, one day be displayed in illustration ol 
the history of Scottish Ballad and Song, for which no man 
possesses more ample materials. The story will remind the 
readers of the Border Minstrelsy of the tale of Yon^g Tarn- 
lane. But this is only a solitary and not very marl ed injtano* 
of coincidence, whereas several of the other ballads m th« 
same collection find exact counterparts in the Kampe Viser. 
Which may have been the originals, will be a question for 
future antiquaries. Mr. Jamieson, to secure the power of 
literal translation, has adopted the old Scottish idiom, which 
approaches so near to that of the Danish, as alnpost to give 
word for word, as well as line for line, and indeed in many 
verses the orthography alone is altered. As Wt?ter Haf, 
mentioned in the first stanzas of the ba^.aJ, means the West 
Sea, in opposition to the Baltic, or East Sea, Mr. Jamiesoa 

Rob Roy, but, as I Imve bfen assured, not addicted to M» predalay ex 
cesses.— iVoI« M TAtrd Kdilton. 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE. LAKE. 



2St 



BJlines to be of opinion, that the scene of the disenchantment 
b laid in one of the Orkney, or Hebride Islands. To each 
verse in tne original is added a burden, liaving a kind of mean- 
ing of its own, but not applicable, at least not uniformly ap- 
plicable, to the sense of the stanza to which it is subjoined : 
'hid is very common both in Danish and Scottish song. 


They nighed near the hiuband'i hoot* ' 
Sae lang their tails did hing. 

9. 

The hound he yowls i' the yam. 

The herd toots in his horn ; 
The earn scraighs, and the cock craws, • 




As the husbande has gi'en him his corn. 


THE ELFIN GRAY. 


10. 


imAMfLATIO FROM THE DANISH E^MPE VISBR, p. 143, 
AVO FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1591. 


The Elfen were five score and seven, 

Sae laidly and sae grim ; 
And they the husbaude's guests maon te, 

To eat and drink wi' him. 

11. 
The husbande, out o' Villenshaw, 

At his winnock the Elves can see : 
" Help me, now, Jesn, Mary's son ; 

Thir Elves they mint at me !" 


Der ligger en void i Vester Uaf, 

Der agter en bonde at bygge : 
Hand furer did baade hog og kund, 

Og agter der om vinteren at ligge. 

CDK VILDK DIUR OS DIURENK CDI SKOFVItN.) 


1. 


Tuere liggs a wold in Wester Haf, 
There a husbande means to bigg, 

And thither he carries baith hawk and honnd, 
There meaning the winter to ligg. 

(The wild deer and daes i' the shaw out.) 

2. 


12. 

In every nook a cross he coost, 
In his chalmer maist ava ; 

The Elfen a' were fley'd thereat, 
And flew to the wild-wood shall 


He taks wi' him baith honnd and cock, 
The langer he means to stay, 

The wild deer in the shaws that are 
May sairly rue the day. 

(The wild deer, (S«.) 


13. 
And some flew east, and some flew -wrett. 

And some to the norwart flew ; 
And some they flew to the deep dale dov^ 

There still they are, I trow.a 


3. 


14. 


He's hew'd the beech, and he's fell'd the aik, 

Sae has he the poplar gray ; 
And grim in mood was the grewsome elf, 

That be sae bald he may. 


It was then the weiest Elf, 

In at the door braids he ; 
Agast was the husbande, for that Elf 

For cross nor sign wad flee. 


4. • 


15. 


He hew'd him kipples, he hew'd him hawks, 

Wi' mickle moil and haste, 
Syne speer'd the Elf i' the knock that bade, 
Wha's hacking here sae fast 1" 


The huswife she was a canny wife. 
She set the Elf at the board ; 

She set before him baith ale and meat, 
Wi' mony a weel-waled word. 


5. 

Byne op and spak the weiest Elf, 
Crean'd as an immert sma : 

" It's here is come a Christian mao ;— 
1 . fley him or he ga." 


16. 

" Hear thou, Gudeman o' Villenshaw 

What now I say to thee ; 
Wha bade thee bigg within our bonndi. 

Without the leave o' me 1 


6. 

It'i np syne started the firsten Elf, 
And glower d about sae grim : 

" It's we'll awa' to the husbande'g hoose. 
And hald a court on him. 


17. 

" But, an' thou in our bonnds will bigg 

And bide, as well may be, 
Then thou thy dearest huswife maan 

To me for a lemman gie." 


7. 
* Here hews he down baith skngg and shaw, 

And works us skaith and scorn : 
His hnswife he sail gie to me ; — 

Th»« s rue tlie day they were bora 1" 


18. 
Up spak the luckless husbande then. 

As God the grace him gae ; 
" Eline she is to me sae dear, 

Her thou may nae-gate hae. 


8. 
The Ellen a' i' the knock that were, 
Gaed dancing in a string ; 


19. 
Til. the Elf he answer'd aa be coalh i 
" Let bot my huswife be. 


( Tkii itK^tar guatrain ttands thus in tU orifimUi— 

" Hunden hand gi6r i gaardan ; 

Hiorden tudd i lit bom ; 
<Knien skriger, og banen galer, 

Bom bonisn b»id« tifrct sitkom." 


3 /n tA< DaMsh :— 

" Sommft flay^ o»ter, og aommt flfly» ntim 

NogI6 flOyft n6r paa ; 
NogI* flSye ned i dyben* diklft, 
Jeg troer de er* aer ininu." 



250 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Uk wbate'er, o' gnie or gear, 
b mine, awa wi' thee." — 

20. 
" Then I'll thy Eline tak and thee, 

Aneath my feet to tread ; 
And hide thy goad and white monie 

Aneith ray dwalling stead." 

21. 

The hnsbande and his household a' 

In sary rede they join : 
" Far bettet that she be now forfaim. 

Nor tliat we a' should tyne." 

22. 
Up, will of rede, the hnsbande stood, 

Wi' heart fu' sad and sair ; 
\nd he has gien liis huswife Eline 

Wi' the young Elfe to fare. 

23. 
Then blyth grew he, and sprang about : 

He took her in his arm : 
The rud it left her comely cheek, 

Her heart was clem'd wi' barm. 

24. 

A waefu' woman then she was ano. 
And the moody tears loot fa' . 

" God rew on me, unseely wife. 
Ho V hard a weird I fa' I 

25. 
" My fay I plight to the fairest ^bt 

That man on mold mat see ; — 
Maun I now raell wi' a laidly El, 

His light lemman to be ?" 

26. 

He minted ance — he minted twice, 
Wae wax'd her heart that syth : 

riyne the laidliest fiend he grew that e'« 
To mortal ee did kyth. 

27. 

When he the thirden time can mint 

To Mary's son she pray'd, 
And the laidly Elf was clean awa. 

And a fa'» knight in his stead. 



This fell under a linden green, 
That again his shape he found, 

O' ivae and care was the word nae mair, 
A' were sae glad that stound. 

29. 

" O dearest Eline, hear thou this. 

And thou my wife sail be. 
And a' the goud in merry England 

Sae freely I'll gi'e thee I 

30. 

' Whan I was but a little wee balm. 

My mither died me fra ; 
My stepmither sent me awa' fra her ; 

I tnm'i till an Elfin Oray. 

31. 

' To thy hnabande I a gift will gie, 
Wi' mioUe state and gear, 



Ab mends for Eline his hniwifa ;— 
Thon's be my heartis dear." 

32. 

" Thou nobil knyght, we thank now God 
That has freed us frae skaith ; 

Sae wed thon thee a maiden free, 
And joy attend ye baith I 

83. 

" Sin' I to thee nae maik can be 

My dochter may be thine ; 
And thy gud will right to fulfill, 

Lat this be our propine." — 

34. 
' I thank thee, Eline, thou wise woman ; 

My praise thy worth sail ha'e ; 
And thy love gin I fail to win, 
Thou here at hame sail stay." 

35. 

The husbande biggit now on his Be, 
And nae ane wrought him wrang ; 

His dochter wore crown in Engeland, 
And happy lived and lang. 

36. 

Now Eline, the husbande's huswife, hai 
Cont'd a' her grief and harms ; 

She's mither to a noble queen 
That sleeps in a kingis %jrm8. 



GLOSSAET. 



St. 1. 



Wold, a wood ; woody fastness. 

Hnsbande, from the Dan. hos, with, and bonde, s 
villain, or bondsman, who was a cultivator of th« 
gron^, and could not quit the estate to which he 
was attached, without the permission of his lord. 
This is the sense of the word, in the old Scottish 
records. In the Scottish " Burghe Laws," trans- 
lated from the Reg. Jilajest. (Auchinleck MS. in 
the Adv. Lib.), it is used indiscriminately with the 
Dan. and Sw«.^. bonde. 

Bigg, build. 

Ligg, lie. 

Daes, does. 

2. Shaw, wood 
Sairly, sorely. 

3. jlik, oak. 
Orewsome, terrible. 
Bald, bold. 

4. Kipples (couples), beams joined at the top, for snp> 

porting a roof, in building. 
Bawks, balks ; oros.s-beamB. 
Moil, laborious industry. 
Speer'd, asked. 
Enoch, hillock. 

5. Weiest, smallest. 

Crean'd, shrunk, diminished ; from the Gaelic, erian, 
very small. 

Immert, emmet ; ant. 

Christian, used in the Danish ballads, &c. in contnr 
dis|inction to demoniac, as it u in England in con- 
tradistinction to brute ; in which sense, a person o( 
the lower class in England, would call a Jeu at » 
7Vr/t a Christian 

Fley, frighten. 

6. Oloieer'd, stared. 
Hold, hold. 

7. Skuyir thadi* 



Skait/i, hann. 

8. Sighed, approached. 

9. Yowls, howls. 

Toots. — In the Dan. tvde is applied both to the 

howling of a dog, and the sound of a horn. 
Scraighs, screams. 

10. Laidly. loathly ; disgustingly ugly. 
Qrim, fierce. 

11. Winnock, window. 
Mint, aim at. 

12 Cvost, cast. . 

Chalmer, chamber 
Maist, most. 
Ava, of all. 

13. J\rorwart, northward. 
Trow, believe. 

14. Braids, strides quickly forward. 

Wad, would. • ^ 

15. Canny, adroit. 
Many, many. 
fVeel-waled, well chosen. 

17. .4n, if. 
Bide, abide. 
Lemman, mistress. 

18. ^ae-gate, nowise. 

19. Couth, could, knew how to. 
Lat be, let alone. 

Gude, goods ; property. 

20. Aneath, beneath. 
Dwalling-stead, dwelling-place 

21. fiary, sonowfnl. 

Rede, counsel ; consultation. 

Forfairn, forlorn ; lost ; gone. 

Tyne, (verb, nent.) be lost ; perish. 
S3. ff^sW o/ rede, bewildered in thought; in the Danish 
original " vildraadage ;" Lat. " inops consilii ;" 
Gr. Stopatv. This expression is left among tiie de- 
siderata in the Glossary to Ritson's Romances, 
and has never been explained. It is obsolete in the 
Danish as well as in English. 

Fare, go. 
m. Rud, red of the cheek 

Clem'd, in the Danish, klemt ; (which in the north 
of England is still in use, as the word starved is 
with us ;) brought to a dying elate. It is used by 
our old comedians. 

Harm, grief; as in the original, and in the old Ten- 
tonic, English, and Scottish poetry. 
S{4. Waefu', woeful. 

Moody, strongly and wilfully passionate. 

Rcw, take ruth ; pity. 

Dnseely, unhappy ; unblest. 

Weird, fate. 

Fa, (Isl. Dan. and Swed.) take ; get ; acquire ; pro- 
cure ; have for my lot. — This Gothic verb answers, 
in its direct and secondary significations, exactly to 
the Latin capio ; and Allan Ramsay was right in 
his definition of it. It is quite a different word from 
fa', an abbreviation of 'fall, or befall ; and is the 
principal root in fangen, to /an^, take, or lay hold 
of. 
85, Pay, faith. 

Mola, mould ; earth. 

Mat, mote ; might. 

Maun, must. 

Mell, mix. 

El, an elf. This term, in the Welch, gfgnifies itkat 

hag in itself the power of motion ; a moving priw 

t LnderOe." — The origfinal expresBion has been preserved here and else- 
irhei«, because no other could be found to supply its place. There is just as 
naeh meaning in it in the translation as in the original ; but it is a standard 
0»ftiih fcallad pnrase ; ana as nich. jt is hop*-j, it will be allowed to pau, 
^1 



ciple ; an intelligence ; a spirit ; an angel. In the 
Hebrew it bears the same import. 
36. Minted, attempted ; meant ; showed a mind, or in- 
tention to. The original is — 

" Hand mindte hende foret — og anden gang :- ■ 

Hun giordis i hiortet sa vee : 

End blef hand den lediste deif-vel 

Mand kunde med oyen see. 

Der hand vilde minde den tredie gang," <k(i 
Syth, tide ; time. 
Kyth, appear. 

28. Stound, hour ; time ; moment. 

29. Merry (old Tent, mere), famous , renowne<l ; in- 
swering, in its etymological meaning; exact)/ to ^t 
Latin mactus. Hence merry-men, as tlie aildresj o' 
a chief to his followers ; meaning, not men ol' mirtl- 
but of renown. The term is found in its originaj 
sense in the Gael, mara, and the Welsh mawr, great ; 
and in the oldest Tent. Romances, mar, mer and 
mere, have sometimes the same signification. 

Jl. Mends, amends ; recompense. 
33. Maik, match ; peer ; equal. 
Propine, pledge ; gift. 

35. ve, an island of the second magnitude ; an island of 
\he first magnitude being called a land, and ou» M 
the third magnitude a holm. 

36. Cour'd, recover'd. 



THE GHAIST'S WARNING. 



/2i 



TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH K£MPE VISER, p. 

By the permission of Mr. jamieson, this ballad is aitdea 
from the same curious Collection. It contaim somi 
passages of great pathos. 



Svend Dyring hand rider sig op under de, 

(Vare jeg selver ung) 
Der fcBste hand sig saa ven en moe. 

yMig lyster udi lunden at ride,) Srt, 



Child Dyring has ridden him up under oe i 

{Jlnd O gin I were young !) 
There wedded he him sae fair' a may. 

(/' the greenwood it lists me to ride.) 

Thegither they lived for seven lang yew 

(And O, f,'C.) 
And they seven bairns hae gotten m ten 

(/' the greenwood, &-C.) 

Sae Death's come there intill that stead, 
And that winsome lily tlower is dead. 

That swain he has ridden him np nnder Oe, 
And syne he has married anither may. 

He's married a may, and he's fessen her hame » 
But she was a gnm and a laidly dame. 

When into the castell court drave she. 

The seven bairns stood wi' the tear in their ee 

The bairns they stood wi' dnle and doubt ; - 
She up wi' her foot, and she kiok'd them out. 

9 " Fair.*^ — The Dan. and Swed. fen, van, or venne, and the Gn8L M%, 
in the oblique cases bhan (van), is the origin of the Scottish bofutt/ 
which has so much puzzled all uie etymolotrista. 



258 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



TioT ale nor mead to th« baimies she gave : 
'' But hnnger anil hate I'rae me ye's have." 

She took frae them the bowster blae, 
And ;aia, " Ye sail ligg i' the bare strae I" 

She took frae them the groff wax light : 

Siys. '• Now ye sail ligg i' the mirk a' night I" 

'Twas lang i the night, and the bairnies grat : 
Their raither she under the mools heard that ; 

That heard the wife ander the eard that lay : 
" For sooth maun I x) my baimies gae !" 

That wife can stand np at onr Lord's knee, 
And " May 1 gang and my bairnies see ?" 

She prigged sae sair, and she priggea eae lang, 
That he at the last ga'e her leave to gang. 

" And thou sail come back when the cock does craw, 
For thon nae langer sail bide awa." 

Wi' her banes sae stark a bowt she gae ; 
She's riven baith wa' and marble gray.' 

Wmu: near to the dwalling she can gang, 
The dogs they wow'd till the lift it rang. 

When she came till the castell yett, 
Her eldest doohter stood thereat. 

" Why stand ye here, dear dochter minet 
How are sma' brithers and sisters thine 1" — 

" For sooth ye're a woman baith fair and fine ; 
Bat ye are nae dear mither of mine." — 

" Ooh I how should I be line or fair 1 

My cheek it is pale, and the ground's my lair." — 

" My mither was white, wi' cheek sae red ; 
But thou art wan, and liker ane dead." — 

" Och ! how should I be white and red, 
Sae lang as I've been cauld and dead V 

A'hen she cam till the chalmer in, 
Down the bairns' cheeks the tears did rin. 

She buskit the tane, and she brush' d it there ; 
She kem'd and plaited the tither's hair. 

The thirden she doodl'd upon her knee. 
And the fourthen she dichted sap cannilie. 

3he 6 ta'en the fifthen upon her lap. 
And sweetly suckled it at her pap. 

Till her eldest dochter syne said die, 

•' Ye bid Child Dyring come here to me." 

Whan he ewn till the ohalmer in, 
Wi' angry mood she said to him : 

■' Meft yon rwuth o' ale and bread : 
My DKUmies qaail for hunger and need. 

I Tkt orifiiua o/thi> and the following itama it veryftnt. 
** Hun sktid op 8m6 modig^ beeu, 
U»x revenedi mcnr og pa» mumotstcen. 



" I left ahind me braw bowsters blae ; 
My baimies are liggin' i' the bare strae. 

" I left ye sae mony a groif wax light ; 
My baimies ligg i' the mirk a' night. 

" Gin aft I come back to visit thee, 
Wae, dowy, and weary thy luck shall Se.' 

Up spak little Kirstin in bed that 'ay : 
" To thy baimies I'll do the best I may." 

Aye when they heard the dog nirr and be 
Sae ga'e they the baimies bread and ale. 

Aye whan the dog did wow, in haste 

They cross'd and sain'd therasells frae the ghaiit 

Aye whan the little dog yowl'd, with fear 

(And O gin I were young!) 
They shook at the thought the dead was near 

(/' Ihe greenwood it lists me to ride.) 
or, 

(Fair words sae mony a heart then r.heor \ 

GLOSSARY. 

St. 1. May, maid. 

Lists, pleases. 

2. Stead, place. 

3. Bairns, children. 
In fere, together. 

Winsovie, engaging ; giving joy, fold T«mt.> 

4. Syne, then. 

5. Feisen, fetched ; broop^ni 

6. Drave, drove. 

7. Dule, sorrow. 
Dout, fear. 

8. Bowster, bolster ; cushioa ; bed. 
Blae, bine. 

Strae, straw. 

10. Oroff, great ; large in gir» 
Mark, mirk ; dark. 

11. Lang i' the night, late. 
Orat, wept. 

Mools, mould ; earth. 

12. Eard, earth. 
Oae, go. 

14. Prigged, entreated earnestly ind perseveringly. 
Gang, go. 

15. Craw, crow 

16. Banes, bones. 
Stark, strong. 

Bowt, bolt ; elastic spnp , ike th»v of • belt m • 

row from a bow. 
Riven, spilt asunder. 
Wa', wall. 

17. Wow'd, howled. 

Lift, sky, firmament; air. 

18. Yett, gate. 

19. Sma', small. 

22. Lire, complexion. 

23. Cald, cold. 

24. Till, to. 
Rin, mn. 

35. Buskit, dressed. 
Kem'd, combed. 
THtker, the other. 



Der him gik iD^nnem d«ii bj. 
De htmd* d* tuiU *<u *4/i • *%•" 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



25 Ji 



98. Routh, plenty. 

Quail, are quelled ; des. 
JVeedy want. 
5®. Ahind, behind. 

Braw, brave ; fine. 
31 Dowy, sorrowful. 
33. JVirr, snarl. 
Bell, bark. 

Sained, blessed ; literally, signed with the sign of 
the cross. Before the introduction of Christianity, 
Runes were used in saining, as a spell against the 
power of enchantment and evil genii. 
Ohaist, ghost. 



34 



Note 2 Z. 



the moody Elfin King. — P. 214. 

h a long dissertation upon the Fairy Superstitions, publish- 
ti in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, the most valuable 
part of which was supplied by my learned and indefatigable 
friend. Dr. John Leyden, most of the circumstances are coUect- 
sd which can throw light upon the popular belief which even 
yet prevails respecting them in Scotland. Dr. Graharae, au- 
thor of an entertaining work upon the Scenery of the Perth- 
thire Highlands, already frequently quoted, has recorded, with 
great accuracy, the peculiar tenets held by the Highlanders on 
this topic, in the vicinity of Loch Katrine. The learned author 
is inclined to deduce the whole mythology from the Druidical 
system, — an opinion to which there are many objections. 

" The Daoine Shi', or Men of Peace of the Highlanders, 
:hough not absolutely malevolent, are believed to be a peevish, 
repining race of beings, who, possessing themselves but a scanty 
portion of happiness, are supposed to envy mankind their more 
complete and substantial -njoyments. They are supposed to 
enjoy in their subterraneon . recesses a sort of shadowy happi- 
ness, — a linse! grandeur ; w4iich, however, they would willing- 
ly exchange for the morp .solid joys of mortality. 

" They are bel-'evid „c ahabit certain round grassy eminen- 
ces, where the" c le'^p * ■ aeir nocturnal festivities by the light 
of the moon. Vp*!' p .o'le beyond the source of the Forth 
above Loc) o< j .^ -to is x place called Coirshi'an, or the Cove 
of the Men •' P a -e, which is still supposed to be a favorite 
place <• f t/i' .r er d'.nce. In the neighborhood are to be seen 
many>o».ii' -' .ual eminences ; particularly one, near the head 
of the 'ik ., '.y -he ski'ts of which many are still afraid to pass 
ifter <u jf ,. It is believed, that if, on Hallow-eve, any person, 
lli/i> , p yC round one of these hills nine times, towards the left 
bard [sitiiatrorsum) a door shall open, by which he will be 
llmitted into their subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, of 
mortal race, have been entertained in their secret recesses. 
There they have been received into the most splendid apart- 
ments, and regaled with the most sumptuous banquets, and 
lelicions wines. Their females surpass the daughters of men 
In beauty. The seemingly happy inhabitants pass their time 
^ festivity and in dancing to notes of the softest music. But 
uihippy i« 'J)e mortal who joins in their joys, or ventures to 
»aytake of their dainties. By this indulgence, he forfeits for- 
ever the society of men, and is bound down irrevocably to the 
tondition of Shi'ich, or Man of Peace. 

" A woman, as is reported > the Highland tradition, was 
conveyed, in days of yore, into the secret recesses of the Men 
et Peace. There s',e was recognised by one who had formerly 
been an ordinary irortal,T)nt who had, by some fatality, be- 
;ome associated ' ith the Shi'ichs. This acquaintance, still 
retaining sont3 vx> ion of human benevolence, warned her of 
her danger, a'.d i' nnselled her, as she valued her liberty, to 
»bB-,aiu Pon". e -tJ 4 and drinking with them for a certain space 
»f *.;n>'.. S^e or mplied with the counsel of her friend ; and 
rher the pet-c-. assigned vas elapsed, she found herself again 



upon earth, restored to the society of mortals. It » added, 
that when she examined the viands which had been presented 
to her, and which had appeared so tempting to the eye, they 
were found, now that the enchantment was temoved, to cob 
sist only of the refuse of the earth." — P. 107-111. 



Note 3 A. 

Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 

Our moonlight circle's screen ? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? — P. 214. 

It has been already observed, that fairies, if not poiitivel 
malevolent, are capricious, and easily offended. They are, lik 
other proprietors of forests, peculiarly jealous of their rights o 
vert and venison, as appears from the cause of offence taken, 
in the original Danish ballad. This jealousy was also an attri- 
bute of the northern Duergar, or dwarfs ; to many of whose 
distinctions the fairies seem to have succeeded, if, indeed, they 
are not the same class of beings. In the huge metrical record 
of German Chivalry, entitled the Helden-Buch, Sir Hildebrand, 
ana tne otner neroes of whom it treats, are engaged in one ol 
their most desperate adventures, from a rash violation of the 
rose-garden of an Elfin, or Dwarf King. 

There are yet traces of a belief in this worst and most ma' 
cious order of fairies, among the Border wilds. Dr. Leyden hat 
introduced such a dwarf into his ballad entitled the Cout of 
Keeldar, and has not forgot his characteristic detestation of th« 
chase. 

The third blast that young Keeldar blew 

Still stood the limber fern. 
And a wee man, of swarthy hue, 

Upstarted by a cairn. 

' ' His russet weeds were brown as heaui 
That clothes the upland fell ; 
And the hair of his head was frizzly rad 
As the purple heather-bell 

' An urchin clad in prickles red. 
Clung cow'ring to his arm ; 
The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled 
As struck by fairy charm. 

" ' Why rises high the stag-hound's cry, 
Where stag-hound ne'er should be? 
Why wakes that horn the silent morn. 
Without the leave of me V — 

" ' Brown dwarf, that o'er the moorland strays, 

Thy name to Keeldar tell !' — 
' The Brown man of the Moors, who stays 
Beneath the heather-beri. 

" ' 'Tis sweet beneath the heather-bell 
To live in autumn brown ; 
And sweet to hear the lav'rock's swell, 
Far, far from tower and town. 

" ' But woe betide the shrilling i\pm, 
The chase's surly cheer ! 
And ever that hunter is forlorn, 
Whom first at mom 1 hear.' " 

The poetical picture here given of the Duergar correHponui 
exactly with the following Northumbrian legend, with which 
I was lately favored by my learned and kind Vien'l Mr. Sni- 
tees of Mainsforth, who has bestowed indefatij'.ble labor upo" 
the antiquities of tlie English Border counties. The subject 



J60 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



in itself so conons, that the length of the note will, I hope, be 
pardoned . 

" I lip.ve only one record to offer of the appearance of our 
NorUninibriau Duergar. My narratrix is Elizabeth Cockbnm, 
an ol - wife of Otferton, in this county, whose credit, in a case 
of th.<» kind, will not, I hoDe, be much impeached, when I add, 
tliat she is. by her dull neiglibors, supposed to be occasionally 
insane, but, by herself, to be at tliose times endowed with a 
"acuity of seeing visions, and spectral appearances, which shun 
'je cnrunion ken. 

• In the year before the great rebellion, two young men from 
Jlewoastle were ej)orting on the high moors above Elsden, and 
after pursuing their game several hours, sat down to dine in a 
^en glen, near one of the mountain streams. After their re- 
past, the younger lad ran to the brook for water, and after stoop- 
ing to drink, was sur])rised, on lifting his head again, by the ap- 
pearand" of a brown dwarf, who stood on a crag covered with 
brackens, across the burn. Tliis extraordinary personage did 
aot app-ar to be above half the stature of a common man, but 
was un ommonly stout and broad-built, having the appearance 
jf vast strength. His dress was entirely brown, the color of 
.he brackens, and his head covered with frizzled red hair. His 
countenance was expressive of the most savage ferocity, and 
nis eyes glared like a bull. It seems he addressed the young 
man first, threatening him with his vengeance, for having tres- 
l>assed on his demesnes, and asking him if he knew in whose 
[)resence he stood ? The youth rejjlied, that he now supposed 
liim to be the lord of the moors ; that he offended through ig- 
norance ; and offered to bring him the game he had killed. 
The dwarf was a little mollified by this submission, but re- 
marked, that nothing could be more offensive to him than such 
an offer, as he considered the wild animals as his subjects, and 
never failed to avenge their destruction. He condescended fur- 
ther to inform him, that he was, like himself, mortal, though 
of years far exceeding the lot of common humanity ; and (what 
[ should not have had an idea of) that he hoped for salvation. 
He never, he added, fed on any thing that had life, but lived 
n the summer on whortle-berries, and in winter on nuts and ap- 
ples, of which he had great store in the woods. Finally, he in- 
I'ited his new acquaintance to accompany him home and par- 
take his hospitality ; an offer which the youth was on the point 
of accepting, and was just going to spring across the brook 
(which, if he had done, says Elizabeth, the dwarf would cer- 
tainly have torn him in pieces), when his foot was arrested by 
the voice of his companion, who thonght he had tarried long ; 
and on looking round again, ' the wee brown man was tied.' 
The story adds, that he was imprudent enough to slight the ad- 
monition, and to sport over the moors on his way homewards ; 
but soon after his return, he fell into a lingering disorder, and 
died within the year." 



Note 3 B. 



Who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green ? — P. 214. 

As the Daoine Shi', or Men of Peace, wore green habits, 
\hey were supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured 
lO assume their favorite color. Indeed, from songe reason 
which -las been, perhaps, originally a general superstition, 
irreen is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular tribes and 
counties. The Caithness men, who hold this belief, allege as 
a. rea.son, that their banils wore that color when they were cut 
off at the battle vf Flodden ; and for the same reason they 
avoid crossing the Ord on a Monday, being the day of the week 
on which their ill-omened array set forth. Green is also dis- 
liked by those of the name of Ogilvy ; but more especially is it 
■leld fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It is remembered of 
Ui aged gentleman of that name, that when his horse fell in a 
fox-chase, he accounted for it at once by observing, that the 
vhincord attached to his lash was of this unlucky color. 



Note 3 C. 

For thou wert christen' d man. — P. 214. 

The elves were supposeo greatly to envy the privileges ao 
quired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortak 
who had fallen into their power a certain precedence, foandet 
upon this advantageous distinction. Tamlane, in the old bak 
lad, describes his own rank in the fairy processioa : — 

" For I ride on a milk-white steed, 
And aye nearest the town , 
Because I was a cbristen'd knight, 
They gave me that renown." 

I presume that, in the Danish ballad of the Elfin Oray (se* 
Appendix, Note 3 A), the obstinacy of the " Weiest Elf," 
who would not flee for cross or sign, is to bo derived from the 
circumstance of his having been " cbristen'd man." 

How eager the Elves were to obtain for their offspring tha 
prerogatives of Christianity will be proved by the following 
story : — " In the district called Haga, in Iceland, dwelt a no- 
bleman called Sigward Forster, who had an intrigue with one 
of the subterranean females. The elf became pregnant, and 
exacted from her lover a firm promise that he would procure 
the baptism of the infant. At the appointed time, the mothel 
came to the churchyard, on the wall of which she placed a 
golden cup, and a stole for the priest, agreeable to the .lustom 
of making an offering at baptism. She then stood a little apart 
When the priest left the church, be inquired the meaning of 
what he saw, and demanded of Sigward if he avowed himself 
the father of the child. But Sigward, ashamed of the connec- 
tion, denied the paternity. He was then interrogated if he de- 
sired tha* the child should be baptized ; but this also he an- 
swered in the negative, lest, by such request, he ahould admit 
himself to be the father. On which the chil-. was left un- 
touched and unbaptized. Whereupon the mother, in extreme 
wrath, snatched up the infant and the cnp, uid retired, leaving 
the priestly cojie, of which fragments are still in ^leservation 
But this female denounced and imposed upon Sigward andliig 
posterity, to the ninth generation, a singular disease, with which 
many of his descendants are afflicted at this day." Thus wrota 
Einar Dudmond, pastor of the parish of Garpsdale, in Iceland, 
a man profoundly versed in learning, from whose manascnpt it 
was extracted by the learned Torfieus. — Historia H^'IA Kr»- 
kii, UafniiC, 1715, prefatio. 



Note 3 D. 



And gayly shines the Fairy-land — 
But all is glistening show. — P. 214. 

No fact respecting Fairy-land seems to be bettei ascertained 
than the fantastic and illusory nature of their apparent pleasnre 
and s[)lendor. It has been already noticed in the former quo- 
tations from Dr. Grahame's entertaining volume, and may be 
confirmed by the following Highland tradition : — " A woman, 
whose new-born child had been conveyed by them into theil 
secret abodes, was also carried thither herself, to remain, how- 
ever, only until she should suckle her infant, f^he one day, 
during this period, observed the Shi'ichs busily employed ia 
mixing various ingredients in a boiling caldron ; and, as soon an 
the composition was prepared, she remarked that they all care- 
fully anointed their eyes with it, laying the remainder a«id« 
for future use. In a moment when they were all absent, sbi 
also attempted to anoint her eyes with the precious drug, bnl 
had time to apply it to one eye only, when the Daoine Shi' le- 
turned. But with that eye she W£is henceforth enabled to se« 
every thing as it really paissed in their secret abodes. She saw 
every object, not as she hitherto had done, in deceptive splen- 
ior and elegance, but in its genuine colors and form. Th« 
gaudy ornaments »f the apartment were reduced to the waL. 



if a gloomy cavern. Soon after, having discharged her office, 
ihe was dismissed to her own home. Still, however, she re- 
tained the faculty of seeing, with lier medicated eye, every 
thing that was done, anywhere in her presence, by the decep- 
tive art of the order. One day, amidst a throng of people, she 
chanced to observe tlie Shi'ich, or man of peace, in wliose pos- 
session she had left her child ; though to every other eye invisi- 
ble. Prompted by maternal aflection, she inadvertently accosted 
him, and began to inquire after the welfare of her child. The 
man of peace, astonished at being thus recognized by one of 
siortal race, demanded how she had been enabled to discover 
turn. Awed by the terrible frown of his countenance, she ac- 
knowledged what she had done. He spat in her eye, and ex- 
tinguished it forever." — Grahame's Sketches, p. 11&-118. 
It is very remarkable, that this story, translated by Dr. Gra- 
hame from popular Gaelic tradition, is to be fonnd in the Otia 
Imperialia of Gervase of Tilbury.' A work of great interest 
might be compiled upon the origin of popular fiction, and the 
transmission of similar tales from age to age, and from country 
io country. The mythology of one period would then appear 
U> pass into the romance of the next century, and that ijito the 
nursery tale of the subsequent ages. Such an investigation, 
while it went greatly to diminish our ideas of the richness of 
.nman invention, would also show, that these fictions, how- 
ever wild and childish, possess such charms for the populace, 
as enable them to penetrate into countries unconnected by man- 
ners and language, and having no apparent intercourse to af- 
ford the means of transmission. It would carry me far beyond 
my bounds, to produce instances of this community of fable 
among nations who never borrowed from each other any thing 
intrinsically worth learning. Indeed, the wide diffusion of 
popular fictions may be compared to the facility with which 
itraws and feathers are dispersed abroad by the wind, while 
valuable metals cannot be transported without trouble and la- 
bor. There lives, I believe, only one gentleman, whose unlim- 
ited acquaintance with this subject might enable him to do it 
justice ; I mean my friend, Mr. Francis Douce, of the British 
Museum, whose usual kindness will, I hope, pardon my men- 
tioning his name, while on a subject so closely connected with 
his (itensive and curious researches. 



Note 3 E. 



- I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
ind, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away 
To the joyless Elfin bower. — P. 214. 

The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited from the regions 
if humanity by a son of crimping system, which extended to 
julnlta as well as to infants. Many of those who were in this 
ivorid supposed to have discharged the debt of nature, had 
»nly become denizens of the " Londe of Faery." In the 
beautiful Fairy Romance of Orfee and Heurodiis (Orpheus 
»nd Eruydice) in the Auchinleck MS. b the following striking 
numeration of persons thus abstracted from middle earth. 
Mr. Kitson unfortunately publislied this romance from a copy 



I fThis Btory is still current in the moors of Staffordshire, and adapted 
ty Sto peasantry to their own meridian. I have repeatedly heard it told, 
tfzActly aa here, by msti-'S who could not read. My last authority was a 
■aUtr near Chcadle. — R. Jiuieson.] 

" One other legend, in a similar strain, lately communicated by a very 
pltelli^ent young lady, is given, principally because it furnishes an oppor- 
femity of pursuing an ingenious idea suggested by Mr. Scott, in one of his 
eftmed notes to the Lady of the Lake : — 

[" A young man, roaming one day through the forest, observed a nnm- 
ler of persons all dressed in green, issuing from one of those round emi- 
lenees which are commonly accounted fairy hills. Each of them in suc- 
leMioft csUei upon a person by name to fetch his horse. A caparisoned 
A«ed mstap^Y appeared ; they all mounted, and sallied forth into the re- 
#oiu i'Ki The young man, like Ali Baba in the Arabian Nights, ven- 



in which the following, and many othei highly poetioic. pw 

sages, do not occur : — 

" Then he gan biholde about al, 
And seighe ful liggeand with in the wal 
Of folk that were tliidder y-brought, 
And thought dede and nere nought 
Some stode withouten hadde ; 
And sum non armes nade ; 
And some thuruh the bodi hadde •sonDrfp ; 
And some lay wode y-bounde ; 
And sum armed on hors sete ; 
And sum astrangled as thai ete ; 
And sum war in water adreynt ; 
And sum with fire al forschreynt ; 
Wives ther lay on childe bedde ; 
Sum dede, and sum awedde ; 
And wonder I'ele ther lay t^sides. 
Right as thai slepe her undertides ; 
Eche was thus in the warl y-nome. 
With fairi thider y-come." 



^OTE 3 F. 



Tfho ever reck'd, where, how, or when^ 

The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain ? — P. 21i» 

St. John actually used this illustration when engaged in cou 
futing the plea of law proposed tor the unfortunate Earl o. 
Strafford : "It was true, we gave laws to hares and deer, be- 
cause they are beasts of chase ; but it was never accountei' 
eitlier cruelty or foul play to knock foxes or wolves nn '. a 
head as they can be found, because they are beasts o: p.'- ■. 
In a word, the law and humanity were alike ; the one being 
more fallacious, and the other more barbarous, than in any 
age had been vented in such an authority." — Clarendon's 
History of the Rebellion. Oxford, 1702, fol. vol. p l'*^ 



Note 3 G, ' 

his Highland cheer, 

The harden' d flesh of mountain-deer. —P. 219 

The Scottish Highlanders, in former times, had a concisi 
mode of cooking their venison, or rather of dispensing with 
cooking it, which appears greatly to have surprised the French 
whom chance made acquainted with it. The Vidame of Char- 
ters, when a hostage in England, during the reign of Edwart' 
VI., was permitted to travel into Scotland, and penetrated a> 
far as to the remote Highlands (au fin fond des Sauvages). 
After a great hunting party, at which a most wonderful qi an- 
tity of game was destroyed, he saw these Scottish *'s3«^t» 
devour a part of their venison raw, without any farther pre}* 
ration than compressing it between two batons of woorf, sf • 



tured to pronounce the same name, and called for his horse. The 9t«<»i 
inmiediately appeared ; he mounted, ftnd w.HS6oon joiTied to the i;iii-y cbou. 
He remained with them for a yeiir, going about with them to taird anr* 
weddings, and feasting, though unseen by mortal eyes, on the -^ictunls tbM 
were exliibited on those occasions. They had one day gone t<, a weddiiig 
where the cheer was abim Jant. During the feast the bridegroom sneexed. 
The young man, according to the usual custom, said, * God bless you 1' 
The fairies were offended at the pronunciation of the sacrec name, and aa 
eured him, that if he dared to repeat it, they would pimish him. Ths 
bridegroom sneezed a second time. He repeated hia bleesinff they threat- 
ened more tremeudous vengeance. He sneezed a third time ; he blessed 
him as before. The fairies were enraged ; they tumbled him from a pre 
cipice ; but he found himself unhurt, and was restored to the society 9 
mortals."— Dr. Grahame's Sketches, second edit. p. 255-7. - "ee M»*» 
"Fairy Superstitions," Rob Roy, ,N. ed^'O 



to force ont tbe blood, and render it extremely hard. This 
•hey "eckoned a great delicacy ; and when the Vidame par- 
tool* of it, his compliance with their taste rendered him ex- 
trem ily popular. This <:urious trait of manners was com- 
mnnicated by Mons. de Montmorency, a great friend of the 
Vidame, to Brantome, by wliom it is recorded in yiea des 
Uommes I/lustres, Discours Ixxxix. art. 14. The process 
by which the raw venison was rendered eatable is described 
verv minutely in the romance of Perceforest, where Estonne, a 
S''^<>Ish knijjht-errant, having slain a deer, says to hig corn- 
pan. jn Claudius : " Sire, or raangerez vous et moy aussi. 
Voire si nous anions de feu, dit Claudius. Par I'ame de mon 
pere, di.«t Estonne, ie vous atourneray et cuiray a la maniere 
de nostre pays comme pour cheualier errant. Lots tira son 
espee, et sen vint a la branche dung arbre, et y fait vng grant 
trou, et puis fend la branche hien dieux piedx, et boute la 
enisse du serf entredenx, et puis prent le licol de son cheval, 
et en lye la branche, et destraint si fort, que le sang et les hu- 
meurs de la chair saillent hors, et demeure la chair donlce et 
seiche. Lors prent la chair, et oste ius le cuir, et la chaire 
demeure aussi blanche comme si ce feust dung chappon. 
Dont dist a Claudius, Sire, ie la vous aye caiste a la guise de 
mon pays, vous en pouez manger hardyement, car ie mange- 
ray premier. Lors met sa main a sa selle en vng lieu quil y 
auoit, et tire hors sel et poudre de poiure et gingembre, mesle 
ensemble, et le iecte dessns, et le frote sns bien fort, puis le 
couppe a moytie, et en donne a Claudius I'une des pieces, et 
puis mort en I'autre aussi sauoureussement quil est aduis que 
il en feist la pouldre voller. Quant Claudius veit quil le man- 
geoit de tel goust, il en print grant faim, et commence a man- 
ger tresvoulentiers, et dist a Estonne: Par I'ame de moy, ie 
ne mangeay oncquesmais de chair atournee de telle guise : 
mais doresenauant ie ne me retourneroye pas hors de mon 
chemin par auoir la cuite. Sire, dist Estonne, quant is suis 
on desers d'Eeosse, dont ie suis seigneur, ie cheuaucheray hnit 
lours ou quinze que ie n'entreray en chaste! ne en maison, et 
li ne verray feu ne personne viuanc fors que bestes sauuages, 
et de celles mangeray atournees en ceste maniere, et mieulx 
me plaira que la viande de I'empereur. Ainsi sen vont man- 
geant et cheuauchant iusques adonc quilz arriuerent sur une 
moult belle tbntaine que estoit en vne valee. duant Estonne 
la vit i! dist a Claudius, allons boire a ceste fontaine. Or beu- 
Qon«, dist Estonne, du boir que le grant dieu a pourueu a 
to ites gens, et que me plaist mieulx que les cernoises d'An- 
gleterre." — L,a Tresdegante Hystoire du tresnoble Roy 
Perceforest. Paris, 1531, fol. tome i. fol. Iv. vers. 

After all, it may be doubted whether la chaire nostree, for 
BO the French called the venison thus summarily prepared, was 
any thing more than a mere rude kind of deer-ham. 



Note 3 H. 



N'ol then claimed sovereignty his due 

IVhilt .Albany, with feeble hand, 

Held borro'c'd truncheon nf command. — P. 221. 

There is scarcely a more disorderly period in Scottish his- 
MTy than that which succeeded the battle of Flodden, and 
occupied tne minority of James V. Feuds of ancient stand- 
ing broke out like old wounds, and every quarrel among the 
independent nobility, which occurred daily, and almost houi^ 
V, gave rise to fresh bloodshed. "There arose," says Pits- 
eottie. ■• great trouble and deadly feuds in many parts of Scot- 
land, both in the north and west parts. The Master of Forbes, 
n the north, slew the Laird of Meldrnm, under tryst ;" (i. e. 
at nn agreed and secure meeting.) " Likewise the Laird of 
Drommelzier slew the Lord Fleming at the hawking ■ and 
ikewise there wa.s slaughter among many other great lords." 
— P 121. Nor was the matter much mended under the gov- 
•mment o* the Earl of Angus: for though he caused the 



King to ride through all Scotland, " under the pretence *iid 
color of justice, to punish thief and traitor, none were fonnd 
greater than were in their own company. And none nt thai 
time durst strive with a Douglas, nor yet a Douglas's mac • 
for if they would, they got the worst. Therefore, none darsf 
plainzie of no extortion, theft, reiff, nor slaughter, done t« 
them by the Douglases, or their men ; in that cause '.hey wer* 
not heard, so long as the Douglas had the court in giiidinj " 
Ibid. p. 133. 



Note 3 L 



The Gael, of plain and river heir. 

Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. — P. 22L 

The ancient Highlanders verified in their practice the linel 
of Gray : — 

" An iron race the mountain cliffs maintain, 
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain ; 
For where unwearied sinews must be found, 
With side-long plough to quell the flinty ground ; 
To turn the torrent's swift descending flood ; 
To tame the savage rushing from the wood ; 
What wonder if. to patient valor train'd. 
They guard with spirit what by strength they gain'd ! 
And while their rocky ramparts round they see 
The rough abode of want and liberty 
(As lawless force from confidence will grow), 
Insult the plenty of the vales below V 

Fragment on the Jilliance of Education 
and Oovertiment. 

So far, indeed, was a Creagh, or foray, from being held dis- 
graceful, that a young chief was always expected to show bis 
talents for command so soon as lie assumed it, by leading hit 
clan on a successful enterprise of this nature, either against a 
neighboring sept, for which constant feuds usually fnruished 
an apology, or against the Sassenach, Saxons, or Lowlanders, 
for which no apology was necessary. The Gael, great tradi- 
tional historians, never forgot that the Lowlands had, at soma 
remote period, been the property of their Celtic forefathers, 
which furnished an ample vindication of all the ravages that 
they could make on the unfortunate districts which lay within 
their reach. Sir James Grant of Grant is in possession of a 
letter of apology from Cameron of Lochiel, wliose men had 
committed some depredation upon a farm called Moinea, 
occupied by one of the Grants. Lochiel assures Grant, that, 
however the mistake had happened, his instructions were pr» 
cise, that the party should foray the province of Moray (a 
Lowland district), where, as he coolly observes, " all men takt 
their prey.' 



Note 3 K 



-/ only meant 



To show the reed on which you leant. 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. — P. 222. 

This incident, like some other passages in the poem, itl&*- 
trative of the character of the ancient Gael, is not imaginary, 
but borrowed from fact. The Highlanders, with the incon- 
sistency of most nations in the same state, were alternately 
capable of great exertions of generosity, and of cruel reveng* 
and perfidy. The following story I can only quote from tn> 
dition, but with such an assurance from those by whom it wal 
communicated, as permits me little doubt of its authenticitf. 
Early in the last century, John Gunn, a noted C%teran, of 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



263 



Highland robber, infested Invemess-shire, and levied Hack- 
nail up to the walls of the provincial capital. A garrison WEis 

hen maintained in the castle of that town, and their pay 
(country banks being unknown) was usually transmitted in 
ipecie, under the^ guard of a small escort. It chanced that 
the officer who commanded this little party was unexpectedly 
obliged to halt, about thirty miles from Inverness, at a miser- 
able inn. About night-fall, a stranger, in the Highland dress, 
and of very prepossessing appearance, entered the same house. 
Separate accommodations being impossible, the Englishman 
offered the newly-arrived guest a part of his supper, which 
was accepted with reluctance. By the conversation he foum. 
ais new acquaintance knew well all the passes of the country, 
which induced him eagerly to request his company on the en- 
suing morning. He neither disguised his business and charge, 
nor his apprehensions of that celebrated freebooter, John 
Gunn. — The Highlander hesitated a moment, and then frank- 
ly consented to be his guide. Forth they set in the morning ; 
and, in travelling through a solitary and dreary glen, the dis- 
course again turned on John Gunn. " Would you like to see 
him 1" said the guide; and, without waiting an answer to 
this alarming question, he whistled, and the English officer, 
with his small party, were surrounded by a body of High- 

anders, whose numbers put resistance out of question, and 
who were all well armed. " Stranger," resumed the guide, 
" I am that very John Gunn by whom you feared to be inler- 
"•epted, and not without cause : for I came to the inn last night 
•vith the express purpose of learning your route, that I and my 
followers might ease you of your charge by the Kiad. But I 
am incapable of betraying the trust you reposed in me, and 
Having convinced you that yon were in my power, I can only 
dismiss you unplundered and uninjured." He then gave the 
officer directions for his journey, and disappeared with his 
party as suddenly at they had presented themselves. 



ItOTE 8 L. 



Un Bochastle the mouldering lines 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle-wings unfurl' d. — P. 223. 

The torrent which discharges itself from Loch Vennachar, 
the lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form the 
scenery adjoining to the Trosachs, sweeps through a flat and 
extensive moor, called Bochastle. Upon a small eminence, 
called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on the plain itself, 
are some intrenchments, which have been thought Roman. 
There is, adjacent to Callender, a sweet villa, the residence of 
Captain Faiifoul, entitled the Roman Camp. 

[" One of the most entire and beautiful remains of a Roman 
ancampment now to be found in Scotland, is to be seen at 
Ard ch, near Greenloaning, about six miles to the eastward 
of Unnh'ane. This encampment is supposed, on good grounds, 
U; have >?en constructed during the fourth campaign of Agri- 
sola in Britain ; it is 1060 feet in length, and 900 in breadth ; 
H could contain ii6,000 men, according to the ordinary distri- 
batior. of the Roman soldiers in their encampments. There 
appears to have been three or four ditches, strongly fortified, 
mrrounding the camp. The four entries crossing the lines 
ara still to be seen distinctly. The general's quarter rises 
above the level of the camp, but is not exactly in the centre. 
It is a regular square of^twenty yards, enclosed with a stone 
wall, and containing the foundations of a house, 30 feet by 20. 
There is a subterraneous communication with a smaller en- 
wmpment at a little distance, in which several Roman helmets, 
pears, fee, have been found. From this camp at Ardoeh, 
the great Roman highway runs east to Bertha, about 14 miles 
tiitant, where the Roman army is believed to b»ve passed over 
Uie Ta» into Stj.-athmore." — Orahamk.] 



Note 3 M. 

See, here, alt vantageless I stand, 

Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand. — P. 223. 

The duellists of former times did not always stand upoi 
those punctilios respecting equality of arms, which are no'" 
judged essential to fair combat. It is true, that in formet 
combats in the lists, the parties were, by the judges of th« 
field, put as nearly as possible in the same citr urastanoOB, 
But in private duel it was often otherwise. In that desperaja 
combat which was fought between duelus, a minion of Henry 
III. of France, and Antraguet, with two seconds on each side, 
from which only two persons escaped alive, Quelus complained 
that his antagonist liad over him the advantage of a poniard 
which he used in parrying, while his left hand, which he wa» 
forced to employ for the same purpose, was cruelly mangled. 
When he charged A"traguet with this odds, " Thou hast don« 
wrong," answered he, '' to forget thy dagger at home. We are 
h»re to fight, and not to settle punctilios of arms." In a similar 
duel, however, a younger brother of the house of Aubanye, in 
Angoulesme, behaved more generously on the like occasion, 
and at once threw away his dagger when his enemy challenged 
it as an undue advantage. But at this time hardly any thing 
can be conceived more horribly brutal and savage than the 
mode in which private quarrels were conducted in France. 
Those who were most jealous of the point of honor, and 
acquired the title of Ruffines, did not scruple to take every 
advant;ige of strength, numbers, surprise, and arms, to ac- 
complish their revenge. The Sieur de Brantome, to whose 
discourse on duels I am obliged for these particulars, gives 
the following account of the death and principles of his friend 
the Baron de Vitaux ; — 

" J'ay oui conter a un Tireur d'armes, qui apprit a Millaud 
a en tirer, lequel s'appelloit Seigneur le Jacques Ferron, de la 
ville d' Ast, qui avoit est6 a moy, il fut despuis tu6 a Sainote 
Basille en Gascogne, lors que Monsieur du Mayne I'assiegea 
lui servant d'Ing6nieur; et de malheur, je I'avois addressi* 
audit Baron quelques trois mois auparavant, pour I'exercer d 
tirer, bien qu'il en sceust prou ; mais il ne'en fit compte ; et le 
laissant, Millaud s'en servit, et le rendit fort adroit. Se Seig 
neur Jacques done r.ie raconia, qu'il s'estoit mont6 sur un 
noyer, assez loing, pour en voir le combat, et qu'il ne vist 
jamais homme y aller plus bravement, ny plus resolument, 
ny de grace plus asseur6e ny determin6e. II commenca de 
marcher de cinquante pas vers son ennemy, relevant souvent 
ses moustaches en haut d'une main ; et estant a vingt pas de 
son ennemy (non plustost), il mit la main ^ I'espfee qu'il tenoit 
en la main, non qu'il I'eust tir6e encore ; mais en marchant, i! 
fit voUer le fourreau en I'air, en le secouant, ce qui est le bean 
de cela, et qui monstroit bien un grace de combat bien as- 
seur6e et froide, et nullement t6meraire, comme il y en a qui 
tirent leurs espies de cinq cents pas de I'ennemy, voire da 
mille, comme j'en ay veu aucuns. Ainsi monrut ce bnve 
Baron, le parogon de France, ;_u'on nommoit tel, a bien yen- 
ger ses querelles, par grandes et determinees resolutions. 1 
n'estoit pas seuleraent estim6 en France, n-ais en Italie, 
Espaigne, Allemaigne, en Bou'ogne et Angle.erre ; et d*^ 
roient fort les Etrangers, venant en France, le voir ; est M 
I'ay veu, tant sa renommfee volloit. II estoit for*. petJt |« 
corps, mais fort grand de courage. Ses ennemit) disoieni un u 
ne tuoit pas bien ses gens, que par advantages et superch rries. 
Certes, je tiens de grands capitaines, et mesme d'ltaliens, qui 
ont estez d'autres fois les premiers vengeurs du raonde, ic 
ogni mode, disoient-ils, qui ont tenu cette maxirae, i|i:'hp« 
snpercherie ne se devoit payer que par semblable .nonnoys 
etn'y alloit point la de dfishonneur." — Oeuvres le Brantome, 
Paris, 1787-8. Tome viii. p. 90-92. It may be necessary t« 
inform the reader, that this paragon of France was the most 
foul assassin of his time, and had committed many desperau 
murders, chiefly by the assistance of 'lis hireil banditti ; Iron 
which it may be conceived how litt.e the po<nt of honor ot thi 
penod deserved its name. I have chosen to gi>? uct heioe* 



who are indeed of an earlier period, a stronger tincture of tlie 
ipirit of chivalry. 



Note 3 K 



111 fated it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw, 
For train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
Fiti-Javies's blade was sword and shield.- 



-P. 223. 



A round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, 
and studded with brass or iron, w.is a necessary part of a 
Highlander's equipment. In charging regular troops, they 
received the thrust of the bayonet in this buckler, twisted it 
aside, and used the broadsword against the encumbered 
soldier. In the civil war of 1745, most of the front rank of 
the clans were thus armed : and Captain Grose informs us, 
that, in 1747, the privates of the 42d regiment, then in Flan- 
lers, were, for the most part, permitted to carry targets. — 
Military Antiquities, vol. i. p. 164. A person thus armed 
had a considerable advantage in private fray. Among verses 
between Swift and Sheridan, lately published by Dr. Barret, 
there is an account of such an encounter, in which the cir- 
snmstances, and consequently the relative superiority of the 
eombatauts, are precisely the reverse of those in the text : — 

" A Highlander once fought a Frenchman at Margate, 
The weapons, a rapier, a backsword, and target ; 
Brisk Monsieur advanced as fast as he could. 
But all his fine pushes were caught in the wood. 
And Sawney, with backsword, did slash him and nick him, 
While t'other, enraged that he conid not once prick him, 
Cried, ' Sirrah, you rascal, you son of a whore. 
Me will fight you, be gar ! if you'll come from your door.' " 

The use of defensive armor, and particularly of the buckler, 
ar target, was general in Q.ueen Elizabeth's time, although that 
of the single rapier seems to have been occasionally practised 
much earlier.' Rowland Yorke, however, who betrayed the 
fort of Zntphen to the Spaniards, for which good service he 
was afterwards poisoned by them, is said to have been the first 
who brought the rapier fight into general use. Fuller, speak- 
mg of the swash-bncklers, or bullies, of Q.ueen Elizabeth's 
time, says, — " West Pmithfield was formerly called Ruffians' 
3all, where such men usually met, casually or otherwise, to 
tfy masteries with sword and buckler. More were fright- 
ened than hurt, more hurt than killed therewith, it being 
accounted unmanly to strike beneath the knee. But since that 
desperate traitor Rowland Yorke first introduced thrusting 
with rapiers, sword and buckler are disused." In " The Two 
Angry Women of Abingdon," a comedy, printed in 1599, we 
4iave a pathetic complaint : — " Sword and buckler fight be- 
gins to grow out of use. I am sorry for it ; 1 shall never see 
pood manhood again. If it be once gone, this poking fight of 
rapier and dagger will come up ; then a tad man, and a good 
•word-and-buckler man, will be spitted like a cat or rabbit." 
But the rapier had upon the continent long superseded, m 
pnvaic duel, the use of sword and shield. The masters of 
the noble science of defence were chiefly Italians. They made 
great mystery of their art and mode of instruction, never suf- 
fered any person to be present but the scholar who was to be 
taught, and even examined closets, beds, and other places of 
possible concealment. Their lessons often gave the most 
treacherous advantages ; for the challenger, having the right to 
choose his weapons, frequently selected some strange, unusual, 
tnd inconvenient kind of arms, the use of which lie practised 
Under these instructors, and thus killed at his ease his antago- 
,ii8t, to whom it was presented for the first time on the field of 
vatCe. See Brantome's Disciurse on Jiuels, and the 

Ssa Doors'a lUostratioBB of Slmkipeare, vol. U. p. 61. 



work on the same subject, " si gentemeni ecrit," by Um 
venerable, Dr. Paris (fe Puteo. The Highlan ers continued t« 
use broadsword and t-arget until disarmed a.'ter the affair ol 
1745-6. 



Note 3 O. 



Thy threats, thy mercy I defy ! 

Let recreant yield, who fears to die. — P. 224. 

I have not ventured to render this duel so savagely desp* 
rate as that of the celebrated Sir Ewan of Locliiel, chief ol 
the clan Cameron, called, from his sable complexion, Ewan 
Dhu. He was the last man in Scotland who maintained the 
royal cause during the great Civil War, and his constant 
incursions rendered him a very unpleasant neighbor to the 
republican garrison at Inverlochy, now Fort-William. The 
governor of the fort detached a party of three hundred men 
to lay waste Lochiel's possessions, and cut down his trees ; 
but, in a sudden and desperate attack made upon them by 
the chieftain with very inferior numbers, they were almost all 
cut to pieces. The skirmish is detailed in a curious memoir rl 
Sir Ewan's life, printed in the Appendix of Pennant's Scot- 
tish Tour. 

" In this engagement, Lochiel himself had several wonder- 
ful escapes. In the retreat of the English, one of the strong- 
eat and bravest of the officers retired behind a bush, when he 
observed L*3hiel pursuing, and seeing him unaccompanied 
with any, he leapt out, and thought him his prey. They met 
one another with equal fury. The combat was long and 
doubtful : the English gentleman had by far the advantage in 
strength and size; but Lochiel, exceeding him in nimbleness 
and agility, m the end tript the sword out of his hand : they 
closed and wrestled, till both fell to the ground in each other's 
arms. The English officer got above Lochiel, and pressed him 
hard, but stretching forth his neck, by attempting to disengage 
himself, Lochiel, who by this time had his hands at liberty 
with his left hand seized him by the collar, and jumping at hia 
extended throat, he bit it with his teeth quite through, and 
kept such a hold of his grasp, that he brought away bis 
mouthful : this, he said, was the sweetest bit he ever had ta 
his lifetime."— \ol i. p. 375. 



Note 3 P. 



Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 

A Vouglas by his sovereign bled ; 

And thou, O sad and fatal mottnd ! 

That oft hast heard the death-aze sound. — P. 225. 

An eminence on the northeast of the Castle, where stat* 
ciiminals were executed. Stirling was often polluted witk 
noble blood. It is thus apostrophized by J. Johnston : — 

' ' Discordia tristis 



Hen quoties procerum sanguine tinxit humnm ! 
Hoc uno infelix, et felix cetera ; nusquam 
Letior aut cceli frons geniusve soli." 

The late of William, eighth earl of Douglas, whom Jamei 
11. stabbed in Stirling Castle with his own hand, and while 
under his royal safe-conduct, is familiar to all who read Scot- 
tish history. Murdack Duke of Albany, Duncan Earl of Len- 
nox, his father-in-law, and his two sons, Walter and Alexander 
Stuart, were executed at Stirling, in 1425. They were be- 
headed upon an eminence without the castle walls, bui making 
part of the same hill, from whence they could behold theii 
strong castle of Doune, and their extensive possessions. Thu 
"heading hill," as it was sometimes termed, bears commonly 
the less terrible name of Hurly-hacket, from its having beei 
the scene of a courtly amusement alluded to by Sir Dav'i 



APPEJ^DIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



26t 



•^ds&y, who Bays of the pastimes in which the young King 
• as engaged, 

" Some harled him to the Hurley-hacket ;" 

which consisted in sliding, in some sort of chair it may be 
opposed, from top to bottom of a smooth bank. The boys of 
Edinburgh, about twenty years ago, used to play at the hurly- 
ascket, on the Calton-hill, using for their seat a horse's skull. 



Note 8 Q. 
The burghers hold their sports to-day. — P. 225. 

Erery burgh of Scotland, of the least note, bat more espe- 
eially ths considerable towns, had their solemn play, or fes- 
tival, when feats of archery were exhibited, and prizes distrib- 
uted to those who excelled in wrestling, hurling the bar, and 
the other gymnastic exercises of the period. Stirling, a usual 
place of royal residence, was not likely to be deficient in pomp 
upon such occasions, especially since James V. was very par- 
tial to them. His ready participation in these popular amuse- 
ments was one cause of his acquiring the title of King of the 
Commons, or Rex Plebeiorum, as Lesley lias latinized it. The 
nsoal nrize to the best shooter was a silver arrow. Such a one 
is preserved at Selkirk and at Peebles. At Dumfries, a silver 
gun was substituted, and the contention transferred to fire- 
arms. The ceremony, as there performed, is the subject of an 
excellent Scottish poem, by Mr. John Mayne, entitled the 
Siller Gun, 1808, which surpasses the efforts of Fergusson, and 
comes near to those of Burns. 

Of James's attachment to archery, Pitscottie, the faithful, 
Jiough rude recorder of the manners of that period, hia given 
OS eviaence : — 

" In this year there came an embassador out of England, 
named Lord William Howard, with a bishop with him, with 
many other gentlemen, to the number of threescore horse, which 
were all able men and waled [picked] men for all kinds of 
games and pastimes, shooting, louping, running, wrestling, 
and easting of the stone, but they were well 'sayed [essayed 
or tried] ere they passed out of Scotland, and that by their own 
provocation ; but ever they tint : till at last, the Queen of 
Scotland, the King's mother, favoured the English-men, be- 
cause she was the King of England's sister ; and therefore she 
took an enterprise of archery upon the English-men's hands, 
contrary her son the king, and any six in Scotland that he 
would wale, either gentlemen or yeomen, that the English-men 
ihoald shoot against them, either at pricks, revers, or huts, as 
the Scots pleased. 

" The king, hearing this of his mother, was content, and 
gart her pawn a hundred crowns, and a tun of wine, upon the 
English-men's hands ; and he incontinent laid down as mnch 
Jot the Scottish-men. The field and ground was chosen in 
Bt. Andrews, and three landed men and three yeomen chosea 
to shoot against the English-men, — to wit, David Wemyss of 
that ilk, David Arnot of that ilk, and Mr. John Wedderbum, 
vicai of Dundee ; the yeomen, John Thompson, in Leith, Ste- 
ven Taburner, with a piper, called Alexander Bailie ; they 
ihot »ery near, and warred [worsted] the English-men of the 
•nterprise, and wan the hundred crowns and the tun of wine, 
wnich made the king very merry that his men wan the vio- 
iwy."— P. 147. 



Note 3 R. 

Robin Hood.—?. 226. 

The exhibition uf this renowned outlaw and his band was 
favorite frolic at such festivals as we are describing. This 

1 Book of the Universal Kirk, p. 414. 

1 8t« S«>t 'ish Historical and Romantic Ballads, Glasgow, 1808, ToL 



sporting, in which kings did not disdain to be ictors, was pro 
hibited in Scotland upon the Reformation, by a statute of tht 
6th Parliament of dueen Mary, c. 61, A. D. 1555, which or 
dered, under heavy penalties, that " na manner of person be 
chosen Robert Hude, nor Lrttle John, Abbot of Uiureason, 
ftueen of May, nor otherwise." But in 1561, the "rascal 
multitude," says John Knox, "were stirred up to make i 
Robin Hude, whilk enormity was of many years left and 
damned by statute and act of Parliament ; yet would they tot 
be forbidden." Accordingly, they raised a very serious tu- 
mult, and at length made prisoners the magistrates who en- 
deavored to suppress it, and would not release them till thej 
extorted a formal promise that no one should be punished fo« 
his share of the disturbance. It would seem, from the com- 
plaints of the General Assemby of the Kirk, that these profane 
festivities were continued down to 1592.' Bold Robin was, to 
to say the least, equally successful in maintaining his ground 
against the reformed clergy of England : for the simple aiv 
evangelical Latimer complains of coming to a country church 
where the people refused to hear him, because it was Robin 
Hood's day ; and his mitre and rochet were fain to give way 
to the village pastime. Much curious information on this sul^ 
ject may be found in the Preliminary Dissertation to the latt 
Mr. Ritson's edition of the songs respecting this memorable 
outlaw. The game of Robin Hood was usually acted in May ; 
and he was associated with the morrice-dancers, on whom so 
much illustration has been bestowed by the commentators on 
Shakspeare. A very lively picture of these festivities, con- 
taining a great deal of curious information on the subject of the 
private life and amusements of our ancestors, was thrown, by 
the late ingenious Mr. Strntt. into his romance entitled Queep 
hoo Hall, published after his death, in 1808. 



Note 3 S. 



Indifferent as to archer wight. 

The monarch gave the arrow bright. — P. 226. 

The Douglas of the poem is an imaginary person, a supposed 
un. <e of the Earl of Angus. But the King's behavinr daring 
an unexpected interview with the Laird of Kilspindie, one of 
the banished Douglases, under circnmstances similar to those 
in the text, is imitated from a real story told by Hume ol 
Godscroft. I would have availed myself more fully of the 
simple and affecting circumstances of the old history, had they 
not been already woven into a pathetic ballad by my friend 
Mr. Finlay.i 

" His (the king's) implacability (towards the family of 
Douglas) did also appear in his carriage towards Archibald of 
Kilspindie, whom he, when he was a child, loved singularly 
well for his ability of body, and was wont to call him his 
Gray-Steill.3 Archibald, being banished into England, conld 
not well comport with the humor of that nation, which he 
thought to be too proud, and that they had too high a conceit 
of themselves, joined with a contempt and despising of all 
others. Wherefore, being wearied e*" that life, and remem- 
bering the king's favor of old towards him, he determined ts 
try the king's mercifulness and clemency. So he ccines mtc 
Scotland, and taking occasion of the king's hunting in '.he park 
at Stirling, he casts himself to be in his way, as lie 'vas coming 
home to the castle. So soon as the king saw him afar oflT, ere 
he came near, he guessed it was he, and said to one of his 
courtiers, yonder is my Gray-Steill, Archibald of Kilspindie, 
if he be alive. The other answered, that it conld not be ji, 
and that he dnist not come into the king's presence. The king 
approaching, he fell upon his knees and craved pardon, an<) 
promised from thenceforward to abstain from meddling a 
pnblic affairs, and to lead a quiet and private life. The kin| 

3 A champion of popular romance. See MUu^t Romanctt, vol. iii. 



266 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



went by without giving him any atswer, and trotted a good 
ronnd pace up tlie hill. Kilspiodie followed, and though he 
•yore on hira a secret, or sliirt of mail, for his particular ene- 
mies, was as soon at the castle gate as the king. There he sat 
him down upon a stone without, and entreated some of the 
king's servants for a cup of drink, being weary and thirsty ; 
but they, fearing the king's displeasure, durst give him none. 
When the king was set at his dinner, he asked what he had 
dons, what he had said, and whither he had gone? It was 
•old him that he had desired a cup of drink, and had gotten 
•OBS. The king reproved them very sharply for their discour- 
J«f, ind told them, that if he had not taken an oath that no 
DoDglas should ever serve him, he would have received him 
into his service, for he had seen hira sometime a man of great 
ability. Then he sent him word to go to Leith, and expect 
nis further pleasure. Then some kinsman of David Falconer, 
the cannonier, that was slain at Tantallon, began to quarrel 
with Archibald about the matter, wherewith the king showed 
himself not well pleased when he heard of it. Then he com- 
manded him to go to France for a certain space, till he heard 
farther from him. And so he did, and died shortly after. 
This gave occasion to the King of England (Henry VIII.) to 
blame his nephew, alleging the old saying. That a King's face 
should give grace. For this Archibald (whatsoever were An- 
gus's or Sir George's fault) had not been principal actor of any 
thing, nor no counsellor nor stirrer up, but only a follower of 
his friends, and that noways cruelly disposed." — Hume 0/ 
Oodscroft, ii. 107. 



Note 3 T. 



Prize of the wrestlivg match, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring. — P. 226. 

The usual prize of a wrestling was a ram and a ring, but the 
inimal would have embarrassed my story. Thus, in the Cokes 
Tale of Gamelyn, ascribed to Chaucer : 

" There liapped to be there beside 
Tryed a wrestling : 
And therefore there was y-setten 
A ram and als a ring." 

Af«in the Litil Geste of Robin Hood : 



" By a bridge was a wrestling, 



And there taryed was he. 
And there was all the best yemen 

Of all the west countrey. 
A full fayre game there was set np, 

A white bull up y-pight, 
A great courser with saddle and brydle, 

With gold burnished full bryght ; 
A payre of gloves, a red golderinge, 

A pipe of wyne, good fay ; 
What man bereth him best, I wis, 

The prize shall bear away." 

Ritson's Robin Hood, toI. i. 



Note 3 U. 



-«fOIU 



These drew not for their fields the sword, 
Like tenants of a feudal lord, 
J^or own'd the patriarchal claim 
Of Chieftain in their leader's name ; 
Adrienturers they P. 230. 

Scottish armies consisted chiefly of the nobility and 
*ith their vassals, who held lands under them, for mil- 



itary service by themselves and their tenants. The patriaron* 
influence exercised by the heads of clans in tne Kighlands ana 
Borders was of a different nature, and sometimes at varianct 
with feudal principles. It flowed from the Patria Potcstas, 
exercised by the chieftain as representing the original father ot 
the whole name, and was often obeyed in coutradii tion to the 
feudal superior. James V. seems first to have introduced, in 
addition to the militia furnished from these sources, the servio* 
of a small number of mercenaries, who formed a body-goard, 
called the Foot-Pand. The satirical poet, Sir David LincCiaj 
(or the person who wrote the prologue ti his pla^ of tk* 
"Three Estaites''), has introduced Finlay of the Fooi-Banii 
who, after much swaggering upon the stage, is at length p»» 
to flight by the Fool, who terrifies him by means of a sheep' 
skull upon a pole. I have rather chosen to give them th« 
harsh features of the mercenary soldiers of the period, than o( 
this Scottish Thraso. These partook of the character of th« 
Adventurous Companions of Froissart or the Condot*Jeri 
Italy. 

One of the best and liveliest traits of such manners is the 
last will of a leader, called Geffroy Tete Noir, who having 
been slightly wounded in a skirmish, his intemperance brought 
on a mortal disease. When he found himself dying, he sum 
moned to his bedside the adventurers whom he commanded, 
and thus addressed them : — 

" Fayre sirs, quod Geffray, I knowe well ye have alwayei 
served and honoured me as men ought to serve their soveraygna 
and capitayne, and I shal be the gladder if ye wyll agre to 
have to your capitayne one that is discended of my bleds 
Beholde here Aleyne Roax, my cosyn, and Peter his brother, 
who are men of armes and of my blode. I require you to 
make Aleyne your capitayne, and to swere to hym faythe 
obeysaunce, love^ and loyalte, here in my presence, and alw 
to his brother : howe be it, I wyll that Aleyne have the sove- 
rayne charge. Sir, quod they, we are well content, for ye 
hauve ryght well chosen. There all the companyons made 
them breke no poynt of that ye have ordayned and com- 
maunded." — Lord BERNERi' Froissart. 



Note 3 V. 



1 The .gh lees to my purpose, I caimot help noticinfjf a oircumstance re- 
««ctiii( aether of this Air. Reld's attundanU, which occurred during; 



Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp t 
Oct thee an ape, and trudge the land. 
The leader of a juggler band. — P. 231. 

The jongleurs, or jugglers, as we learn from the elaborate 
work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports and pastimes of the 
people of England, used to call in the aid of various assist- 
ants, to render these performances as captivating as possible. 
The glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. Her duty wai 
tumbling and dancing ; and therefore the Anglo-Saxon \eT- 
sion of Saint Mark's Gospel states Herodias to have vaulted 
or tumbled before King Herod. In Scotland, these poor crea- 
tores seem, even at a late period, to have been bondswomen 
to their masters, as appears from a case rejjorted by Fountain- 
hall : — " Reid the mountebank pursues Scott of Harden and 
his lady, for stealing away from him a little girl, calle-. taA 
tumbling-lassie, that (janced upon his stage ; anil he claime* 
damages, and produced a contract, whereby he bought het 
from her mother for X30 Scots. But we have no slaves is 
Scotland, and mothers cannot sell their bairns ; and phytician» 
attested the employment of tumbling would kid her ; and het 
joints were now grown stifli", and she declined to return ; 1 hough 
she was at least a 'prentice, and so could not runaway fr<im hel 
master : yet some cited Moses's law, that if a servant sheltej 
himself with thee, against his master's cruelty, thou shalt 
surely not deliver him up. The Lords, renitente cancellario, 
assoilzied Harden, on the 27th of January (1687)."— FouN- 
tainhall's Decisions, vol. i. p. 439.1 

James II. 'e leal for Catholic proselytiim, and it tnld by FouotainhalV 
with dry Scotch irony :—" ./onuory IIIA, IW.. — Beid the moimtebank 



APPENDIX TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



2(It 



TLe faoetioas qualities of the ape soon rendered him an ao- 
septable addition to the strolling band of the jongleur. Ben 
lonson, in his spleaetic introduction to the comedy of " Bar- 
"holomew Fair," is at pains to inform the audience " that he 
aaa ne'er a sword-and-buckler man in his Fair, nor a juggler, 
with a well-educated ape, to come over the chaine for the 
King of England, and back agaiu for the Prince, and sit still 
in his haunches foir the Pope and the King of Spaine." 



Note 3 "W. 



That stirring air that peals on high 
O'er Dermid's race our victory. — 
Strike U l—t'. 233. 

There are several instances, at least m txadition, of persons 
« much attached to particular tunes, as to require to hear 
tern Oh their deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by 
ne late Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, in his coUection of Border 
tunes, respecting au air called the " Dandling of the Bairns," 
for which a certain Gallovidian laird is said to have evinced 
this strong mark of partiality. It is popularly told of a fa- 
mous freebooter, that he composed the tune known by the 
name of Macpherson's Rant, while under sentence of death, 
and played it at the gallows-tree. Some spirited words have 
been adapted to it by Burns. A similar story is recounted 
of a Welsh bard, who composed and played on his deathbed 
the air called Dafyddy Qarregg Wen. But the most curious 
example is given by Brantome, of a maid of honor at the 
court of France, eatitled, Mademoiselle de Limeuil. " Du- 
rant sa maladie, dont elle trespassa, jamais elle ne cessa, ains 
cansa tousjours ; car elle estoit fort grande parleuse, brooar- 
dense, et tres-bian et fort & propos, et tres-belle avec cela. 
Q.uand I'heure de sa fin fut venue, elle fit venir a soy son valet 
(ainsi que le fiUes de la cour en out chacune un), qui s'ap- 
iielloit Jiilien, et scavoit tres-bien joiier du violon. ' Julien,' 
Iny dit elle, ' prenez vostre violon, et sonnez moy tousj(ftrs jus- 
ques a ce que vous me voyez morte (car je m'y en vais) la 
defaite des Snisses, et le mienx que vons pourrez, et quand 
vous serez sur le mot, " Tout est perdu," sonnez le par quatre 
on cing fois le plus piteusement que vous pourrez,' ce qui fit 
I'autre, et elle-mesme luy aidoit de la vols, et quand ce vint 
' tout est perdu,' elle le r6itera par deux fois ; et se tournant de 
I'autre cost6 dn chevet, elle dit & ses compagnes : * Tout est 
perdu a ce coup, et S bon escient ;' et ainsi d6c6da. Voila una 
morte joyense et plaisante. Je tiens ce conte de deux de ses com- 
pagnes, dignes de foi, qui virent jour ce mystere." — Oeuvres 
de Brantome, iii. 507. The tune to which this fair lady chose 
k) make her final exit, was composed on the defeat of the 
Swiss at Marignano. The burden is quoted by Panurge, in 
Rabelais, and consists of these words, imitating the jargon of 
th« Swiss, which is a mixture of French and German : 

" Tout est verlore, 

La Tintelore, 

Tout est verlore, bi Got I" 



Note 3 X. 

Battle of Beal' an Duine.—V. 233. 

A skirmish actually toqk place at a pass thus called in the 
Trosacns, and closed with the remarkable incident mentioned 
in the text. It « as greatly posterior in date to the reign of 
lames V. 

IS received into the PopiBh #liQrcb. and one of his bl&ckamores was persn*- 
ded to accept of baptiem from the Popish priests, and to turn Christian 
yspist ; which was a great trophy : he was called James, after the king 
Wd chancellor, tpd the Apostle James." Ibid, p. 440. 



" In this roughly-wooded island,' the conntry people br 
creted their wives and children, and their most valoable ef 
fects, from the rapacity of Cromwell's soldiers, during th»« 
inroad into this country, in the tiro? of the republic. Tliest 
invaders, not venturing to ascend by the ladders, along th« 
side of the lake, took a more circuitous road, through th« 
heart of the Trosachs, the most frequented path at that time, 
which penetrates the wilderness about half way between bi- 
nean and the lake, by a tract called Yea-chilleach, or the Old 
Wife's Bog. 

" In one of the defiles of this by-road, the men of the coan- 
try at that time hung upon the rear of the invading enemy, 
and allot one of Cromwell's men, whose grave marks the seen* 
of action, and gives name to that pass. 2 In revenge of tliia 
insult, the soldiers resolved to plunder the island, to violate 
the women, and put the children to death. With this brutal 
intention, one of the party, more expert than the rest. swai» 
towards the island, to fetch the beat to his comrades, whiL.u 
had carried the women to their asylum, and lay moored in one 
of the creeks. His companionj stood on the shore of the main- 
land, in full view of all that was to pass, waiting anxiously fol 
his return with the boat. But just as the swimmer had got ttt 
the nearest point of the island, and was laying hold of a black 
rock, to get on shore, a heroine, who stood on the very point 
where he meant to land, hastily snatching a dagger from be" 
low her apron, with one stroke severed his head from the 
body. His party seeing this disaster, and relinquishing all fu 
ture hope of revenge or conquest, made the best of their way 
out of their perilous situation. This amazon's great-grandson 
lives at Bridge of Turk, who, besides others, attests the anec- 
dote. — Sketch of the Scenery near Callendar, Stirling, 1806 
p. 20. I have onlf to add to this account, that the heroioa 
name was Helen Stuart. 



Note 3 Y. 
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King. — P. 237. 

This discovery will probably remind the reader of the beauti- 
ful Arabian tale of II Bondocani. Yet the incident is not 
borrowed from that elegant story, but from Scottish tradition. 
Jaraes V., of whom we are treating, was a monarch whose 
good and benevolent intentions often rendered his romantia 
freaks venial, if not respectable, since, from his anxious at 
tention to the interests of the lower and most oppressed class 
of his subjects, he was, as we have seen, popularly tenaed 
the King of the Commons. For the purpose of seeing that 
justice was regularly administered, and frequently from the 
less justifiable motive of gallantry, he used to traverse the 
vicinage of his several palaces in various disguises. The two 
excellent comic songs, entitled, " The Gaberlunzie man," and 
" We'll gae nae mair a roving," are said to have been founded 
upon the success of his amorous adventures when travelling 
in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is perhaps the best 
comic ballad in any language. 

Another adventure, which had nearly cost James his jft, 
is said to have taken place at the village of Craniond, aeai 
Edinburgh, where he had rendered his addresses acceptabl* 
to a pretty girl of the lower rank. Four or five persona, 
whether relations or lovers of his mistress is uncertain, beset 
the disguised monarch as he returned from his rendezvous. 
Naturally gallant, and an admirable master of his weapon, 
the king took post on the high and narrow bridge over the 
Almond river, acd defended himself bravely with his sword. 
A peasant, who was thrashing in a neighboring bam, cam* 
out upon the noise, and whether moved by compassion or bj 

1 That at the eastern extremity of Loch Katrine, so often mentignaa jr 

the text. 

3 Beallach an dome. 



>J^» 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



«<tiiral gallantr/, took the weaker side, and laid aboat with 
his flail so effectually, as to disperse the assailants, well 
thrashed, even according to the letter. He then conducted 
Ihe king into his bam, where his guest requested a basin and 

towe', to remove the stains of the broil. This being pro- 
mred with difficulty, James employed himself in learning 
what was the summit of his deliverer's earthly wishes, and 
Siond that they were bounded by the desire of possessing, in 
property, the farm of Braehead, upon which he labored as 
• bondsman. The lands chanced to belong to the crown ; 
ud James directed him to come to the palace of Holyrood, 
and inquire for the Gnidraan (i. e. farmer) of Ballengiech, a 
name b.» which he was known in his excursions, and which 
answered to the II Rondocani of Haroun Alraschid. He 
presented himself accordingly, and found, with due astonish- 
ment, tliat he had saved his monarch's life, and that he was 
to be gratified with a crown charter of the lands of Braehead, 
under the service of presenting a ewer, basin, and towel, for 
ihe king to wash his hands when he shall happen to pass the 
Itridge of Cramond. This person was ancestor of the Howi- 
lons of Braehead, in Mid-Lothian, a respectable family, who 
contmue to hold the lands (now passed into the female line) 
nnder the same tenure. i 

Another of James's frolics is thus narrated by Mr. Camp- 
bell from the Statistical Account : — " Being once benighted 
when out a-hunting, ana separated from his attendants, he 
happened to enter a cotta^ ;n the midst of a moor at the foot 
of the Ochil hills, near Alloa, where, unknown, he was kindly 
received. In order to regale their unexpected guest, the gude- 
man {i. e. landlord, farmer) desired the gudewife to fetch the 
hen that roosted nearest the cock, which is always the plump*- 
est, for the stranger's supper. The king, highly pleased with 
Dis night's lodging and hospitable entertainment, told mine 
host at parting, that he should be glad to return his civility, 
Mid requested thtl the first time he came to Stirling, he would 
call at the castle, and inquire for the Qudeman of Ballen- 

fruich. 

Donaldson, the landlord, did not fail to call on the Oudeman 
of liaUenguich, when his astonishment at finding that the king 
had been his guest afforded no small amusement to the merry 
monarch and his courtiers ; and, to carry on the pleasantry, 
be was henceforth designated by James with the title of King 
of the Moore, which name and designation have descended 
from father to son ever since, and they have continued in pos- 
lessioa of the identical spot, the property of Mr. Erskine of 
Mar, till very lately, when this gentleman, with reluctance, 
turned out the descendant and representative of the King of 
the Moors, on account of his majesty's invincible indolence, 
and great dislike to reform or innovation of any kind, although, 
from the spirited example of his neighbor tenants on the same 
tstate, he is convinced similar exertion would promote his ad- 
vantage." 

The author requests permission yet farther to verify the snb- 
•ect of his poem, by an extract from the genealogical work of 
Buchanan of Auchmar, upon Scottish surnames : — 

*■ This John Buchanan of Auchmar and Ampryor was after- 
wort's lermed King of Kippen,''' upon the following account- 
Itiag James V., a very sociable, debonair prince, residing at 
e'Jrlitsg, ia Buchanan of Arnpryor's time, carriers were very 
'lejiently passing along the common road, being near A m- 
,iryor's liouse, with necessaries for the use of the king's fami y ; 
and he, having some extraordinary occasion, ordered one of 
Jiese caniers (o leave his load at his house, and he would pay 
lim for it ; which the carrier refused to do, telling him he was 
Ihe king's carrier, and his load for his majesty's use ; to which 
^mproyer seemed to have small regard, compelling the carrier, 

I The reader will find this story told at greater lengrth, and with the 
■ddition in particular, of the king being recognized, like the Fitz-Jamea 
If the Lady of the Lake, by being the only person covered, in the Firat 
fanea of Talet of a Oraodfather, vol. iii. p. ST. The heir of Braehead 



in the end, to leave hb load ; telling him, if King Jamea wai 
King of Scotland, he was King of Kippen, so that it was rea- 
sonable he should share with his neighbor king in some ol 
these loads, so frequently carried that road. The carrier rep- 
resenting this usage, and telling the story, as Ampryor spoke 
it, to some of the king's servants, it came at lengtli to hii 
majesty's ears, who, shortly thereafter, with a few attendants 
came to visit his naighbor king, who was in the mean time at 
dinner. King James, having sent a servant to demand access 
was denied the same by a tall fellow with a battle-axe vhi. 
stood porter at the gaie, telling, there couln "je -xo :«ee9S ti) 
dinner was over. This answer not satisfying the king, he senl 
to demand access a second time ; upon wliich he was desirec" 
by the porter to desist, otherwise he would find cause to re 
pent his mdeness. His majesty finding this method wonld not 
do, desired the porter to tell his master that the Goodman of 
Ballageich desired to speak with the King of Kippen. The 
porter telling Ampryor so much, he, in all humble manner, 
came and received the king, and having entertained him with 
much sumptuonsness and jollity, became so agreeable to King 
James, that he allowed him to take so much of any provision 
he found carrying that road as he had occasion for ; and seeing 
he made the first visit, desired Ampryor in a few days to retu.-n 
him a second to Stirling, which he performed, and continued 
in very much favor with the king, always thereafter being 
termed King of Kippen while he lived." — Buchanan's Essajf 
upon the Family of Buchanan. Edin. 1775, 8vo. p. 74. 

The readers of Ariosto must give credit for the amiable fea- 
tures with which he is represented, since he is generally con- 
sidered as the prototype of Zerbino, the most interesting hero 
of the Orlando Furioso 



Note 3 Z. 



Stirling's tower 



Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. — P. 238. 

William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the 
fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle Snowdoun. Sir David 
Lindsay bestows the same epithet upon it in his complaint oi 
the Papingo : 

" Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towere high, 
Thy chaple-royal, park, and table round ; 
May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee, 
Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound, 
Whilk doth againe thy royal rock rebound." 

Mr. Chalmers, in his late excellent edition of Sir David Lino- 
say's works, has refuted the chimerical derivation of Snawdoun 
from snedding, or cutting. It was probably derived from the 
romantic legend which connected Stirling with King Arthur, 
to which the mention of the Round Table gives countenance. 
The ring within which justs were formerly practised, in the 
castle park, is still called the Round Table. Snawdoun is the 
official title of one of the Scottish heralds, whose epithets seem 
in all countries to have been fantastically adopted from ancient 
history or romance. 

It appears (See Note 3 Y) that the real name by which 
James was actually distinguished in his private excursions, 
was the Ooodman of Ballengnich ; derived from a sleep pass 
leading up to the Castle of Stirling, so called. But the ejiitnet 
would not have suited poetry, and would besides at once, and 
prematurely, have announced the plot to many of my country- 
men, among whom the traditional stories above mentioned an 
Btill canrent. 

discharged hia duty at the banquet given to King Geo'ge IV. in Us Vm 
liament House at Edinburgh, in 1833. — Vii, 

i A small district of Perthabire. 



®hc bision of ffiion Uobcrick,* 



Quid dignum memorare tuts, Hispania, term, 
Vox humana valet I Claudian. 



PREFACE. 

Thk tollowing Poem is founded upon a Spanish 
fradition, particularly detailed in the Notes ; but 
bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last 
Gotliic King of Spain, when the Invasion of the 
Moors was impending, had the temerity to descend 
nto an ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of 
,vhich-had been denounced as fatal to the Spanish 
Monarchy. The legend adds, that liis rash curiosity 
was mortified by an emblematical representation 
of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated 
him in battle, and reduced Spain under their do- 
minion. I have presmned to prolong the Vision of 
the Revolutions of Spain down to the present 
eventful crisis of the Peninsula; and to divide it, 
by a supposed change of scene, into Three Periods. 
The First of these represents the Invasion of the 
Moors, the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and 
closes with the peaceful occupation of the country 
by the Victors. The Second Period embraces the 
state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of the 
Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West 
indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown 
of their arms ; sullied, however, by superstition and 
cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the 
Inquisition terminates tliis picture. The Last Part 
of the Poem opens with the state of Spain previous 
to the unparalleled treachery of Bonaparte ; gives 

1 The Vision of Don Koderick appeared in 4to, in July 15, 
iBll ; and in the course of the same year was also inserted in 
the second volume of the Edinburgh Annual Register — which 
ir<H& was tl.e property of Sir Walter Scott's then publishers, 
HoAsrs. John Ballantyne and Co. 

* The Right Hon. Robert Blair of Avontonn, President of 
^c Court of Sessions, was the son of the Rev. Robert Blair, 
author of " The Grave." After long filling the ofBce of So- 
liei tor-General in ?cotla~nd with high distinction, he was ele- 
vated to the Presidency in 1808. He died T«ry suddenly on the 
80th May, 1811, in the 70th year of his age ; and his intimate 
friend, Henry Dundas, first Viscount Melville, having gone into 
Edinburgh on purpose to attend his remains to the grave, was 
Aken ill not less suddenly, and died there the very hour that 
8i* funeral took place, on the 28th of the same month. 

« !■ a letter to J B. S. Morritt, Esq., Edinburglv, July 1, 



a sketch of the usurpation attemjited upon thai 
unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and termijiates 
with the arrival of the British succors. It may b« 
farther proper to mention, that the object of tho 
Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular 
incidents than to exhibit a general and impressiva 
picture of the several periods brought upon the staga 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public 
especially by one who has already experienced more 
than ordinary indulgence, to ofifer any apology for 
the inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly 
designed to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to 
mention, that while I was hastily executing a work, 
written for a temporary purpose, and on passing 
events, the task was most crueUy interrupted by the 
successive deaths of Lord President Blair,' and 
Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished 
characters I had not only to regret persons whose 
lives were most important to Scotland, but also 
whose notice and patronage honored my entrance 
upon active life ; and, I may add, with melancholy 
pride, who permitted my more advanced age to 
claim no common share in their friendship. Under 
such interruptions, the following verses, which my 
best and happiest eflforts must have left far imworthy 
of their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appear- 
ance of negligence and incoherence, which, in other 
circumstances, I might have been able to remove. 

Edinburgh, June 24, 1811. 

1811, Scott says — " I have this moment got yonr kind 'ettir, 
just as I was packing up Bon Roderick for you. This patiV' 
otic puppet-show has been finished under wretched aaspioM ' 
poor Lord Melville's death so quickly succeeding that o{ 
President Blair, one of the best and wisest judges that ever dis- 
tributed justice, broke my spirit sadly. My official situation 
placed me in daily contact with the President, and his ability 
and candor were the source of ray daily admiration. A* for 
poor dear Lord Melville, ' 'tis vain to name him whom we 
mourn in vain.' Almost the last time I saw him, he was icJk- 
ing of you in the highest terms of regard and expressing jjreat 
hopes of again seeing yon at Dnnira this summer, where I pro- 
posed to attend yon. Hei mihi! quid hei mihi? humnnt 
perpcssi sumus. His loss will be long and severely felt here 
and Envy is already paying her cold tribute of applause to tbi 
worth which she maligned while it walked upon earth.'' 



Ill) 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WuRKS. 



®l)e bision of JDou tlobmck. 



TO 

JOHN WHITMORE, Esq. 

AND TO THE 
COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 

IN WHICH HE PEKSIDE8, 

THIS POEM, 
(THE VISION OF DON RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT,' 

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCEIBED BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 



INTRODUCTION. 



I. 

uiTEB there a strain, whose sounds of mounting 
fire 
Maj rise distinguish'd o'er the din of war ; 
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, 

Who sung beleaguer'd Ilion's evU star ?' 
Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar, 
Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, 
AU as it swell'd 'twiit each loud trumpet- 
change,' 
rha* clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge !* 

» "The letters of Scott to all his friends have sufficiently 
■hown the unflagging interest with which, among all his pei^ 
jonal labors and anxieties, he watched the progress of the great 
eontest in the Peninsula. It was so earnest, that he never on 
any journey, not even in his very frequent passages between 
Edinburgh and Ashestiel, omitted to take with him the largest 
»nd best map he had been able to procure of the seat of war; 
upon this lie was perpetually pouring, tracing the marches and 
•gnnter-marches of the French and English by means of black 
»nil white pins ; and not seldom did Mrs. Scott complain of 
this constant occupation of his attention and her carriage. In 
the beginning of 1811, a committee was formed in London to 
eoUect subscriptions for the relief of the Portuguese, who had 
leen their lands wasted, their vines torn up, and their houses 
burnt in the course of Massena's last unfortunate campaign ; 
»nd Scott, on reading the advertisement, immediately addressed 
Mr. Wliitmore, the chairman, begging that the committee 
ivonld allow him to contribute to their fund the profits, to 
whatever they might amount, of a poem which he proposed to 
write upon a subject connected with the localities of the patri- 
itic struggle. His offer was of course accepted ; and Thk 
/isiON or Don Roderick was begun as soon as the Spring 
■«catioD enabled hiro to rrtire to Ashestiel. 



II. 
Yes ! such a strain, with all o'er-pouring mea- 
sure. 
Might melodize with each tumultuous sound, 
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or plea- 
sure, 
That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquesi 
crown'd. 
The female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan, 
The shout of captives from their chains im- 
bound. 
The foild oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. 

" The poem was published, in 4to, in July ; and the imme< 
diate proceeds were forwarded to the board in London. His 
friend the Earl of Dalkeith (afterwards Duke of Buccleuch) 
writes thus on the occasion : — ' Those with ampler fortunes 
and thicker heads may easily give one hundred guineas to a 
•iubscription, but the man is really tc c« envied who can draw 
that sum from his own brams, and apply the produce so b»n»- 
ficially and to so exalted a purpose. — Life of Scott, r«l til. 
pp. 312, 315. 

» MS. — " Who sung the changes of the Phrygian jar " 
s MS. — " Claiming thine ear 'twiit each loud irnm|iet 
change. ' ' 

* " The too monotonous cloee of the stanza is sometime* 
diversified by the adojition of fourteen-foot verse, — a license in 
poetry which, since Dryden, has (we believe) been altogether 
abandoned, but which is nevertheless very deserving of revival, 
so long as it is only rarely and judiciously used. The very 
first stanza in this poem affords an instance of it ; and, intro- 
duced thus in the very front of the battle, we cannot help con- 
sidering it as a fault, especially clogged as it is with the ano- 
ciation of a defective rhyme — change, revenge." — Ctituol 
Review, Aug 1811. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



27\ 



III. 

But we, ■weak minstrels of a laggard day, 

Skill'd but to imitate an elder page, 
Timid and raptureless, can we repay' 

The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age ? 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might en- 
gage [land, 

Those that could send thy name o'er sea and 
While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's rage 

A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty hand — 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band I" 

IV. 

Ye mountains stern I within whose rugged 
breast 
The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 
Ye torrents 1 whose hoarse sounds hare soothed 
their rest, 
RetiuTiing from the field of vanquish'd foes ; 
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, 

That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung ; 
Wliat time their hymn of victory arose, [rung. 
And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph 
^d mystic Merlin harp'd, and gray-hair'd Lly- 
warch sung !' 



1 if your wilds such minstrelsy retain. 

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, 
When sweeping wUd and sinking soft again, 

Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay. 

Then lend the note to him has loved you long 1 
Who pious gather'd each tradition gray, 

n:.at floats your solitary wastes along, [song, 
;lnd with afifection vain gave them new voice in 

VI. 

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath Ughten'd graver care, 
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair ; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, 

They came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
fcinortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's name. 

VIL 
Hark, from yon misty caim their answer tost :* 
" Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre, 



> MS. " Unform'd for raptnre, how shall we repay." 
* W8.— " Tlion givest onr verse a theme that might engage 
Lyres that could richly yield thee back its due ; 
A theme, might kindle Homer's mighty rage ; 
A theme more grand than MarQ ever knew — 
■pw iDDoh nnmeet for us, degenerate, frail, and few 1" 



Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire ; 
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire. 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior dae: 
Age after age has gather'd son to sire, 

Since oiu- gray cliffs the din of conflict knew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugl«>s 
blew. 

vin. 

" Decay'd our old traditionary lore, [ringi 

Save where the lingering fays renew their 
By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar. 
Or round the marge of Minchmore's haimted 
spring :' [sing, 

Save where their legends gray-hair'd shepherds 
That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, 
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging, 
And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, oi 
Tyne. 

IX. 

" No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sub 

Gives with imstinted boon ethereal flame, 
Where the rude villager, his labor done, [najne, 

In verse spontaneous* chants some favor'd 
Whether OlaHa's charms his tribute claim. 

Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet ; 
Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme,' 

He sing, to wild Morisco measure set, 
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet I 

X. 

" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows. 
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruin'd breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot 
throws 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spiua 

XL 

" There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 
Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye ; 

The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 
Still mark endtu-ing pride and constancy. 



» See Appendix, Note A. 

« MS. — " Hark, from gray Needpath's mists, the Brothen* v 
cairn, J 

Hark, from the Brothers' caim the answer toet" ■ 
' See Appendix, Note B. « Ibid. Note 0. 

' Ibid. Note D. 



372 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOUKS. 



And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not, aa once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune 
fought and died. 

XIL 

" And cherish'd still by that unchanging race,' 

Are themes for minstrelsy more high than 
thine; 
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace. 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

"With Gotliic imagery of darker shade, 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line, [said : 

Go, seek such theme 1" — The Mountain Spirit 
WTith filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obey'd.' 



^I)c tiision of JUon Ho^erlck. 



Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies. 

And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise. 

As from a trembling lake of silver white. 
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 

Of the broad burial-ground outstretch'd below. 
And naught disturbs the silence of the niglit ; 

AU sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, 
\ 11 save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow.* 

IL 

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, 

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
Their changing roimds as watchful horsemen 
ride, 
To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, thi-ough the river's night-fog rolling damp, 

Was many a proud pavUion dimly seen,* 
Which glimmer'd back, ag^tist the moon's fair 
lamp. 



' MS.— " And lingering still 'mid that unchanging race." 

' "The Introduction, we confess," says the Qnarterly Re- 
rlewer, " does rot please ns so well as the rest of the poem, 
'.hongh the reply of the Mountain Spirit is exquisitely writ- 
len." The Edinburgh critic, after quoting stanzas ix, j, and 
M says: — "The Introduction, though splendidly written, is 
too long for so short a poem ; and the poet's dialogue with his 
native mountains is somewhat too startling and unnatural. 
The most spirited part of it we think, is their direction to 
Spanish themes." 

■^ The Monthly Review, for 1811, in quoting this stanza, 
wys — " Scarcely any poet, of any age or country, has excelled 
Wr. Scott in bringing before our sight the very scene which he 
■ deacribinj; — in giving a reality of existence to every object od 



Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, 
And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders ana'4 
betweea 

IIL 

But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, 
Since last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespeii 
toU'd, 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold • 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old. 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace. 
Bear slender darts,' and casques bedeck'd with 
gold. 
While sUver-studded belts their shoulders 
grace, 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion'i 
place.* 

IV. 

In the light language of an idle court, 

They murmur'd at tiieir master's long delay. 
And held his lengthen'd orisons in sport : — 
" What ! wiU Don Roderick here till morning 
stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 

And are his hours in such duU penance past, 
For fair Flormda's plunder'd charms to pay ?" — ^ 
Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 
And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer 
forth at last. 



But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King r 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing. 

Such as are lothly utter'd to the air. 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom 
wrmg. 
And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear, 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from De- 
spair. 



which he dwells ; and it is on such occasions, especially suited 
as they seem to the habits of his mind, that his style itself 
catches a character of harmony, which is far from being uni- 
versally itB own. How vivid, yet how soft, is this picture I" 

* MS. — " For, Btretch'd beside the river's margin damp, 
Their proud pavilions hide the meadow green." 

» MS. — " Bore javelins slight." 

» The Critical Reviewer, having quoted stanzas i. ii. and UL 
says — " To the specimens with which his former works abound, 
of Mr. Scott's unrivalled excellence in the descriptions, both 
of natural scenery and romantic manners and costume. th«M 
ptanza-s will be thought no mean addition." 

7 See Appendix, Note E 




THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. - Page 272. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



273 



VL 
Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, 

The stream of failing light was feebly roll'd :* 
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare, 
Was sliadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook,' 
That mortal man his bearing should behold. 
Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience 
shook, [look." 

P^ar tame a monarch's brow. Remorse a warrior'a 

VII. 

The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale. 

As many a secret sad the King bewray'd ; 
A.S sign and glance eked out the unfinish'd tale. 

When in the midst his faltering whisper staid. 
' Thus royal Witiza* was slain," — he said ; 

" Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I." 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. — 

" Oh ! rather deem 'twas stern necessity 1 
•♦elf-preservation bade, and I must kiU or die. 

VIII. 
" And if Florinda's shrieks alarm'd the air 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain, 
And on her knees implored that I would spare. 
Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! 
All is not as it seems — the female train 
Know by their bearing to disguise their 
mood :" — 
But Conscience here, as if in high ^sdain. 
Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning 
blood — [stood. 

He stay'd his speech abrupt — and up the Prelate 

' MS. — " The feeble lamp in dying Inetre ) ,,, , ,, 

The waves of broken light were feebly ) 

> MS. — " The haughty monarch's hrart conld evil brook." 

' The Quarterly Reviewer says — "The moonlight scenery 
of the camp and burial-ground is evidently by the same pow- 
erful hand which sketched the Abbey of Melrose ; and in this 
picture of Roderick's confession, there are traits of even a 
higher cast of sublimity and pathos." 

The Edinburgh Reviewer introduces his quotations of the i. 
ii. v. and vi. stanzas thus — "The poem is substantially di- 
vided into two compartments ; —the one representing the fabu- 
lous or prodigious acts of Don Roderick's own time, — and the 
otner the recent occurrences which have since signalized the 
waie quarter of the world. Mr. Scott, we think, is most at 
home in the first of these fields ; and we think, upon the whole, 
has most success in it. The opening affords a fine specimen of 
his ucrivalled powers of description." 

The reader may be gratified with having the following lin» 
from Mr. Sonthey's Roderick, inserted here : — 



-" Then Roderick knelt 



Before the holy man, and strove to speak : 

' Thou seest,' — he cried, — *hou seest' — but memory 

AD'S suffocating thoughts represt the word, 

And stiudderings, like an ague fit, from head 

To foot convulB=!d him ; till at length, subduing 



IX. 

" harden'd offspring of an iron race ! [say I 

What of thy ciimes, Don Roderick, shall 1 
What alms, or prayers, or penance, can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away 
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray. 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime hi* 
boast? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay. 

Unless in mercy to yon Christian host. 
He spare the shepherd,' lest the gudtless sht-ei' 
be lost." 



Then kindled the dark Tyrant in his mood, 

And to his brow return'd its dauntless gloom 
"And welcome then," he cried, "be blood for 
blood. 

For treason treachery, for dishonor doom ! 
Yet wiU I know whence come they, or by whom. 

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key, 
And guide me. Priest, to that mysterious rooia, 

Where, if aught true in old tradition be. 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see."" 

XI. 

" Ill-fated Prince 1 recall the desperate word 

Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-bound portg^ would afford* 

Never to former Monarch entrance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say. 

Save to a King, the last of aU his Hne, 
What time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneatli, her fatal mine, 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine.' 

His nature to the effort, he exclaim'd. 
Spreading his hands, and lifting up his face, 
As if resolved in penitence to bear 
A human eye upon his shame — ' Thou seest 
Roderick the Goth ! That name shv -Id hav utifficed 
To tell the whole abhorred history : 
He not the less pursued, — the ravisher. 
The cause of all this ruin !' — Having saio 
In the same posture motionless he knelt. 
Arms straiten'd down, and hands outspread, and eye« 
Raised to the Monk, like one who from his voi>^ 
Expected life or death." — 
Mr. Southey, in a note to these lines, says, " The v!«'oii oi 
Don Roderick supplies a singular contrast to the picture whicli 
is represented in this passage. I have great pleasure in r noting 
the Btanzas (v. and vi.) ; if the contrast had been intentiona' 
it conld not have been more complete." 

* The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and 
.slain by his connivance, as is affirmed by Rodriguez of ToWo 
e father of Spanish history. 
MS. — " He spare to smite the shepherd, lest the iheep b« 

lost." 
MS. — " And guide me, prelate, to that secret room " 
See Appendix, Note F. 

MS. — " Or pause the omen of thy fate to weigh ! 
Bethink, that brazen portal would aflord.'' 



274 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



_. 



XII. 
" Prelate ! a Moaarch's fate brooks no delay ; 
Lead on !'' — The ponderous key the old man 
took, 
And *»eld the winking lamp, and led the way, 

Bi| w^iuding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 
Then on ai_ ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperato King essay'd, 
I/.>w niutter'd thunders the Cathedral shook, 
And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort 
made, [bray'd. 

rill the huge bolts roU'd back, and the loud hinges 

XIII. 

Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone ; 
Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall, 

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. 
A paly hght, as of the dawning, shone [not spy ; 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that Hght, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal 
eye. 

XIV. 

Jrim sentuiels^^ against the upper wall, [place • 
Of molten bronze, two Statues held their 
Massive their i^ked limbs, their stature tall. 

Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seem'd for kings of giant race, 
That lived and sinn'd before the avenging 
flood ; • 

ITiis grasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 
This spread his wings for flight, that ponder- 
ing stood, [mood. 
Each stubborn seem'd and stem, immutable of 

XV. 
Fix'd was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book. 

Whose uon volimie loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was wrote of many a fallen land, 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven : 
And o'er that pair their names in scroU expand — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time 1 to whom by Heaven 
f\.if guidance of the earth is for a season givea ' — 

XVI. 
Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes 
away ; 
And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, 
That right-hand Giant 'gan liis club' upsway, 
Aa cae tliat startles from a heavy sleep. 

> MS.—" ^rm — mace—tlub." 
• S«e Appendix, Note it 



Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thundei 
And hurthng down at once, in crumbled heap, 
The marble boundary was rent asunder, 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of few 
and wonder. 

xvn. 

For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach 
Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid. 
Castles and towers, in due proportion each, 

As by some skilful artist's hand portray'd : 
Here, crossed by many a wUd Sierra's slade, 
And boundless plains that tire the traveller'i 
eye; 
Tliere, rich with vineyard and with oiive glade. 
Or deep-embrown'd by forests huge and high, 
Or wasli'd by mighty streams, that slowly miur- 
mur'd by. 

XVIII. 
And here, as erst upon the antique stage, 

Pass'd forth the band of masquers trimly led, 
In various forms, and various equipage, 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 

Successive pageants fill'd that mystic scene. 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, 
And issue of events that had not been ; 
And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heaxij 
betweea 

XIX. 

First shrill'd an unrepeated female shriek ! — 
It seem'd as if Don Roderick knew the caU, 

For the bold blood was blanching in liis cheek- 
Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal. 

Gong-peal and cymbal-clauk the ear appal. 
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lehe's yell,* 

Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 

Needs not to Roderick their dread impwrt 

tell— [Tocsin bell 1 

" The Moor !" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out the 

XX. 

" They come ! they come ! I see the groaning lanrti 

White with the turbans of each Arab horde ; 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands. 

Alia and Maliomet their battle-word, 
The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword — 

See how the Christians rush to arms amain I ■ 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd,' 

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain- 
Now, God and Saint lago strike, for the good caua« 
of Spain 1 

• " Oh, who conld tell what deeds were WMOj-^t that dsf 
Or who andnre to hear the tale of »{;«, 



\ 



-,--_. 



XXL 

* By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians 
yield 1 
Tlieir cowaxcl leader gives for flight the sign 1 
ITae sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Orelia ? — Yes, 'tis mine I* 
But TicTar was she turn'd from battle-line : 
Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and 
stone ! 
Ourses pursue the slave, and wrath divine 1 
Rivers ingulph him !" — " Hush," in shudder- 
ing tone, [form's thine own." 
n»<» Prelate said ; — -" rash Prince, yon vision'd 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent cross'd the flier's course ; 

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ; 
But the deep eddies wJi >lm'd both man and 
horse, * 
Swept Uke benighted peasant down the tide ;' 
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, 

As niunerous as their native locust band ; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide. 
With naked cimeters mete out the land, 
\.nd for the bondsmen base the freeborn natives 
Drand. 

XXIIL 
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials, to theh* misbelieving foes 

Castile's yoimg nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, 

By impious hands was from the altar thrown, 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echo'd, for holy hymn and organ-tone, [moan. 
Vhe Santon's frantic dance, the Faldr's gibbering 

XXIV. 
How fares Don Roderick? — E'en as one who 
spies [woof, 

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable 
And hears aroimd his children's piercing cries, 

Hatred, and madness, and despair, and fear, 
Horror, and wounds, and agony, and death, 
The cries, the blasphemies, the shrieks and groanfl, 
And prayers, which mingled in the din of arms, 
In one wild uproar of terrific sounds." 

Southey's Roderick, vol. ii. p. 171. 
' See Appendix, Note H. 

" Upon the banks 

Of Sella was Orelia found, his legs 
And flanks incarnadined, his poitrel smear'd 
With froth and foam and gore, his silver mane 
Sprinkled with blood, -vhich hung on every hair. 
Aspersed like dew-drops ; trembling there he stood. 
From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth 
His tremulous voice, far-echoing, loud and shrill, 
A frequent, anxious cry, with which he seem'd 
To V lU the ni \5ter whom he loved so well 



And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof 
His foUy or his crime have caused his grief; 
And while above him nods the cnimbUng roof. 
He curses earth and Heaven — himself is 
chief — [hef 

Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaioo's if 

XXV. 

That scythe-arm'd Giant turn'd his fatal glass 
And twUight on the landscape closed he» 
wings ; 
Far to Asturian lulls the war-sounds pass, 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, 
Bazaars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney hght the Moor his jerrid fliugs, 
And on the land as evening seem'd to *et. 
The Imaura's chant was heard from mosque oi 
minaret.' 

XXVL 

So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came,* 
The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke, 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets 
of flame ; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke, 
Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst then 
yoke, [falone i 

And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gon- 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke, 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder wa« 
her tone. 

XXVIL 
From the dim landscape roll the clouds away— 

The Christians have regain'd their heritage ; 
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray 

And many a monastery decks the stage. 
And lofty church, and low-broVd hermitage. 

The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — 
The Genii those of Spain for many an age ; 

And who had thus again forsaken him. 
Siverian's helm and cuirass on the grass 
Lay near; and Julian's sword, its hilt and chain 
Clotted with blood ; but where was he whose hand 
Had wielded it so well that glorious day V 

Southby's Roderick. 

s "The manner in which the pageant disappears is vet^ 
beautiful." — Quarterly Review. 

* " We come now to the Second Period of the Vision ; and 
we cannot avoid noticing with much commetiJation the dex- 
terity and graceful ease with which the first two scenes an 
connected. Without abruptness, or tedious n, ology for tran- 
sition, they melt into each other with very harmonioos effect , 
and we strongly recommend this example of skill, perhaps, e» 
hibited without any effort, to the imitation of '"mfeiDporarl 
poets." — Monthly Review 



»7e 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



This clad in sackcloth, that in armor bright, 
AJid that was Valor named, this Bigotry was 
hight' 

" XXVIII. 

Valor was hamess'd Uke a chief of old, [gest ;* 

Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly 
His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold, 

Morena's eagle plume adorii'd liis crest, 
The spoils of Afi"ic's lion bound his breast, [gage ; 

Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down his 
As if of mortal kind to brave the best. 

Him foUow'd his Companion, dark and sage, 
Ajb he, my Master, sung the dangerous Arcliimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 

In look and language proud as proud might be, 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame : 

Yet was that barefoot monk more proud tlian 
And as the ivy climbs the taUest tree, [he : 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his speUs subdued the fierce and free. 

Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renown'd, 
Hok oring liis scourge and hair -cloth, meekly kiss'd 
the ground. 

XXX. 

A.nd thus it chanced that Valor, peerless knight, 

WTio ne'er to King or Kaiser veil'd his crest. 
Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight. 

Since fii'st liis limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reason'd of the right, nor of the wrong. 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, [along. 

And wiought fell deeds the troubled world 
Far he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 

XXXI. 
Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found 
world. 
That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurl'd, — 
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 

"These allegorical personages, which are thus described, 
(TO sketched in the trne spirit of Spenser ; hut we are not sure 
Ail. we altogether approve of the association of such imagi- 
larj beings with the real events that pass over the stage : and 
,hese. a- well as the form of ambition which precedes the path 
of Boriparte, liave somewhat the air of the immortals of the 
Luxemburg gallery, whose naked limbs and trident-s, thunder- 
bolts and cuducei, are so singularly contrasted with the ruffs 
and whiskers, the queens, archbishops, and cardinals of France 
and Navarre." — Quarterly Review. 
5 " Arneil at all points, exactly cap-a-pee." — Hamlet. 
8 See Appendix, Note I. 

* "The third scene, a peaceful state of indolence and ol)- 
■cnrity, where, though the court was degenerate, the pea-sant 
nan merry and contented, is introduced with exquisite light- 
Maj and (fiyety." — Quarterly Review. 



Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs won^ 
Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and 
foul; 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, 

Bedabbled all with blooii. — With grisly scowl 
The Hermit mark'd the stams, and smiled beneath 
his cowL 

XXXIL 

Then did he bless the offering, and bade naak« 

Tribute to Heaven oi gratitude and praise 
And at his word the choral hynms awake. 

And many a hand the silver ceneer sways, 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 
Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the 
fire; 
The gi-oans of prison'd victims rrnr the lays. 
And shrieks of agony confound the quire ; 
While, 'mid the mingled saliBas, the darken'J 
scenes expire. 

XXXIII. 
Preluding hght, were strains of music heard. 

As once again revolved tbit measured sand ; 
Such sounds as when, for syhan dance prepared. 
Gay Xeres suumions forth her vintage band ; 
When for the hght bolero ready stand 

The mozo bhthe, with gay muchacha met,* 
He conscious of his broider'd cap and band, 
She of her nei ted locks and light corsette. 
Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the Cas- 
tanet. 

XXXIV. 
And well such strains the opening scene became • 

For Valor had relax'd liis ardent look. 
And at a lady's feet, hke hon tame, [brook • 
Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to 
And soften'd Bigotrt, upon his book, 
Patter'd a task of httle good or ill : 
But the bUthe peasant phed his pruning-hook, 
Wliistled the muleteer o'er vjJe and hill. 
And rung from village-green the merry segui- 
dille." 

" The three grand and comprehensive piciires in which Mt 
Scott has delineated the state of ^pain, during the three •?» 
riods to which we have alluded, are conceived with mucb 
genius, and executed with very considerable, though unequal 
felicity. That of the Moorish dominion, is drawn, we think, 
with the greatest spirit. The reign of Chivalry and Sui)er 
stition we do not think so happily represented, by a long and 
labored description of two allegorical personages called Bigotry 
and Valor. Nor is it very easy to conceive how Don Roderick 
was to learn the fortunes of his country, merely by inspecting 
the physiognomy and furnishing of these two figurantes. Tha 
truth seems to be, that Mr. Scott has been tempted on this oo 
casion to extend a mere metaphor into an iillofjiiry ; and ta 
prolong a figure which might have given great grace and spiril 
to a single stanza, into the heavy subject of seven or eight. Hii 
lepresentatipn of the recent state of Spain, we think dijplajt 



XXXV. 
Gray royalty, grown impotent of toil,* 

Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold ; 
And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil 

Of a loose Female and her minion bold. 
But peace was on the cottage and the fold, [far ; 
From court intrigue, from bickering faction 
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told. 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar, 
'•'Ctt ..toop'd the western sun, sweet rose the 
I vening star. 

XXXVL 

As that stja cloud, in size like human hand, 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Oame slowly ov^i shadowing Israel's land,' 
A while, perchance, bedeck'd with colors 
sheen, 
WhUe yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, 
Limning with purple and with gold its shroud. 
Till darker folds obscured the iilue serene, 
And blotted heaven with one '^road sable 
cloud, 
rhen sheeted rain burst down, and ■»> y^rlwinds 
howl'd aloud : — 

XXXVIL 

Even 80, upon that peaceful scene was pour' J, 
Like gathering clouds, full many a foreig.i 
band. 
And He, their leader, wore in sheath his sword, 

And offer'd peaceful front and open hand, 
Veiling the perjured treachery he plann'd. 

By friendsliip's zeal and honor's specious guise, 
UntU he won .the passes of the land ; 
Then burst were honor's oath, and friendship's 
ties ! [his prize. 

iie clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain 

XXXVIII. 
An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore ; 

And weU such diadem his heart became. 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, 

Or check'd his course for piety or shame; 
Who, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 

Might flourish in the wreatn of battles won. 
Though neither truth nor honor deck'd his name ; 

tbc ta'.ent aiKl adt'-ess of the author to the jreatest advantage ; 
for the subject was by no means inspiring nor was it easy, we 
■tionid in[i'>^in'; tc make the picture of d cay and inglorious in- 
dolence so engaging." — Edinburgh Review, which thenquotes 
itanzas xsxiv. and xkxv. 

' " The opening of tl.e third period of the Vision is, perhaps 
necessarily, more abrupt than that of the second. No circum- 
itance, equally marked with the alteration in the whole system 
•f ancient warfare, could be introduced in this compartment 
»f the poem ; yet, when we have been told that ' Valor had 
■^xa' his arlent look,' and that ' Bigotry' was ' softened ' we 



Who, placed by fortvme on a Moiikrcn s throne 
Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kiuglj 
tone. 

XXXIX. 

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came. 

The spark, that, from a suburb-hovel's hfiartl 
Ascending, wraps some capital in flamt, 

Hath not a meaner or more cordid birth 
And for the soul that bade him waste the earvri— 

The sable land-flood from some swamp obscme, 
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, 

And by destruction bids its fame endm'e, 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and iia 



pure.' 



XL. 



Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form ; 
Her hmbs Kke mist, her torch hke meteor 
show'd, [storm, 

With which she beckon'd him through fight and 
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate 
road, [trode 

Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he 
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could 
not slake. 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 
It was Ambition bade her ten-ors wake, 
"•^or deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take 

XLL 

No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge, 

Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan ; 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change. 

By Caesar's side she cross'd the Rubicon. 
Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won. 
As when the banded powers of Greece were 
task'd 
To war beneath the youth of Macedon : 
No seemly veU her modern minion ask'd. 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend la;- 
mask'd. 

XLIL 
That Prelate mark'd his march — On bamiert 
blazed 
With battles won in many i distant land, 

are reasonably prepared for what follows." — Monthly R» 
view. 

* See I. Kings, chap, xviii. v. 41-45. 

s " We are as ready as any of our conntiymen can be, t« 
designate Bonaparte's invasion of Spain by its proper epithets ; 
but we mast decliR3 to join in the author's declamation againrf 
the low birth of the invader ; and we cannot help reminding 
Mr. Scott that such a tojiic of censure is nnworthy of him 
both as a poet and as a Briton." — Monthly Review. 

" The picture of Bonaparte, considering the difficulty of all 
contemporary delineations, is not ill exectited."— irfiRAy^i 
Review. 



On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed ; 
" And hopest thou then," he said, " thy power 
shall stand ? 
O, thou hast builded on the shifting sand, [flood ; 
And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's 
And know, feU scourge in the Almighty's hand, 
Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud, 
iiid by a bloody death, shall die the Man of 
Blood!"' 

XLIII. 

The ruthless Leader beckon'd from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade liim kneel. 
And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, 
While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, 
" CastUe !"" 
Not that he loved him — No ! — In no man's weal. 
Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade his warriors 
wheel. 
That the poor Puppet might perform his part, 
A.I d be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 

XLIV. 
But on the Natives of that Land misused, 

Not long the silence of amazement himg. 
Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused ; 
For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaim'd, " To arms !" — and fast to arms they 
sprung. 
And Valor woke, that Genius of the Land ! 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung, 
As burst th' awakening Nazarite his band, 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his 
dreadful hand.* 

XLV 
Tliat Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 
Upon the Satraps that begirt liim round, 
Now dofF'd his royal robe in act to fly. 

And from his brow the diadem unbound. 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound. 
From Tarick's walls to Bilboa's mountains 
blown. 
These martial satellites hard labor found, 
To guard a while liis substituted throne — 
Ugh ' recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 

XLVL 
From All uhara's peak that bugle rung, 

And it was echo'd from Coruima's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, 

' " We are not altogether pleased with the lines which fol- 
/)w the description of Bonaparte's birth and cotjntry. In his- 
orii.'al troth, we believe, his family was not plebeian; and, 
etting aside the old saying of ' genus et proavos,^ the poet is 
lere evidpotly becoming a chorus to his own scene, and ex- 
Wiiimg a fac rh h cinld by no means be inferred from the 



Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
Galicia bade her children fight or fall. 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call. 

And, foremost still where Valor's sous are m 
First started to his gun each fiery Vliquelet. 

XLVIL 
But unappaU'd, and bizming for the fight, 
The Invaders march, of victory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite. 

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure. 
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure , 
While naught against them bring the unprao 
tised foe. 
Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands foi 
Freedom's blow. 

XLVIIL 

Proudly they march — but, ! they march not 
forth 
By one hot field to crown a brief campaign. 
As when their Eagles, sweeping through the 
North, 
Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ; 
In vain the steel, in vain the torch was phed, 
New Patriot armies started from the slain, 
High blazed the war, and long, and far, ana 
wide,* 
And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. 

XLLK. 

Nor unatoned, w^iere Freedom's foes prevail^ 
Remahi'd their savage waste. With blade 
and brand. 
By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale. 
But, with the darkness, the juerilla band 
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, 

And claim'd for blood the retribution due, 

Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'roua 

hand; 

And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beama 

she threw, ^knexf 

Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' <jorpse» 



What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue uaj 
tell. 
Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea, 

pageant tliat passes befoit the "jyes of the King and Pw te 
The Archbishop's observation on his appearance is free how 
ever, from every objection of this kind." — i^uarterly Keviem 

> See Appendix, Note K. 

s Pee Book of Jndges, Chap. xv. 9-16. 

4 See Appendix, Note It. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



27» 



How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honor'd in defeat as victory 1 
For that sad pageant of events to be, 

Show'd every form of fight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, 
Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud, 
rhe waters choked with slain, the eaith bedrench'd 
with blood 1 

LL 

Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honor due ! 
For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, 
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true 1 
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew, 

Each art of war's extremity had room, 

Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe with- 

di-ew. 

And when at length stem fate decreed thy 

doom, rtomb.' 

rhey won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody 

LIL 

Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains, 

Enthi"all'd thou canst not be ! Arise and claim 

Reverence from every heart where Jb'reedom 

reigns, [dame. 

For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted 

She of the Column, honor'd be her name, 

By all, wliate'er tbeir creed, who honor love I 
And like the sacrea relics of the flame, 

That gave some martyr to the bless'd above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove 1 

LIII. 

Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair 1 
Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung. 

Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air 
Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung ; 

Now thicker dark'ning where the mine was 
sprung, 
Now briefly Ughten'd by the cannon's flare, 

1 See Anpendix, Note M. 

* MS. — " Doa Roderick turn'd him at the sadden cry." 

' MS. — " Right foi the shore unnumber'd barges row'd." 

« CoBi.jtre with this passage, and the Valor, Bigotry, and 
Ambition cf the previous stanzas, the celebrated personifica- 
Ion of War, in the first canto of Childe Harold : — 

' Lo ! where the Giant on the n^nntain stands, 
Hi* blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun. 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands 
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; 
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet 
Destrnction cowers, to marls what deeds are done ; 
For on this morn three potent nations meet 

r* ihod before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 



Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb wai 
flimg. 
And redd'ning now with conflagration's glare 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare 

LIV. 
While all aroimd was danger, strife, and fear. 
While the earth shook, and darken'd was th« 
sty, 
And wide Destruction stimn'd the Ustening ear, 
AppaU'd the heart, and stupefied the eye, — 
Afar was heai'd that thrice-repeated cry. 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue imita, 
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, 
Whether it had the wine-cup or the fight. 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be 
light. 

LV. 

Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew 
loud—" 
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 
For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd, 
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear • 
Mottling the sea their landward barges roVd,' 
And flash'd the sim on bayonet, brand, anc' 
spear, [cheer.' 

And the wild beach retiu-n'd the seaman's jovial 

LVI. 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars. 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite. 

Legions on legions bright'ning all the shorea 
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars. 

Then peals the warlike thimder of the dru»v 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish poxu-s. 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts ar« 

diunb, [come ' 

For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Oceax 

" By heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see 
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) 
Their rival scarfs of mijr'd embroidery. 
Their various arms, that glitter in the air ■ 
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from 'heir liii 
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the [>»ey I 
All join the chase, but few the riumph share. 
The grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, 

And Havoc scarce for joy can number their arra» . 

" Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high j 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale bine skies i 
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory' 
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 
That fig Its for all, bnt ever fights in vain, 
Are met — as if at home they could not die- 
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 

A (d fertilize the field that each pretntds Vt calk • 



280 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



LVIL 
A various host they came — whose ranks display 
Each mode in which the warrior meets the 
%ht, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 

And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright, 
Where moimted squadrons shake the echoing 
mead,' 
liftcks not artillery breathing flame and night, 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
Iliat rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed." 

LVIII, 
A various host — from kindred realms they came,' 

Brethren m arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim. 

And with their deeds of valor deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial fi'own, 
And hers their scorn of death in freedom's 
cause. 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown. 
And the blunt speech that bursts without a 
pause, 
^d freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier 
with the Laws. 

LIX. 

A id, ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land ! 

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain band. 
And hai'sher featm-es, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave. 
As that which beats beneath the Scottish 
plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 
And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
Wliere lives the desperate foe that for such onset 
staid ! 

LX. 

Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter 
rings, 
Mingling wild mirth with war's stem min- 
strelsy, 

MS. " the dnsty mead." 

•'The landing of the English is admirably described; nor 
J theFe »ny thing finer in the whole poem than the following 
•'•-isage (stanzas Iv. Ivi. Ivii.), with the e.^ception always of the 
ihrte concln(l) j^ lines, which appear to as to be very nearly as 
ttad aa possi") « ' — Jeffrey. 

1 " The three concluding stanzas (Iviii. \ix. Ix.) are elaborate ; 
ont we think, on the whole, successful. They will probably 
»e oftener quoted than any other passage in the poem." — Jef- 
frey. 

' MS. — " His jest each careless comrade ronnd him flings." 

5 For details of the battle of Vimeira, fought 21st Aug. 1808 

-of Corunna, 16th Jan. 1809— of Talavera, 28th July, 180!)— 

»nd of Busaco. 27th Pept. 1810— See Sir Walter Scott's Life of 

Nup«ie« 8, \ ilume vi. under these dates. 



His jest while eadi blithe comrade round hia 

flings,* 

And moves to death with military glee : [free, 

Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, anr 

In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 

Rough nature's children, humorous as she : 

And He, yon Chieftain — str'ke the proadeel 

tone Town 

Of thy bold harp, green Isle 1 — ihe Hei c a thint 

LXI. 

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown, 

On Talavera's fight shoidd RodericJi gaze. 
And hear Corimna wail her battle won. 

And see Busaco's crest with lightrung blaze : — ' 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ? 

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphi 
room? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays, 

That claim a long eternity to bloom [tomb I 
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's 

LXII. 

Or may I give adventm-ous Fancy scope, 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That lades futmity from anxious hope, 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting Europe rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, 
While kindling nations buckle on their maU, 

And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings un- 

furl'd, [World ?' 

To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured 

LXIIL 
vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, 
Since Fate has mark'd futm-ity her own : 
Yet fate resigns to worth the glorious past. 
The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. 
Then, though the Vault of Destiny' be gone. 

King, Prelate, all tlie phantasms of my brain. 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun. 
Yet grant for faith, for valo •, and for Spain, 
One note of* pride and fire, a Patriot's parting 
strain !* 



• " The nation will arise regenerate ; 

Strong in her second youth and beautiful, 
Apd tike a spirit that hath shaken off 
The clog of dull mortality, shall Spain 
Arise in glory.'' — Southky's Roderick. 

1 See Appendix, Note N. 

8 " For a mere introduction to the exploits of our English 
commanders, the story of Dor. Roderick's sins and confessioni 
— the minute description of his army and attemlants, — and tbt 
whole interest and machinery of the enchanted vault, with th« 
greater part of the Vision itself, are far too long and elaborate. 
They withdraw our curiosity and attention from the objectJ toi 
which they had been bespoken, and gradually eiigage then 
upon a new and independent series of romantic adventorat. u 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



28i 



®l)c \)imn of 5Don HoiJmck. 



CONCLUSION. 



• Who shall command Eatrella's mountain-tide* 

Baiik to the source, when tempest-chafed, to 
hit? 
Wb:>, when Gascogne s vex d gulf is raging wide, 

Shall hush it as a nui-se her infant's cry ? 
)fti9 magic power let such vain boaster try, 

And wLen the torrent shall his voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds Ust his lullaby, 

Let him stajid forth and bar mine eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voica, and at his bidding 
stay. 

II 

* Else ne er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 

They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke. 
And their own sea hatl whelm'd yon red-cross 
Powers 1" 
Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock, 
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaid's Leader 
spoke. 
While downward on the land his legions press. 
Before them it was rich with vine and flock, 
And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wEder- 
ness.' 

IIL 

And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word. 
Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of 
the land, 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword. 
Though Britons arm and Wellington com- 
mand 1 
No 1 grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

Ac adamantine barrier to his force ; [band, 

And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd 

As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 

B«ar8 o^ ds broken waves, and seeks a devious 

coorae. 

•rhibh it '« not easy to see how Lord Wellington and Bona- 
Mrte ca Ji^s any concern. Bnt, on the other hand, no 
•ooner is tliis new interest excited -no sooner have we surren- 
dered our imaginations into the hunls of this dark enchanter, 
and heated our fancies to the proper pitch for sympathizing in 
ihe fortunea of Gothic kings and Moorish invaders, with their 
Imposing accompaniments of harnessed knights, ravished dam- 
(els, and enchanted stataes, than the whole romantic gronp 
vanishes at once from onr sight ; and we are hurried, with 
minds yet disturbed with those powerful apparitions, to the 
eoir parativoly sober and cold narration of Bonaparte's villa- 
uei, and to diaw battle! be.ween mere mortal combatants in 



IV. 

Yet not because Alcoba's mo»mtain-hawk 

Hath on his best and K-avest made her food. 
In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood 
For full in view the promised conquest stood. 
And Lisbon's matrons from their walls, mighl 
sum 
The myriads that had half the world subdued, 
And hear the distant thunders of the di-um, 
That bids the bands of France to storm and haT0« 
come. 



Four moons have heard these thimders idly roll'd, 
Have seen these wistful myriads eye theii 

prey, 

As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But m the middle path a Lion lay 1 
At length they move — but not to battle fi-ay, 
Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly 
fight; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite [flight . 
To damn with double shame their ignominioua 

VL 

triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath 1 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, [path 
What wanton horrors mark'd their wi-eckful 

The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot. 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot, [flame, 

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and 
Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot. 

By which inventive demons might proclaun 
Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great 
namel 

VIL 

The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom. 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 

Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch for 

lorn,* [gun 

Wiped his stem eye, then fiercer grasp'd hi* 

Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful soq 
Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 

English and French uniforms. The vast and elaborate T«rtl 
bale, in short, in which we had been so long detained, 

' Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 
With Gothic imagery of darker shade,' 

has no corresponding palace attached to it ; and the long no 
vitiate we are made to serve to the mysterious powers of n> 
mance is not repaid, after all, by an introduction to their awfal 
presence." — Jkffrbt. 

■ MS. — " Who shall command the torrent's headlong tida. 

a See Appendix, Note O. » Ibid. Ni>** »» 



Riches nor po^v erty the tax shall shun, 

Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, 
Nor the poor peasant's might, nor bard's more 
worthless lay*, 

VIII. 
But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscall'd in vain 1 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marcella'e pass, nor Guarda's moimtaiu-chain ? 
Vainglorious fugitive I^ yet turn again ! 

Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, 

Flows Honors Fountain," as foredoom'd the stain 

From thy dishonor'd name and arms to clear — 

Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, rndeem her favor 

here 1 

IX 
Yet, ere thou turn'st, coUect each distant aid ; 

Those chief that never heard the lion roar 1 
Within whose souls lives not a trace portray'd, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more ; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour. 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roU, [souL 
And weary out his arm — thou canst not quell his 

X. 

O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore. 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
And front the flying thunders as they roar. 

With frantic cliarge and tenfold c .ds, in vain !* 

And what avails thee that, for Camekon elaii:,* 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was 

given — [rein, 

vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage the 

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong 

driven, [heaven. 

Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of 

XI. 

G-j, bafileil boaster ! teach thy haughty mood 
To plead at thine imperious master's throne, 

* The MS. ha«, for the preceding five lines — 

" And In pursuit vindictive hurried on, 
And O, survivors sad ! to you helong 
Tributes from each that Biitain calls her son, 
From ;il' her nobles, all her wealthier throng, 
To tter poor peasant's mite, and minstrel's poorer song." 

* See Appendix, Note Q.. 

» The literal translation o{ Fuentes d' Honoro. 

* See Appendix, Note R. ■ Ibid. Note S. 

' On theiitithof April, 1811, Scott writes thus to Mr. Morritt : 

-" I rejoice with the heart of a Scotsman in the success of 

jord Wellin-rlon, and with all the pride of a seer to boot. [ 

Bve been for three years proclaiming him as the only man we 

•ad to trust t» — a mtn of talent and genius — not deterred by 

•bstacles, noi fettered by prejudices, not immured within the 



Say, thou hast left his legions m their blood, 

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own 
Say, that thine utmost skiU and valor shown. 

By British skUl and valor were outvied ; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington 1* 
And, if he chafe, be his own fortune tried- — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture w«'ll 
abide. 

XIL 

But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day. 

How shall a bard, imknowing and unknown. 
His meed to each victorious leader pay. 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won f 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, 

O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave ; 
And he, perchance, the minstrel-note migh< 
own. 
Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic 
rave. 

XIIL 
Yes I hard the task, when Britons wield the 
sword. 
To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunders Beresford, 

And Red Bai'osa shouts for dauntless Ge^iEMK 1 
for a verse of tumult and of flame. 

Bold as the bursting of their caimon sound. 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame 1 
For never, upon gory battle-ground, 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were bra\isi 
victors crown'd 1 

XIV 

who shall grudge him Albuera's bays,* 
Who brought a race regenerate to the fi^sld, 

Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, 
Temper'd then* headlong rage, their courag« 
steel'd,' 

And raised fair Lusitauia's fallen shield, 
And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 

And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield— 

pedantries of his profession — btit playing the gittt-a. and >1m 
hero when most of our military commanders would hi*»» 
exhibited the drill sergeant, or al best the adjutant. T.'ieu 
campaigns will teach us what we have long needed to Know, 
that success depends not on the nice drilling of regiment" but 
apon the grand movements and combinations of a army. 
We have been hitherto polishing hinges, when we shonld have 
studied the mechanical union of a huge machine. Now, oui 
army begin to see that the grand secret, as the French call it, 
consists only in union, joint exeition, and concerted move 
ment. This will enable us to meet the dogs on lair terms ai 
to numbers, and for the rest, ' IVly soul an<> body on t,he actioi 
both.' "—IJfe, vol. iii. p. 313. 

' See Appendix, Editor's Note T. 

e MS. — " O who shall grtdge yon chief the victoj'i bavi 

• See Appendix, Note I J 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



28? 



Sliiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord. 
If it forget thy worth, yictoriouft Beeesfobd 1 

XV.' 

Ifot on that bloody field of battle won, 
Though Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist 
away, 
Was half his self-devoted valor shown, — 

He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
Bat when he toil'd those squadrons to array, 

W}^ 3 fought Uke Britons in the bloody game, 
Sharper thai Pohsh pike or assagay. 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 

Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's woimd, 
Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal de- 
nied ;* 
Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to dime, where'er war's trumpets 
sound, 
The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia 1 still' 
Tliine was his thought in march and tented 
ground; 

• MS. — " Not greater on that moant of strife and blood, 

While Gaul's proud legions roU'd like mist away. 
And tides of gore stain'd Albuera's flood. 

And Poland's shatter'd lines before him lay, 
And clarions hail'd him victor of the day. 

Not greater when he toil'd yon legions to array, 

'Twas life he perill'd in that stubborn game, 
And life 'gainst honor when did soldier weigh 1 

But, self-devoted to his generous aim. 
Far dearer than his life, the hero pledged his fame." 
MS. — " Nor be his meed o'erpast who sadly tried 

With valor's wreath to hide affection's wound. 

To whom his wish Heaven for our weal denied." 

' MS. — " From war to war the wanderer went his round. 
Yet was his soul in Caledonia still ; 
Hers was his thought," &c. 

• MS. "fairy rill." 

" These lines excel the noisier and more general panegyrics of 
Ibp commanders in Portugal, as much as the sweet and thrill- 
ing tones of the harp surpass an ordinary flourish of drams and 
BTimpets," — Quarterly Review. 

•' Perhaps it is onr nationality which makes ns like better 
ne tribute to General Grahame — though there is something, 
r« believe, in the softness of the sentiment that will be felt, 
iw-tn by English readers, as a relief from the exceed^g clamor 
ind loa>J )oasti£gB tf all the surrounding stanzas." — Edin- 
hirgh. Review. 

• See Appenrttx, Note V. 

• *' N'>w, rik your sailes, yee ioUy mariners, 

» or we be come unto a quiet rode, 
Where we must land some of our passengers, 

And light this weary vessell of her lode. 
Here she a while may make her safe abode, 

Till she repaired have her tackles spent 
And wants suppUde : and then againe abroad 



He dream'd 'mid Alpine cliflFs of Athole's hiU 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. 

XVII. 

hero of a race renown'd of old, 

Whose wai'-cry oft has waked the battle-sw eL 
Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold. 

Wild soimding when the Roman rampart fell 
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's kneU, 

Alderiie, Kilsythe, and Tibber, owu'd its famt 
Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, 

But ne'er from prouder field arose tiie name, 
Than when wUd Ronda learn'd the conquering 
shout of Ge^mk 1* 

xvni. 

But aU too long, throiigh seas imknown and dark 

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale,)" 
By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturous 
bark. 
And landward now I drive before the gale. 
And now the blue and distant shore I haU, 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now I gladly furl my weary saU, 

And as the prow Ught touches on the strand 
I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff tc 
land.' 

On the long voiage whereto she is bent : 
Well may she speede, and fairely finish her intent !" 

Faerie Queene, book i. canto 12 

T " No comparison can be fairly instituted between composi 
tions so wholly different in style and designation as the present 
poem and Mr. Scott's former productions. The [)resent poem 
neither has, nor, from its nature, could have tne Interest which 
arises from an eventful plot, or a detailed delineation of chaf 
acter ; and we shall arrive at a far more accurate estimation oi 
its merits by comparing it with ' The Bard' of Gray, or thai 
particular scene of Ariosto, where Bradamante beholds tha 
wonders of Merlin's tomb. To this it has many strong and 
evident features of resemblance ; but, in our opinion, greatly 
surpasses it both in the dignity of the objects represented, tn^ 
the picturesque effect of the machinery. 

" We are inclined to rank The Vision of Don Roderick, aoK 
only above ' The Bard,' but (excepting Adam's Vision froiv 
the Mount of Paradise, and the matchless beauties of the sixth 
book of Virgil) above all the historical and poetical prospect* 
which have come to our knowledge. The scenic representation 
is at once gorgeous and natural ; and the language, and \Wf 
agery, is altogether as spirited, and bear» the staiay of mora 
care and polish than even the most celebrated of the auttior'i 
former productions. If it please us less than tliese, we must 
attribute it in part perhaps to the want of contrivance, and in 
a still greater degree to the nature of the subject itself, which it 
deprived of aB ^^ interest derived from suspense or sympathy, 
and, as far as it is connected with modern politics, represents t 
scene too near our immediate inspection to admit the interpo- 
sition of the magic glass of fiction and noetry." — ^vxLrttTl% 
Review, October, 1811. 



" The Vision of Don Roderick has oeen received with !«■ 
interest by the public than any of the aathor'a other per 



284 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



formances ; and has been read, we ehoald imagine, with some 
degree lT disappoiutment even by those who tooli it up with 
the mo«. reasonable expectations. Yet it is written with very 
•onsiderable spirit, and with more care and effort than moat 
of the aathor's compositions ; — with a degree of effort, indeed, 
which could scarcely have failed of success, if the author had 
■o' sniceeded so splendidly on other occasions without any 
effort at all, or had chosen any other subject than that which 
ills the cry of our alehouse politicians, and supplies the gabble 
»*"all the quidnuncs in this country, — our depending campaigns 
D opiiin and Portugal, — with the exploits of Lord Wellington 
nd the spoliations of the French armies. The nominal sub- 
|ect of the poem, indeed, is the Vision of Don Roderick, in the 
eightli century ; but this is obviously a mere prelude to the 
gr-..ad piece of our recent battles, — a sort of machinery devised 
to give dignity and effect to their introduction. In point of 
fact, the poem begins and ends with Lord Wellington ; and 
being written for the benefit of the plundered Portuguese, and 
Dpon a Spanish story, the thing could not well have been 
Dtherwise. The public, at this moment, will listen to nothing 
about S|)aln, but the history of the Spanish war ; and the old 
Gothic king, and the Moors, are considered, we dare say, by 
Mr. So^'^'s most impatient readers, as very tedious interlopers 

in the proper business of the piece The Poem has 

Bcarcely any story, and scarcely any characters ; and consists, 
in truth, almost entirely of a series of descriptions, intermingled 
with plaudits and execrations. The descriptions are many of 
them very fine, though the style is more turgid and verbose 
than in the better parts of Mr. Scott's other productions ; but 
tlie invectives and acclamations are too vehement and too 
frequent to be either graceful or impressive. There is no 
tlimax or progression to relieve the ear, or stimulate the imagin- 
ation. Mr. Scott sets out on the very highest pitch of his 
voice, and keeps it up to the end of the measure. There are 
no grand swells, therefore, or overpowering bursts in his song. 
All, from first to last, is loud, and clamorous, and obtrusive, — 
indiscriminately noisy, and often ineffectually exaggerated. 
He has fewer new images than in his other poetry — his tone 
is less natural and varied, — and he moves, upon the whole, 
with a slower and more laborious pace." — Jkffrkt, Edin- 
burgh Review, 181L 



" The Edinburgh Reviewers have been down on my poor 
Don iiand to fist ; but, truly, as they are too fastidious to ap- 
prove 01 tne campaign, I should be very unreasonable if I ex- 
pected them to like the celebration of it. I agree with thera, 
kowevrr, as to the lumbering weight of the stanza, and I 
liiiewdl) anipect it would require a very great poet indeed to 



prevent the tedium arising from the recurrence of rhymat 
Our language is unable to support the expenditure of so nisa 
for each stanza ; even Spenser himself, with all the license o 
using obsolete words and uncommon spellings, sometimes f» 
tigues the ear. Tliey are also very wroth with me for omi4ting 
the merits of Sir John Moore ;' but as I never exactly discov. 
ered in what these lay, unless in conducting his advance anfi 
retreat upon a plan the most likely to verify the desoonding 
speculations of the foresaid reviewers, I must hold nijSeU 
excused for not giving praise where I was unable to see that 
much was due."— Sco« to Mr. Morritt, Sept. 26 1811 
lAfe, vol. ill. p. 328. 



" The Vision of Don Roderick had features of novelty, botl 
as to the subject and the manner of the composition, which 
excited much attention, and gave rise to some shaip contro- 
versy. The main fable was indeed from the most picluresfiue 
region of old romance ; but it was made throughout the vehi 
cle of feelings directly adverse to those with which the Whig 
critics had all along regarded the interference of Britain in 
behalf of the nations of the Peninsula ; and the silence which, 
while celebrating our other generals on that scene of action, 
had been preserved with respect to Scott's own gallant coun- 
tryman, Sir John Moore, was considered or represented by 
them as an odious example of genius hoodwinked by the influ- 
ence of parly. Nor were there wanting persons who affected 
to discover that the charm of Scott's poetry had to a great 
extent evaporated under the severe test to which he had ex 
posed it, by adopting, in place of those comparatively light 
and easy measures in which he had hitherto dealt, the most 
elaborate one that our literature e.xhibits. The production, 
notwithstanding the complexity of the Spenserian stanza, had 
been very rapidly executed ; and it shows, accordingly, many 
traces of negligence. But the patriotic inspiration of it found 
an echo in the vast majority of British hearts ; many of tJ>e 
Whig oracles themselves acknowledged that the difficulties 
of the metre had been on the whole successfully overcome ; 
and even the hardest critics were compelled to exjjress ui; 
qualified admiration of various detached pictures and pas 
sages, which, in truth, as no one now disputes, neither he noi 
any other poet ever excelled. The whole setting or franieworl 
— whatever relates in short to the last of the Goths himself — 
was, I think, even then unanimously pronounced admirable ; 
and no party feeling could blind any man to the heroic spiers 
dor of such stanzas as tfiose in which the three equally gai 
lant elements of a British army are contrasted." — Lockhakt 
W; Vol. iii. p. 310. 

1 S«e Apptcdix, Editor'* Now T. 



APPENDIX TO THE VIBIOK Of DOIN RODERICK. 



28a 



APPENDIX. 



NoTit A. 

^nd Cattreath' s glens with voice // triumph rung, 
And mystic Merlin harp *, o»k gr ,y-hr,r'/ Llywarch 
sung!— P. ^l. 

This locality may startle those readen wh-> do not recollect 
iWat much of the ancient poetry preserved in Wales refers less 
to the history of the Principality to which that nama is now 
Sraited, than to events which happened in the northwest of 
England, and southwest of Scotland, where the Britons for a 
long time made a stand against the Saxons. The battle of 
Cattreath, lamented by the celebrated Aneurin, is supposed, 
by the learned Dr. Leyden, to have been fought on the skirts 
of Ettrick Forest. It is known to the English reader by the 
paraphrase of Gray, beginning, 

" Had I but the torrent's might, 
With headlong rage and wild aifright," &o. 

Brt it is not so generally known that the champions, mourned 
in this beautiful dirge, were the British inhabitants of Edin- 
Irurgh, who were cut off by the Saxons of Deiria, or Northum- 
berland, about the latter part of the sixth century — Turnbr's 
History of the Anglo-Saxons, edition 1799, vol. i. p. 222. 
Llywarch, the celebrated bard and monarch, was Prince of 
Argood, in Cumberland ; and his youthful exploits were per- 
formed upon the Border, although in his age he was driven 
Into Powys by the successes of the Anglo-Saxons. As for 
Merlin Wyllt, or the Savage, his name of Caledonia, and his 
retreat into the Caledonian v,'ood, appropriate him to Scot- 
land. Fordun dedicates the thirty-first chapter of the third 
book of his Scoto-Chronicon, to a narration of the death of 
'.his celebrated bard and prophet near Drumelzier, a village 
apon Tweed, which is supposed to have derived its name 
{quasi Tumulus Merlini) trom the event. The particular spot 
in which he is buried is still shown, and appears, from the 
following quotation, to have partaken of his prophetic quali- 
ties : — " There is one thing remarkable here, which is, that 
the bnm called Pausayl runs by the east side of this church- 
yard into the Tweed ; at the side of which burn, a little below 
the churchyard, the famous prophet Merlin is said to be bu- 
ried. The particular place of his grave, at the root of a thorn- 
tree, was shown me, many years ago, by the old and reverend 
minister of the place, Mr. Richard Brown ; and here was 
ibe old prophecy fulfilled, delivered in Scots rhyme, to this 
lurpose : — 

' When Tweed and Pausayl meet at Merlin's grave, 
Scotland and England shall one Monarch have.' 

For, the same day that our King James the Sixth was 
(owned King of England, the river Tweed, by an extraordi- 
,ary flood, so far overflowed its banks, that it met and joined 
with the Pausayl at the said grave, which was never before 
IDserved to fall out." — Pknntcuick'b Description of Tweedr 
tale. Edin. 1715, iv. p. 26. 



Note B. 

Minehmore's haunted spring. — P. 271. 

A belief in the existence and nocturnal revels of the /airien 



still lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copi^ni Ions 
tain upon the ridge of Minchmore, called the Cheeieweil, H 
supposed to be sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was ens 
ternary to propitiate them by throwing in soncsthing upon pass- 
ing it. A pin was the usual oblation ; and the ceremony a 
still sometimes practised, though rather in jest than earnest. 



Note C. 



The rude villager, his labor done. 



In verse spontaneous chants some favored name. — P. 271 

The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish languages, and 
perhaps the liveliness of then- genins, renders these conntriet 
distinguished for the talent of improvisation, which is found 
even among the lowest of the people. It is mentioned by Ba 
retti and other travellers. 



Note D. 

Kindling at the deeds of Ormme. — P. 271. 



Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a poet may ba 
allowed to exercise some power. I have used the freedom, 
here and elsewhere, to alter the orthography of the name of 
my gallant countryman, in order to apprise the Soathem 
reader of its legitimate sound ; — Grahame being, on the otbe> 
side of the Tweed, usually pronounced as a dissyllable. 



Note E. 



fVhat ! will Don Roderick here till morninf. s'ay, 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past. 
For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay ?— P. 27S. 

Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice o> 
trflilion, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to th" forcible vi\> 
lation committed by Roderick upon Flonnta ailed by th« 
Moors, Caba or Cava. She was the daughiei of Count Ju- 
lian, one of the Gothic monfwch's principal lieutenants, whff, 
when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence 
of Centa against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingrati* 
tnde of his sovereign, and the dishonor of his daughter, Caani 
Julian forgot the duties of a Christian H«d a patriot, and 
forming^n alliance with Mnsa, then the Ca iph's .iententat 
in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body ol 
Saracens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated tarik ; 
the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, ana 
the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors 
Voltaire, in his General History, expresses his douDts of thii 
popular story, and Gibbon gives him some countenance ; but 
the universal tradition is quite sufficient for the purposes ol 
poetry. The Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda's memor) 
ark said, by Cervantes, never to bestow that name upon any 
human female, reserving it for their dogs. Nor is the tradi- 
tion less inveterate among the Moors, since the same anthoi 
mentions a promontory on the coast of Barbary, called "Th« 
Cape of the Caba Rumia, which, u oar toogae, is the CWp« 



886 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



•f the Wicked Christian Woman ; and it is a tradition among 
the Moors, that Caba, the daughter of Count Julian, who wai 
the cause of the loss of Spain, lies buried there, and they think 
It ominous to be forced into that bay ; for they never go in oth- 
erwise than by neceesity." 



Note F. 



And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, 
Where, if aught true in old tradition be. 
Bis nation's future fate a Spanish King shall see. — P. 273. 

The transition of an incident from history to tradition, and 
ftom tradition to fable and romance, becoming more marvel- 
Jons at each step from its original simplicity, is not ill exem- 
plified in the account of the " Fated Chamber" of Don Rod- 
erick, as given by his namesake, the historian of Toledo, con- 
trasted with subsequent and more romantic accounts of the 
lame subterranean discovery. I give the Archbishop of Tole- 
.io's tale in the words of Nonius, who seems to intimate 
(though very modestly) that the fatale palatium, of which so 
nnch had been said, was only the ruins of a Roman amphi- 
theatre. 

*' Extra mnros, septentrionera versus, vestigia magni olim 
theatri sparsa visuntur. Auctor est Rodericus, Toletanus 
Archiepiscopns ante Arabum in Hispanias irruptionem, hie 
^atale palatium fuisse ; quod invicti vectes seterna ferri robora 
olaudebant, ne reseratum HispaniaB excidinra adferret ; quod 
in fatis non vulgus solum, sed et prudentissimi quique crede- 
bant. Sed Roderici nhimi Gothornm Regis animura infelix 
cnriositas subiit, sciendi quid snh tot vetitis claustris observa- 

ur ; ingentes ibi snpenorum regum opes et arcanos thesau- 
03 servari ratns. Seras et pessulos perfringi curat, invitis 
omnibus ; nihs) prjeter arculam repertum, et in ea linteum, 
quo explicate novse et insolentes hominum facies habitusque 
apparuere, cum inscriptione Latina, Hispanice excidium ab 
•Ula gente imminerj ; Vultus hahitusqne Manrorum erant. 
Q,aamobrem ex Africa tantam cladem instare regi csterisqne 
persuasum ; nee falso t^t Hispaniee annales etiamnum que- 
runtur." — Hispania Ludtnnt. JVonij. cap. lix. 

But, about the term of the expulsion of the Moors from 
Grenada, we find, in the " Jiistoria Vcrdadeyra del Rey Don 
Rodrigo," a (pretended) translation from the Arabic of the 
Bage Alcayde Abulcacim Tarif Abentariqne, a legend which 
puts to shame the modesty of the historian Roderick, with his 
chest and prophetic picture. The custom of ascribing a pre- 
tended Moorish original to these legendary histories, is ridiculed 
by Cervantes, who affects to translate the History of the Knight 
of the Woful Figure, from the Arabic of the sage Cid Hamet 
Benengeli. As I have been indebted to the Historia Verdadey 
Ta for some of the imagery employed in the text, the following 
literal translation from the work itself may gratify the inquisi- 
tive reader : — 

" One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among 
■eme rocks, was situated an ancient tower, of a. magnificent 
rtmcture, though much dilapidated by time, which consumes 
til ■ four estadoes (t. e. four times a man's height) below it, 
tfcere was a cave with a very narrow entrance, and a gate cut 
•«l of the solid rock, lined with a strong covering of iron, and 
futened with many locks ; above the gate some Greek letters 
are engraved, which, although abbreviated, and of doubtful 
meaning, were thus interpreted, according to the exposition of 
earned men : — ' The King who opens this cave, and can dis- 
eover the wonders, will di.^cover both good and evil things.' — 
Many Kings desired to know the mystery of this tower, and 
•ought to find out the manner with much care ; but when they 
opened the gate, such a tremendous noise arose in the cave, 
that it appeared as if the earth was bursting ; many of those 
present sickened with fear, and others lost their lives. In order 
to preven such great perils (as they supposed a dangerous en- 
•haotmeiit yiza contained within), they secured the gate with 



new locks, concluding, that, though a King was destined t« 
open it, the fated time was not yet arrived. At last King Don 
Rodrigo, led on by his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opened 
the tower ; and some bold attendants, whom he had brought 
with him, entered, although agitated with fear. Having pro- 
ceeded a good way, they fled back to the entrance, terrifi« 
with a frightful vision which they had beheld. The King wav 
greatly moved, and ordered many torches, so contrived that t> 
tempest in the cave could not extinguish them, to be lighted 
Then the King entered, not without fear, before all the othen 
They discovered, by degrees, a splendid hall, apparently boilt 
in a very sumptuous manner ; in the middle stood a Bronx 
Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a battle-axe 
in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently, giving it 
such heavy blows, that the noise in the cave was occasioned 
by the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted, and 
astonished, began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that 
he would return without doing any injury in the cave, after ha 
had obtained a sight of what was contained in it. The statue 
ceased to strike the floor, and the King, with his followers, 
somewhat assured, and recovering their courage, proceeded into 
the hall ; and on the left of the statue they found this inscrip- 
tion on the wall, ' Unfortunate King, thou hast entered here in 
evil hour.' On the right side of the wall these words were in 
scribed, ' By strange nations thou shall be dispossessed, and thy 
subjects foully degraded.' On the shoulders of the statue other 
words were written, which said, 'I call upon the Arabs.' 
And upon his breast was written, 'I do my office.' At the 
entrance of the hall there was placed a round bowl, from whici. 
a great noise, like the fedl of waters, proceeded. They found 
no other thing in the hall : and when the King, sorrowful and 
greatly affected, had scarcely turned about to leave the cavern, 
the statue again commenced his accustomed blows upon tht 
floor. After they had mutually promised to conceal what thej 
had seen, they again closed the tower, and blocked up the gate 
of the cavern with earth, that no memory might remain in the 
world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The en« 
suing midnight they heard great cries and clamor from the 
cave, resounding like the noise of battle, and the ground 
shaking with a tremendous roar; the whole edifice oi' the 
old tower fell to the ground, by which they were greatly 
affrighted, the vision which they had beheld appearing to them 
as a dream. 

" The King having left the tower, ordered wise men to ex- 
plain what the inscriptions signified ; and having consulted 
upon and studied their meaning, they declared that the statue 
of bronze, with the motion which it made with its battle-axe 
signified Time ; and that its office, alluded to in the inserijition 
on its breast, was, that he never rests a single moment. Tha 
words on the shoulders, ' I call upon the Arabs,' they expouml- 
ed, that, in time, Spain would be conquered by the Aralw 
The words upon the left wall signified the destruction of King 
Rodrigo; those on the right, the dreadful calamities which 
were to fall upon the Spaniards and Goths, and that the un- 
fortunate King would be dispossessed of all his states. Finally 
the letters on the portal indicated, that good would betide b. 
the conquerors, and evil to the conquered, of which experienw 
proved the truth." — Historia Verdadcyra del Rey Don RtO- 
rigo. Quinta impression. Madrid. 1654, iv. p. 23. 



Note 6 

The Techir war-cry and the Leltf'f yell.— P. 274. 

The Tecbir (denved from the words J]lla acbar, God is mo4 
mighty) was the original war-cry of the Saracans. It is tela 
orated by Hughes in the Siege of Damascus : — 

" We heard the Tecbir ; so these Arabs call 
Their shout of onset, when, with loun appeal 
They cha'iange Heaven, as if deman-iing conqned. 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



2S' 



"The Lelie, wul known to the Christians during the cm- 
lades, in the shout of Alia ilia Alia, the Mahomedan con- 
fession of faith. It is twice used in poetry by ray friend Mr. 
W. Stewart Rose, in the romance of Partenopex, and in the 
nrosade of St. Lewi» 



Note H. 



By Heaven, the Moors prevail I the Christians yield ! — 
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 

The scepter'd craven mounts to quit the field — 
Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes, 'tis mine! — P. 275. 

Count Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, with the 
eonnivance and assistance of Oppas, Archbisliop of Toledo, 
jnvhied, in 713, the Saracens into Spain. A considerable army 
arrived under the command of Tarik, or Tarif, who bequeathed 
Vhe wel known name of Gibraltar (Oibel al Tarik, or the 
monntaiK if Tarik) to the place of his landing. He was joined 
by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, and took Seville. In 714, 
they returned with a still greater force, and Roderick marched 
Into Andalusia at the head of a great army, to give them 
batt.te. The field was chosen near Xeres, and Jlariana gives 
the following account of the action : — 

"Both armies being drawn up, the King, according to the 
custom of the Gothic kings when they went to battle, appeared 
in an ivory chariot, clothed in cloth of gold, encouraging his 
men ; Teirif, on the other side, did the same. The armies, 
thus prepared, waited only for the signal t'' fall on ; the Goths 
gave the charge, their drums and trumpets sounding, and the 
Moors received it with the noise of kettle-drums. Such were 
the shouts and cries on both sides, that the mountains and 
valleys seemed to meet. First, they began with slings, darts, 
iavelins, and lances, then came to the swords ; a long time the 
battle was dubious ; but the Moors seemed to have the worst, 
till D. Oppas, the archbishop, having to that time concealed 
his treachery, in 'Jie heat of the fight, with a great body of his 
followers went over to the infidels. He joined Count Julian, 
with whom weis a great number of Goths, and both together 
fell upon the flank of our army. Our men, terrified with that 
Bnparalleled treachery, and tired with fighting, could no longer 
iustain that charge, but were easily put to flight. The King 
performed the part not only of a wise general, but of a resolute 
ioldier, relieving the weakest, bringing on fresh men in place of 
those that were tired, and stopping those that turned their 
backs. At length, seeir.g no hopes left, he alighted out of his 
chariot for fear of being taken, and mounting on a horse called 
Orelia, he withdrew out of the battle. The Goths, who still 
Itood, missing him, were most part put to the sword, the rest 
betook themselves to flight. The camp was immediately en- 
tered, and the baggage taken. What number wag killed was 
not known : I suppose they were so many it was hard to count 
tbem ; forthh single battle robbed Spain of all its glory, and in 
it periRied tfca r>5;VQed name of the Goths. The King's horse, 
•pper §f*(inent aa.1 )S.ekins, covered with pearls and precious 
■tODCB, were found ot the bank of the river Guadelite, and 
iaart being no news of him afterwards, it was supposed he was 
dwwDed passing the river." — Mariana's History of Spain, 
book vi. chap, 9. 

OFSlia, the ronrser of Don Roderick, mentioned in the text, 
tod in the above quotation, was celebrated for her speed and 
torn. She is menticced repeatedly in Spanish romance, and 
■»> 'ff Cervantes. 



Note L 



When for the light bolero ready stand 
The moio blithe, with gay mxichacha met. — P. 276« 

f)M kolero IS a verj 'ighl and a.it s'e dance, much practisea 



by the Spaniards, in which castanet& are always used. Moia 
and muchacha are equivalent to oni phrase of lad and lass. 



Note K. 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried "Castiie. P Sf78 

The heralds, at the coronation of a SpanisL a«iuicct pic 
claim his name three times, and repeat thrive times tne won 
Castilla, Castilla, Castilla ; which, with all other ceremoniet 
was carefuUy copied in the mock inauguration of Joseph Boii» 
parte. 



Note L. 



High blazed the war. uxd long, and far, and wide. — P. 278 

Those who were disposed to believe that mere virtue and 
energy are able of themselves to work forth the sa'valion of an 
oppressed people, surprised in a moment of confidence, deprived 
of their officers, armies, and fortresses, who had every meana 
of resistance to seek in the very moment when they were to be 
made use of, and whom the numerous treasons among the 
higher orders deprived of confidence in their natural leaders, — 
those who entertained this enthusiastic but delusive opinion 
may be pardoned for expressing their disappointment at the 
protracted warfare in the Peninsula. There are, however 
another class of persons, who, having themselves the highest 
dread or veneration, or something allied to both, for the powel 
of the modern Attila, will nevertheless give the heroical Span 
iards little or no credit for the long, stubborn, and unsubdued 
resistance of three years to a power before whom their formei 
well-prepared, well-armed, and numerous adversaries fell in the 
course of as many months. While these gentlemen plead foi 
deference to Bonaparte, and crave 

" Respect for his great place, and bid the devil 
Be duly honor'd for his burning throne," 

it may not be altogether unreasonable to claim some m<xJiA 
cation of censure upon those who have been long and to & 
great extent successfullj* resisting this great enemy of man 
kind. That the energy of Spain has not uniformly beei. 
directed by conduct equal to its vigor, has been loo obvious . 
that her armies, under their complicated disadvantages, have 
shared the fate of such as were defeated after taking the field 
with every possible advantage of arms and discipline, is surely 
not to be wondered at. But that a nation, under the cireunv- 
stances of repeated discomfiture, internal treason, and the mis- 
management incident to a temporary and hastily adopted gov 
ernment, should have wasted, by its scubborn, uniform, and 
prolonged resistance, myriads after myriads of those soldiers 
who had overrun the world — that some of its provinces should, 
like Galicia, after being abandoned by their allies, and overrot 
by their enemies, have recovered their freedom by their own 
unassisted exertions ; that others, like Catalonia, undismayed 
by the treason which betrayed some fortresses, and 'he foru« 
which subdued others, should not only liave continued theii 
resistance, out have attained over their victorious enemy a 
superiority, which is even now enabling them to besiege an'" 
retake the places of strength which had been wrested from 
them, is a tale hitherto untold in the revolutionary war. To 
say that such a people cannot be subdued, would b^ pre- 
sumption similar to that of those who protested that Spain 
could not defend herself for a year, or Portugal for a month . 
but that a resistance which has been continued for so long a 
space, when the usurper, except during the short-lived Au» 
trian campaign, had no other enemies on the continent, should 
be now less successful, when repeated defeats have broken tha 
reputation of the French armies, and when they are likely (it 
uld seem almost in deitperation) to seek occupatiou elw 



288 



SCOTT'S POETICAL W OKKS. 



where, u a prophecy as improbable as ungracioas. And while 
we are in the humor of severely censuring our allies, gallant 
ind devoted as they have shown themselves in the caase of 
Daliowl liberty, because they may not instantly adopt those 
measurea which we in our wisdom may deem essential to sue- 
ie«s, it might be well if we endea-'oied first to resolve the pre- 
vious questions, — 1st, Whetkar »t do not at this moment know 
much less of the !?par.ijh armies than those i/f Portugal, which 
were eo prompt f condemned as totally inadequate to assist in 
the Pie^ervation of their country ? 2d, Whether, independ- 
t^tiy of any rignt we have to offer more than advice and 
Msistance to our independent allies, we can expect that they 
ihonld renoTince entirely the national pride, which is insepai^ 
ible from patriotism, and at once condescend not only to be 
raved by our assistance, but to be saved in our own way? 
Jd, Whether, if it be an object (as undoubtedly it is a main 
one) that the Spanish troops should be trained under British 
discipline, to the flexibility of movement, and power of rapid 
concert and combination, which is essential to modern war ; 
such a consummation is likely to be produced by abusing them 
in newspapeis and periodical publications 1 Lastly, since the 
undoubted authority of British officers makes us now ac- 
quainted w'h part of the horrors that attend invasion, and 
which the providence of God, the valor of our navy, and per- 
haps the very efforts of these Spaniards, have hitherto diverted 
from us, it may be modestly questioned whether we ought to 
be too forward to estimate and condemn the feeling of tem- 
porary stupefaction which they create; lest, in eo doing, we 
should resemble the worthy clergyman who, while he had him- 
lelf never snuffed a candle with his fingers, was disposed se- 
Terely to criticise the conduct of a martyr, who winced a little 
Lmo::£ his flames. 



Note M. 



They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. — 

P. 279. 

The interesting account of Mr. Vanghan has made moat 
readers acquainted with the first siege of Zaragoza.' The last 
and fatal siege of that gallant and devoted city is detailed with 
great eloquence and precision in the " Edinburgh Annual Re- 
pister" for 1809, — a work in which the affairs of Spain have 
been treated of with attention corresponding to their deep in- 
terest, and to the peculiar sources of information open to the 
historian. The following are a few brief extracts from this 
splendid historical narrative : — 

" A breach was soon made in the mud walls, and then, as in 
■Jie tbriner siege, the war was carried on in the streets and 
louses ; but the French had been taught by experience, that 
.1. this upecies of warfare the Zaragozans derived a superiority 
from the feeling and principle which inspired them, and the 
cause for which they fought. The only means of conquering 
Zaragoza was to destroy it house by house, and street by street ; 
and o y)n this syiitem of destruction they proceeded. Three 
lompanies of miners, and eight companies of sappers, carried 
n this subterraneous war ; the Spaniards, it is said, attempted 
o oppose them by countermines ; these were operations to 
K hich they were wholly unnsed, and, according to the French 
tatement, their miners were every day discovered and euffoca- 
led. lleantime, the bombardment was incessantly kept up. 
' W;-..iin the last 48 hours,' said Palafox in a letter to his friend 
General Doyle, ' 6000 shells have been thrown in. Two-thirds 
vfthe town arc in ruins, but we shall perish under the ruins of 
xe remaining third rather than surrender.' In the course of 
Jie siege, above 17,000 bombs were thrown at the town ; the 
itock of powder with which Zaragoza had been stored -vas ex- 
hkosted ; they had none at last but what they manufactured 

1 See Narrative of the Siege of Zarai;aza, by Richard Charles Vanghan, 
Ciq. 1809. Tho Right Honorable R. C. Vaughan is now British Miniiter 



day by day ; *nd no other cannon-balls than those which wew 
■hot into the 'own, and which they collected md fired ha»i 
upon the enewT." 

In the midst of these horrors and privations, the pestilenc* 
broke out in Zaragoza. To various causes, enumerated by th« 
annalist, he adds, "scantiness of food, crowded quarters, nnn» 
sual exertion of body, anxiety of mind, and the impossibility 
of recruiting their exhausted strength by needful rest, in a city 
which was almost incessantly bombarded, and where every 
hour their sleep was broken by the tremendous explosion ol 
mines. There was now no respite, either by day or night, fa 
this devoted city ; even the natural order of light and darknesa 
was destroyed in Zaragoza; by day it was involved in a led 
sulphureous atmosphere of smoke, which hid the face of 
heaven ; by night, the fire of cannons and mortars, and the 
flames of burning houses, kept it in a state of terrific illumina- 
tion. 

" When once the pestilence had begun, it was impossible to 
check its progress, or confine it to one quarter of the city. Hos. 
pitals were immediately established, — there were above thirty 
of them ; as soon as one was destroyed by the bombardment, 
the patients were removed to another, and thus the infectiao 
was carried to every part of Zaragoza. Famine aggravated 
the evil ; the city had probably not been sufficiently provided 
at the commerceraent of the siege, and of the provisions which 
it contained, much was destroyed in the daily ruin which the 
mines and bombs effected. Had the Zaragozans and their gar- 
rison [iroceeded according to military rules, they would have 
surrendered before the end of January ; their batteries had then 
been demolished, there were open breaches in many parts of 
their weak walh, and the enemy were already within the city. 
On the 30th, atiove sixty houses were blown up, and the 
French obtained possession of the monasteries of the AugU8- 
tines and Las Monicas, which adjoined each other, two of the 
last defensible places left. The enemy forced their way into 
the church ; every column, every chapel, every altar, became 
a point of defence, which was repeatedly attacked, taken and 
retaken ; the pavement was covered with blood, the aisles and 
body of the church strewed with the dead, who were trampled 
under foot by the combatants. In the midst of this conflict, 
the roof, shattered by repeated bombs, fell in ; the few who 
were not crushed, after a short paase, which this tremendoui 
shock, and their own unexpected escape, occasioned, renew©! 
the fight with rekindled fury ; fresh parties of the enemy pour- 
ed in ; monks, and citizens, and soldiers, came to the defence 
and the contest was continued upon the ruins, and the bodiet 
of the dead and the dying." 

Yet, seventeen days after subtaining these extremities, din 
the heroic inhabitants of Zaragoza continue their defence ; nor 
did they then surrender until their despair had extracted from 
the French generals a capitulation, more honorable than has 
been granted to fortresses of the first order. 

Who shall venture to refuse the Zaragozans the euloginm 
conferred upon them by the eloquence of Wordsworth I — 
"Most gloriously have the citizens of Zaragoza proved that 
the true army of Spain, in a contest of this nature, is the 
whole people. The same city has also exemplified a melan- 
choly, yea, a dismal truth, — yet consolatory and full of joy — 
that when a people are called suddenly to fight for their liberty 
and are sorely pressed upon, their best fie.u oi battle is t^t 
floors upon which their children have played ; the chamben 
where the family of each man has slept (hig own or his neigh- 
bors') ; upon or under the roofs by which they have been shel- 
tered ; in the gardens of their recreation ; in the street, or in 
the market-place ; before the altars of their temples, and among 
their congregated dwellings, blazing or uprootea. 

" The government of Spain must never forget Zaragoza for 
a moment. Nothing is wanting to produce the same eflect* 
everywhere, but a leading mind, such as that city was blessed 
with. In the latter contest this has been proved ; for Zarago 
za contained, at the time, bodies of men from almost all parts 
of Spain The narrative of those two sieges ihoald be iIm 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF D0^^ RODERICK. 



286 



«anaal of evjry Spaniard. He may add to it the ancient eto- 
"ies of Namantiik and Sagantam ; let liira sleep opon the book 
«s a pillow, and, if he be a devout adherent to the religion of 
Ills country , let him wear it in his bosom for his cmcifix to rest 
apon." — VV0RD8V vSTW 0% lAe Convention of Cintrn 



Note N. 

The Vault of Destiny.— V. 280. 

before finally dismissing the enchanted cavern of Do» Rod- 
erick, il may be noticed, that the legend occurs in one of Cal- 
deron's p^aya, entitled, La Virgin del Sagrario. The scene 
pens with the noise of the chase, and Recisundo, a predeces- 
sor of Roderick upon the Gothic throne, enters pursuing a stag. 
The animal assumes the form of a man, and defies the king to 
enter the cave, which forms the bottom of the sceiie, and en- 
gage with him in single combat. Tlie king accepts the chal- 
lenge, and they engage accordingly, but without advantage on 
either side, wh'ch induces the Genie to inform Recisundo, that 
he is not the nn narch for whom the adventure of the enchant- 
ed cavern is resurved, and he proceeds to predict the downfall 
of the Gothic r onarchy, and of the Christian religion, which 
shall attend tl. t discovery of its mysteries. Recisundo, ap- 
palled by these prophecies, orders the cavern to be secured by 
a gate and bolt.= of iron. In the second part of the same play, 
we are informe.' that Don Roderick had removed the barrier, 
and transgressei the prohibition of his ancestor, and had been 
apprized by the prodigies which he discovered of the approach- 
ing ruin of his k ogdom 



Note O. 



While downward on the land his legions prest. 
Before them it was rich with vine and flock, 

Jind smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness. — P. 281. 

I have ventured to apply to the movements of the French 
army that sublime passage in the prophecies of Joel, which 
seems applicable to them in more respects than that I have 
adopted in the text. One would think their ravages, then- mil- 
itary appointments, the terror which they spread among invaded 
nations, their military discipline, their arts of political intrigue 
and deceit, were distinctly pointed out in the following verses 
of Scripture : — 

"2. A day of darknesse and of gloorainesse, a day of clouds 
and of thick darknesse, as the morniiig spread upon the moun- 
tains ; a great people and a strong, there hath not been ever 
the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the yeares 
of many generations. 3. A fire devoureth before them, and 
behind thtm a flame burneth ; the land is as the garden of 
Eden before them, and behinde them a desolate wilderness, 
W»., and nothing shall escape them. 4. The appearance of 
tbem is as the appearance of horses and as horsem<?n, so shall 
they runne. 5. Like the noise of chariots on the tops of moun- 
tains, shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that de- 
voure'h the stubble, as a strong people set in battel array, 
fi. Before their face shall the people be much pained ; all faces 
shall gather blacknesse. 7. They shah run like mighty men, 
they shall climb the wall like men of warre, and they shall 
march every one in his wayes, and they shall not break their 
ranks. 8. Neither shall one thrust another, they shall walk 
every one in his path : and when they fall upon the sword, 
they shall not oe wounded. 9. They shall run to and fro in 
the citie ; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climbe up np- 
»n the houses : they shall entei in al he windows like a thief. 
10. The tarth shall quake before th»» be heavens shall 
37 



tremble, the snune and the moon shall be dark, and the stairef 
shall withdraw their shining." 

In verse 20th also, which announces the retreat of th6 nor 
thern army, described in such dreadful colors, into a " land 
barren and desolate," and the dishonor with which God afflict 
ed them for having " magnified themselves to do great things, 
these are particulars not inapplicable to •'■e retreat of Massena 
— Divine Providence having, in all ages, attached oisgrace & 
the natural punishment of cruelty and presumntiuo 



Note P. 



The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 
Oave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. — P. 281. 

Even the unexampled gallantry of the British army in the 
campaign of 1810-11, although they never fought but to con- 
quer, will do them less honor in history than their humanity, 
attentive to soften to the utmost of their power the horrors 
which war, in its mildest aspect, must always inflict upon the 
defenceless inhabitants of the country in which it is waged, 
and which, on this occasion, were tenfold argmented by the 
barbarous cruelties of the French. Sonp-kilchens were estab- 
lished by subscription among the officers, wherever the Jroops 
were quartered for any length of time. The commissaries con- 
tributed the heads, feet, &c. of the cattle slaughtered for the 
soldiery : rice, vegetables, and bread, where it could be had, 
were purchased by the oflScers. Fifty or sixty starving peas- 
ants were daily fed at one of these regimental establishtnents, 
and carried home the relics to their famishing households. The 
emaciated wretches, who could not crawl from weakness, were 
speedily employed in pruning their vines. While pursuing 
Massena, the soldiers evinced the same spirit of humanity, and 
in many instances, when reduced themselves to short allowance 
from having out-marched their supplies, they shared their pit- 
tance with the starving inhabitants, who had ventured back to 
view the ruins of their habitations, burnt by the retreating en- 
emy, and to bury the bodies of their relations whom they had 
butchered. Is it possible to know such facts without feeling a 
sort of confidence, that those who so well deserve victory are 
most likely to attain it ? — It is not the least of Lord Welling- 
ton's military merits, that the slightest disposition towards ma- 
rauding meets immediate punishment. Independently of ah 
moral obligation, the army which is most orderly in a friendlj 
country, has always proved most formidable to an armed en 
emy. 



Note Q. 
Vain-glorious fugitive I — P. 282. 

The French conducted this memorable retreat with mncu 31 
the fanfarronade proper to their country, by which they at- 
tempt to impose upon others, and perhaps on themselves, a !*• 
lief that they are triumphing in the very moment of their Ji» 
comfiture. On the 30th I'darch, 1811, their rear guara wat 
overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry. Being well posted, 
and conceiving themselves safe from infantry (who were mdeed 
many miles in the rear), and from artillery, they indulged them- 
selves in parading their bands of music, and actually performed 
" GH save tiie King." Their minstrelsy was, however, de- 
rangeu by the undesired accompaniment of the Britisn horse- 
artillery, on whose part m the concert they had not calculated. 
The surprise was sudden, and the rout complete ; for the artil- 
lery and cavalry did execution upon them for about foar miles, 
pursuing at the gallop as often as they got Deyond the ta.nge <> 
the suns 



100 



feUOVT'S POETICAL WORK&. 



NotE R. 

^aiv.ly thy squadrons hide Assuava's ^Iwitt, 
And fr-'r.t the flying thunders as they roar, 

tV tik jrantic cha/gt and tenfoUodds, im^.% '—P. 282. 

In ;ne sevore action of Fuentes d'Honoro, oion Ith May, 
. ii; , the gran m ss of the Fren;h cavalry attacked ihe right 
?( th* Briiish »os ion covered by two guns of the K>rs>>-a.til- 
ery, and two sqrid'ons of cavaliy. After suifering "lonsideri- 
i\v " ira the tire of th< guns, which annqyed them in every at- 
tempt at formation, the ijien>y t^art ed their wrath entirely to- 
rards theu, distributed brandy among their troopers, and ad- 
vanced to cany the field-pieces with the desperation of drunken 
iury. They were in nowise che«ke^' by the heavy loss which 
■hey sustained m this daring atien rjt but closed, and fairly 
mingled with the British cavalry, to vhom they bore ihe pro- 
portion of ten to one. Captain Ramsay (let me be permitted 
to name a gallant countryman), who cuti laanded the two guns, 
ditmissed them at the gallop, and puttii- himself at the head 
of the mounted artillerymen, ordered th^n to fall upon the 
French, sabre-in-hand. This very unex^it cted conversion of 
artillerymen into dragoons, contributed grta Jy to the defeat of 
the enemy, already disconcerted by tl e recep'ion they had met 
from the two British squadrons ; and t^e appearance of some 
iniall reinforcements, notwithstanding the imniense dispropor- 
tion of force, put them to absolute rout. A ci'onel or major 
of theii cavalry, and many prisoners (alnost all intoxicated), 
remained in our possession. Those who consider fo- a moment 
the ditierence of the services, and how much an artii'ervman is 
necessarily and naturally led to identity h^e own sa/ety and 
utility with abiding by the tremendous implement o? war, to 
the exercise of which he is chiefly, if not exolusively trained, 
will know how to estimate the presence of mind which com- 
manded so bold a manoeuvre, and tlie steadiness uid confidence 
with which it was executed. 



Notes. 



/ind what avails thee that, for Cameron slain, 
n'ild from his plaided ranks the yell was given. — P. 282. 

The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during 
the desperate contest in the streets of the village caljed Fuentes 
J'Honoro. He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 
71st and 79th, who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. 
They charged with irresistible fury, the finest body of French 
grenadiers ever seen, being a part of Bonaparte's selected 
guard. The officer who led the French, a man remarkable for 
•tature and symmetry, was killed on the spot. The French- 
man who stepped out of his rank to take aim at Colonel Cam- 
eron was also bayoneted, pierced with a thousand wounds, and 
almost torn to piftces by the furious Highlanders, who, under 
the command of Colonel Cadogan, bore the enemy out of the 
contested ground at the point of the bayonet. Massena pays 
my countrymen a singular compliment in his account of the at- 
tack and defence of this village, in which he says the British 
Oi* man] officers, and Scotch. 



NoteT. 
But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, <$-e. — P. 282. 

[The Edinburgh Reviewer offered the following remarks on 
what he considered as an unjust omissioD in this part of the 
toera : — 

" We are not very apt," he says, "to quarrel with a poet 
i6r his politics ; and really supposed it next to impossible that 
Mr. Scott should l:ave given us any ground of dissatisfaction 
■o this score, it. the management of his present theme Lord 



Wellington and his fellow-soldiers well deserved the laareH 
they have won : — nor is there one British heart, we believe, 
that will not feel proud and grateful for all the honors with 
which British genius can invest tlieir names. In the praises 
which Mr. Scott has bestowed, therefore, all his readers wil 
sympathize ; but for those which he has withheld, there an- 
some that will not so readily forgive him : and in our eyes we 
will confess, it is a sin not easily to be expiated, that in a potmi 
written substantially for the purpose of commemoiatinj thu 
brave who have fought or fallen in Spain or Pcrtnga. — auf* 
written by a Scotchman — there should be no mention of th« 
name of Moore ! — of the only commander-in-chief who hit 
fallan in this memorable contest ;— of a commander who wiw 
acknowledged as the model and pattern of a British soldie» 
when British soldiers stood most in need of such an example 
— and was, at the same tinle, distinguished not less for everj 
manly virtue and generous aifection, than for skill and gallniilij 
in his profession. A more pure, or a more exalted character, 
certainly has not appeared upon that scene which Mr. Scott 
has sought to illustrate with the splendor of his genius ; and it 
is with a mixture of shame and indignation that we find him 
grudging a single ray of that profuse and readily yielded glorj 
to gild the grave of his lamented countryman. To ofier a lav 
ish tribute of praise to the living, whose task is still incomplet*. 
may be generous and munificent ; — but to departed merit, it ii 
due in strictness of justice. Who will deny that Sir John 
Moore was all that we have now said of him ? or who wil! 
doubt that his untimely death in the hour of victory would 
have been eagerly seized upon by an impartial poet, as a noble 
theme for generous lamentation and eloquent praise ? But Mr 
Scott's political friends have fancied it for their interest to oac 
lumniate the memory of this illustrious and accomplished per- 
son, — and Mr. Scott has permitted the spirit of i)arty V> stand 
in the way, not only of poetical justice, but of patriotic and 
generous feeling. 

" It is this for which we grieve, and feel ashamed ; — this 
hardening and deadening effect of political animosities, in eases 
where politics should have nothing to do ; — this apparent per- 
version, not merely of the judgment, but of the heart ; — this im- 
placable resentment, which wars not only with the Rving, but 
with the dead ; — and thinks it a reason for defrauding a d» 
parted warrior of his glory, that a political antagonist has been 
zealous in his praise. These things are lamentable, and they 
cannot be alluded to without some emotions of sorrow and re- 
sentment. But they aft'ect not the fame of him on whose ac- 
count these emotions are suggested. The wars of Spain, and 
the merits of Sir John Moore, will be coinmemortlted in a more 
impartial and a more imperishable record, than the Vision of 
Don Roderick ; and his humble monument in the Citadel of 
Corunna will draw the tears and the admiration of thousands, 
who concern not themselves ibout the exploits of his more foi 
tunate a.ssociates." — Edinbjrgh Review, vol. xviii. 1811. 

The reader who desires to understand Sir Walter Scott's de 
liberate opinion on the subject of Sir John Moore's military 
character and conduct, is referred to the Life of Napoleon 
Bonaparte, vol. vi. chap. xlvi. But perhaps it may be neithei 
nnamnsing nor uninstructive to consider, along with the dia- 
tribe jtct qT.«te<i from the "Jdinburgh Review, somi; reflectiot» 
from the pen of Sir Walter Scott himself on the injustice don* 
to a name greater than Moore's in the noble stanzas on th« 
Battle of Waterloo, in the third canto of Childe Haroll — an 
injustice which did not call 'brth any rebuke from the Edin 
burgh critics. Sir Walter, in reviewing this canto, said, 

" Childe Harold arrives on Waterloo — a scene wnere al' 
men, where a poet esnecia.ly, and a poet such as Lord Byron 
must needs pause, and amid the quiet simplicity of whose 
scenery is excited a moral interest, deeper and\nore potent even 
than that which is produced by gazing upon the sublimes» 
efforts of Nature in her most romantic recesses. 

" That Lord Byron'i sentiments do not correspond witn 
curs, is obvious, and w<i are sorry for both our sakes. For oni 
own — because we hava lost that note of triumph with whick 



APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



29 1 



»ii harp woold otherwise have rung over a field of glory sach 
ts Britain never reaped before ; and on Lord Byron's account, 
— because it is melancholy to see a man of genius duped by the 
mere cant of words and phrases, even when facts are most 
broadly confronted with them. If the poet has mixed with the 
original, wild, and magnificent creations of his imagination, 
prejudices which he could only have caught by the contagion 
which he most professes to despise, it is lie himself that mast 
De the loser. If his lofty muse has soared in all her briUiancy 
over the field ol Waterloo without dropping even one leaf of 
laurel on the head of Wellington, his merit can dispense even 
with the praise of Lord Byron. And as when the images of 
fJrutus were exclnded from the triumphal procession, his mem- 
ory became only the more powerfully imprinted on the souls of 
the Romans — the name of the British hero will be but more 
eagerly recalled to remem' ranee by the very lines in which his 
praise is forgotten." — Qu-rlerly Review, vol. xvi. 1816. 

Ed. 



Note U. 



O wko shall grudf't him ^Ibuera's bays, 
fFho brought a raci regenerate to the field, 

Roused them to e-xulate their fathers' praise, 
Temper'd their her \long rage, their courage steel'd. 

And raised fair Lusitania' s fallen shield. — P. 282. 

Nothing during th» Tsar of Portugal seems, to a distinct ob- 
server, aiore deservii;^ of praise, than the self-devotion of 
Fie il-Marshal Berer(j«l, who was contented to undertake all 
the i-azard of obU>iCy which might have been founded upon 
anj miscarriage in -.ae highly important experiment of trainmg 
ihe Portuguese tntups to an improved state of discipline. In 
sxnosing his mili\8fy reputation to the censure of imprudence 
from the most M*i,(!erate, and all manner of unutterable calum- 
nies from the ifuorant and malignant, he placed at stake the 
dearest pleib j iffhich a military man had to offer, and nothing 
but the dee;.'^ conviction of the high and essential importance 
%tt£clw>d Ic BACcess can be supposed an adequate motive. 
ioip -^-Vi vor- r>^vice of iciscairia^e was (apposed, may be 



estimated from the general g>pinion of officers of unqueationeil 
talents and experience, possessed of eveiy opportunity of infor 
mation ; how completely the experiment has succeeded, ana 
how much the spirit and patriotism of our ancient a'Hes had 
been underrated, is evident, not only from those victories in 
which they have borne a distinguished share, but from 'lie lib- 
eral and highly honorable "lanner in which these opinions liars 
been retracted. The success of this plan, with all it^ important 
consequences, we owe to the indefatigable exertions of Field- 
Marshal Beresford. 



Note V. 



a race renown'd of old. 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell. 

the conquering shout of Orame. — P. 283. 



This stanza alludes to the various achievements of the war- 
like family of Grseme, or Grahame. They are said, by tradi- 
tion, to have descended from the Scottish chief, under whose 
command his countrymen stormed the wall built by the Em- 
peror Severus between the Friths of Forth and Clyde, the 
fragments of which are still popularly called Grteme's Dyke. 
Sir John the Grstme, "the hardy wight, and wise," is well 
known as the friend of Sir William Wallace. Alderne, Kil- 
sythe, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories of the he- 
roic Marquis of Montrose. The pass of Killycrankie is famous 
for the action between King Wilham's forces and the High- 
landers in 1689, 

" Where glad Dundee in faint huzzas expired." 

It is seldom that one line can number so many heroes, and 
yet more rare when it can appeal to the glory of a living de- 
scendant in support of its ancient renown. 

The allusions to the private hbtory and character o\ Genera* 
Grahame, may be illustrated by referring to the eloquent ana 
affecting speech of Mr. Sh«ridan, upon the vote of thanks t« 
the Victor of BaroM- 



! i- 



■jii<itffiVi'ir"'^'''POiM' I 



"I'^Mtoih'iliAiaTfiililirr 



K k c b 2 : 



A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

SiK Walter Scott commenced the composition 
jf RoKEBT at Abbotsford, on the loth of Sep- 
tember, 1812, and finished it on the last day of the 
foUowing December. 

The render may be interested with the foUow- 
iag extracts ^rom his letters to his friend and 
'iriuter, Mr. Ballantyne. 

" Abbotsford, 28£A Oct., 1812. 
" Deab James, — I send you to-day better than 
the thir.l sheet of Canto II., and I trust to send 
I he other thi-ee sheets in the course of the week, 
f exrip-^t that you will have three cantos complete 
beiore I quit this place — on the 11th of Novem- 
ber. Surely, if you do your part, the poem may 
!je out by Christmas; but you must not daudle 
over 3'our typographical scruples. I have too 
ranch respect for the public to neglect any thing 
in my poem to attract their attention; and you 
msunderstood me much when you supposed that 
I designed any new experiments in point of compo- 
sition. I only meant to say that knowing weU that 
the said pubhc wiU never be pleased with exactly 
• he same thing a second time, I saw the necessity 
)f giving a certain degree of novelty, by throwing 
"he interest more on character than in my former 
poems, without certainly meaning to exclude either 
incident or description. I think you will see the 
>ame sort of diiference taken in aU my former po- 
■ims, of wliich I would say, if it is fair for me to 
say any thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown 
in style, in Marmion on description, and in the 
Lady of the Lake on incident." ' 

" %d November. — As for my story, the conduct 
>f tile plot, which must be made natural and easy, 
ore vents my introducing any thing light for some 
tmie. You must advert, that in order to give 
poetical effect to any incident, I am often obliged 
to be much longer than I expected in the detail. 
You are too much hke the coimtry squire in the 
what d'ye call it, who commands that the play 
should not only be a tragedy and comedy, but 
that it .=hould be crowned with a spice of your 
vast oral. As for what is popular, and what peo- 



ple like, and so forth, it is all a joke. Be miirent 

ing ; do the thing well, and the only differenc* 
will be, that people -will Uke what they ne^e) 
liked before, and will like it so much the bettei 
for the novelty of theu- feelings towards it. Dul 
ness and tameness are the only irreparable faults 

" December SI St. — With kindest wishes on the 
retm-n of the season, I send you the last of the 
copy of Rokeby. If you are not engaged at home, 
and like to call in, we will drink good luck to it ; 
but do not derange a family party. 

" Tliere is something odd and melancholy in con 
eluding a poem with the year, and I could be al- 
most silly and sentimental about it. I hope you 
think I have done my best. I assure you of my 
wishes the work may succeed ; and my exertions 
to get out in time were more iaspued by your in- 
terest and John's, than my own. And so vogvt 
la galere. W. S." 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 

Between the pubhcation of " The Lady of the 
Lake," wliich was so eminently successful, and 
that of " Rokeby," in 1818, tlii-ee years had inter- 
vened. I shall not, I believe, be accused of ever 
having attempted to usurp a superiority ovei 
many men of genius, my contemporaries ; but, it 
point of popularity, not of actual talent, the ca 
price of the pubhc had certainly given me such t 
temporary superiority over men, of whom, in re 
gard to poetical fancy and feeling, I scarce!} 
thought myself worthy to loose the shoe-latch 
On the other hand, it would be absurd affectation 
in me to deny, that I conceived myself to imder- 
stand, more perfectly than many of my contempo 
raries, the manner most likely to interest the great 
mass of mankind. Yet, even with this belief, 1 
must truly and fairly say, that I always considered 
myself rather as one who held the bets, in time to 
be paid over to the winner, than as having any 
pretence to keep them in my own right. 

In the mean time years crept on. and not with- 
out their usual depredations on the passing gen 
eration. My sons had arrived at the age when 
the paternal home was no longer their best abode 



as both verb destined t*, active I'fe. The field- 
Bports, to ■which I was peculiarly attached, had 
now less interest, and were replaced by other 
amusements of a riore quiet character ; and the 
means and oppcart'inity of pursuing theise were to 
be sought for, I had, indeed, for some years at- 
tended to fanning, a knowledge of which is, or at 
least was then, iadispensable to the comfort of a 
faniily residing in a sohtary country-house ; out 
although this was the favorite amusement of many 
of my Mends, I have never been able to consider 
it as a source of pleasm-e. I never could think it 
a matter of passing importance, that my cattle or 
crops were better or more plentiful than those of 
my neighbors, and nevertheless I began to feel the 
necessity of some more quiet out-door occupation, 
different from those I had hitherto pursued. I 
pmchased a small farm of about one himdred 
acres, with the purpose of planting and improving 
it, to which property circumstances afterwards 
enabled me to make considerable additions ; and 
thus an era took placi in my life almost equal to 
tlje important o-ue mentioned by the Vicar of 
Wakefield, when he removed from the Blue-room 
to the Brown. In point of neighborhood, at least, 
the change of residence made Uttle more differ- 
ence. Abbotsford, to which we removed, was 
only six or seven miles down the Tweed, and lay 
on the same beautiful stream. It did not possess 
the romantic character of Ashestiel, my former 
residence ; but it had a stretch of meadow-land 
along the river, and possessed, in the phrase of 
»he landscape-gardener, considerable capabUities. 
Above all, the land was my own, like Uncle To- 
by's Bowling-green, to do what I would witL It 
had been, though the gi-atification was long post- 
poned, an early wish of mine to connect myself 
with my mother earth, and prosecute those exper- 
iments by which a species of creative power is 
exercised over the face of nature. I can trace, 
even to childhood, a pleasure derived from Dods- 
ley's accoimt of She'nstone's Leasowes, and I en- 
pied the poet much more for the pleasure of ac- 
complishing the objects detailed in his friend's 
Bketch of his grounds, than for the possession of 
pipe, crook, flock, and Phillis to boot. My mem- 
ory, also, tenacious of quaint expressions, still re- 
tained a pluase wliich it had gathered from an old 
almaaac of Charles the SecondV time (when every 
thing down to almanacs affected to be smart), in 
which the reader, in the month of June, is advised 
for health's sake to walk a mile or two eveiy day 
before breakfast, and if he can possibly so man- 
age, to let his exercise be taken upon his own land. 
With the satisfaction of having attained the 
fulfilment of an early and long-cherished hope, I 
tommenced my improvements, as dehghtful in 
kheir progress as those of the child who fii-st makes 



a dress for a new doll. The nakedness of the land 
was in time hidden by woodlands of considerable 
extent — the smallest of possible cottages was pro 
gressively expanded into a sort of dream of a 
mansion-house, ivliimsical in the exterior, but con 
venient within. Nor did I forget what is the nal 
ural pleasure of every man who has been a rea 1 
er ; I mean the filling the shelve s of a tolerabl v 
laj-ge hbraiy. All these objects I kept m view 
to be executed as convenience should serve ; ainl 
although I knew many years must elapse l)ef(.re 
they could be attaired, I was of a disposillon tc 
comfort myself with the Spanish proverb, ' Time 
and I against any two." 

The difficult and indispensable point, of finding 
a permanent subject of occupation, was now at 
length attained ; but there was annexed to it the 
necessity of becoming again a candidate for pubhc 
favor ; for, as I was turned improver on the earth 
of the every-day world, it was under conditiou 
that the small tenement of Parnassus, which might 
be accessible to my labors, should not remain mj 
cultivated. 

I meditated, at first, a poem on the subject o, 
Bruce, ui which I made some progress, but aftei 
wards judged it advisable to lay it aside, suppo 
sing that an Enghsh stoiy might have more nov- 
elty ; in consequence, the precedence was giver 
to " Rokeby." 

If subject and scenery could have influenced th» 
fate of a poem, that of " Rokebj-" should have beei 
eminently distinguished ; for the groimds belonged 
to a dear friend, with whom I had hved in habitti 
of intimacy for many years, and the place itself 
united the romantic beauties of the wilds of Scot 
land with the rich and smifing aspect of the soutli 
em portion of the island. But the Cavaliers auti 
Roundheads, whom I attempted to summon up to 
tenant this beautiful region, had for the public 
neither the novelty nor the peculiar interest of the 
primitive Highlanders. This, perhaps, was scarce 
ly to be expected, considering that the general 
mind sympathizes readily and at once with the 
stamp which nature herself has affixed upon tli£ 
manners of a people living in a simple and patri 
archal state ; whereas it has more difficulty ••! 
vmderstanding or mteresting itself in manut-ra 
founded upon those pecuUar habits of thinkbig oi 
acting, which are produced by the progress of uo 
ciety. "We could read with pleasure the tale oi 
the adventures of a Cossack or a Mongol Tai'tar, 
while we only wonder and stare over those of tbn 
lovers in the " Pleasing Cliinese History," wliere 
the embaiTassments tui'n upon difficulties arisLiii( 
out of unintelligible dehcacies pecuUar to the cus 
toms and manners of that affected people. 

Tlie cause of my failure had, however, a far _ 
deeper root. The manner, or style, which, bv itJi 



294 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



novelty, attracted the public in an unusual degree, 
had now, after baviag been three times before 
them, exhausted the patience of the reader, and 
began ia the fourth to lose its charms. The re- 
viewers may be said to have apostrophized the 
author in the language of PameU's Edwin : — 

" And here reverse the charm, he cries, 
And let it fairly now sulfice, 
Tlie gambol has been shown." 

The hcontious combination of rhymes, in a man 
Dfcr not perhaps very congenial to oiu- language, 
had uot been cociined '-o the author. Indeed, in 
most similar cases, tht, inventors of such novelties 
have their reputation destroyed by their own imi- 
♦ ators, as Actaeon fell under the fury of his own 
dogs. Th(j present author, hke Bobadil, had taught 
his trick of fence to a hundred gentlemen (and la- 
dies'), who could fence very nearly or quite as 
well as Imnself For this there was no remedy ; 
the harmony became tiresome and ordinary, and 
both the original inventor and his invention must 
have fallen into contempt if he liad not found out 
another road to public favor. What has been said 
of the metre only, must be considered to apply 
equally to the structure of the Poem and of the 
style. The veiy best passages of any popular 
st le are not, perhaps, susceptible of Imitation, 
bt.t they may be appioached by men of talent; 
and those who are lese able to copy them, at least 
lay hold of their peculiar features, so as to pro- 
duce a strong burlesque. In either way, the effect 
of the manner is rendered cheap and common ; 
and, in the latter case, ridiculous to boot. The 
evil consequences to an author's reputation are at 
least as fatal as those which come upon the musi- 
cal composer, when liis melody falls into the hands 
of the street ballad-singer. 

Of the unfavorable species of imitation, the au- 
thor's style gave room to a very Large number, 
owing to an appearance of facihty to which some 
of those who used the measure unquestionably 
leaned too far. The effect of the more favorable 
imitations, composed by persons of talent, was al- 
most equally unfortunate to the original minstrel, 
by showing that they could overshoot him with his 
own bow. In short, the popularity which once at- 
tended the School, aa it was called, was now fast 
decaying. 

> " Seott found peculiar favor and imitation among the fair 
ten : there was Miss Halford, and Miss Mitford. and Miss 
Franc;is : but, with the greatest respect be it spoken, none oi 
ois imitators did much honor to the original, except Hogg, the 
Ettrick Shepherd, until the appearance of the ' Bridal of Triei^ 
main' and ' Harold the Dauntless.' which, in the opinion of 
vime, e(|ualled, if not surpassed, him ; and lo ! after three or 
<our years, they turned out to be the Master's own composi- 
tion* " — Byron's Works vol. xv. p. 96. 

I " Those two Cartos were nablished in London in March, 



Besides all this, to have kept his ground at th« 
crisis when " Rokeby" appeared, its author ought 
to have put forth his utmost strength, and to have 
possessed at least all his original advantages, for a 
mighty and unexpected rival was advancing on 
the stage- -a rivals not in poetical powers only, bu*. 
in that art of attracting popularity, in which the 
present writer had hitherto preceded better men 
than himself. The reader will easily see that 
Byron is here meant, who, after a Utile veliiatioa 
of no great promise, now appeared as a serious 
candifiate, in the " First two Cantos of Childe Har- 
old.'" I was astonished at the power evinced by 
that work, which neither the " Hours of Idleness," 
nor the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," 
had prepared me to expect from its author. There 
was a depth in his thought, an eager abundance ia 
his diction, which argued full confidence in the in- 
exhaustible resources of which he felt. himself pos- 
sessed ; and there was some appearance of that 
labor of the file, which indicai« that the author 
is conscious of the necessity of doing r>very justice 
to his work, that it may pass warrant. Lord By- 
ron was also a traveller, a man whuse ideas weue 
fired by having seen, in distant scenes of difficulty 
jmd danger, the places whose very names are re- 
corded in our bosoms as the shrines of ancient 
poetry. For his own misfortime, perhaps, but cer- 
tainly to the high increase of his poetical charao 
ter, nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system tbo^i 
passions which agitate the human heart with most 
violence, and which may In. said to have hurried 
his bright career to an early closo. There would 
have been little wisdom in measuring my force 
with so formidable an antagonist ; and I was aa 
likely to tire of playing the second fiddle in the 
concert, as my audience of hearing me. Age also 
was advancing. I was growing insensible to those 
subjects of excitation by which youth is agitated. 
I had aroimd me the most pleasant but least ex- 
citing of all society, that of kind Mends and an af 
fectionate family. My circle of employments was 
a narrow one ; it occupied me constantly, and it 
became daily more difficult for me to interest my- 
self in poetical composition : — 

" How happily the days of Thalaba went by I" 

Yet, though conscious that I must be, in the 
opinion of good judges, inferior to the place I had 

1812, and immediately placed their author on a level with th» 
very highest names of his age. The impression they created 
was more uniform, decit e, and triumphant than any that 
had been witnessed in this country for at least two generations. 
' I awoke one morning,' he says, ' and found myself famous. 
In truth, he had fixed himself, at a single bound, on a sum 
mit, Buch as no English poet had ever before attained, but 
after a long succession of painful and comparativi/'y neglected 
eflbrts." — Advertisement to Byron's Life and Works, v»l 
viii. 



ROKEBY. 



3«l 



for four or five years held b^ Titers, and feeling 
alike that the latter was one to which I had only 
a temporary right, I could not brook the idea of 
relinquishing literary occupation, which had been 
90 long my chief diversion. Neither was I disposed 
to choose the alternative of sinking into a mere 
editor and commentator, though that was a species 
•)f labor which I had practised, and to which I was 
ittached. But I could not endure to think that I 
oight not, whether known or concealed, do some- 
,hiag of more importance. My inmost thoughts 
freie those of the Trojan captain in the galley race,— 

' Non jam, prima peto, Mnestheus, neque vincere certo ; 
llnanquam O ! — sed superent, quibus hoc, Neptune, dedisti ; 
Extremes pudeat rediisse : hoc vincite, cives, 
Et prohibete nefa? "i— jKn. lib. v. 194. 

I had, mdeed, some private reasons for my 
' Quanquam 1" which were not worse than those 

I " I seek not now tlie foremost palm to gain ; 

Thongii yet — bat ah I that haughty wish is vain I 
Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain. 
But to be last, the lags of all the race I — 
Redeem voarsetveB and me from that disgrace." 

Drtdbn. 
• Oeorge Etli and Murray have been talking something 
itbVi Scovi mi mp, G«orge j>ro Seeto, — and very rigbt too^ 



of Mnestheus. I have already hinted that the ma 
terials were collected for a poem on the subject ol 
Bruce, and fragments of it had been shown to some 
of my friends, and received with applause. Not 
withstanding, therefore, the eminent success of 
Byron, and the great chance of his taking the wind 
out of my sails,* there was, I judged, a species of 
cowardice in desisting from the task which I had 
imdertaken, and it was time enough to retreat 
when the battle should be more decidedly lost. 
The sale of " Rokeby," excepting as compared with 
that of " The Lady of the Lake," was in the high- 
est degree respectable ; and as it included fifteen 
himdred quartos,' in those quarto-reading da^a 
the trade had no reason to be dise&tisfied. 



W.S. 



Abbotsfoed, April, 1830. 



If they want to depose him, I only wisli they wonla not set m« 
up as a competitor. I like the man — and admire his works to 
what Mr. Braham calls Entusymusy. All such stuff can only 
vex him, and do me no good." — Byron's Diary, J^ov., 1812 
— Works, vol. ii. p. 259. 

8 The 4to Edition was published by John Ballsnt^iw and Ci 
€1 %. in Jonn gry 1613. 



Hokebg: 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS. 



TO 

JOHN B. S. MORRITT, Esq., 
THIS POEM. 

rHE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF ROKEBT, 
IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, BY 

WALTER SCOTT.* 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokehy, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to t \e ad?ae€t^ 
fortress of Barnard Oc?tle, and to other places in that Vicinity. 

TJi£ Time occupied by tfie Action is a space of Five Bays, Three of which are supposed to elapst 
between the end of the Fifth and beginning of the Sixth Canto. 

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great Battle of Marston Moor, 3d 
July, 1 644. This period of public confusion has been chosen, without any purpose cf combining the 
Fable with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, but only ai> affording a degree of proba 
bility to the Fictitious Narrative now presented to the Public* 



Hokebg. 



CANTO FIE8T. 



The Moon is in her summer gloTV, 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow; 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tinctiu'e of her shroud ; 
On Barnard's toTv^ers, and Tees's stream,* 
She changes as a guilty dream, 

Deo. 31, 1812. 

* " Behold another lay from the harp of that indefatigi-ble 
liinstie' who has so often provoked the censure, and extorted 
the admliation of his critics ; and who, regardless of both, and 
following every impulse of his own inclination, has yet raised 
himself at once, and apparently with little effort, to the pinnacle 
of public favor. 

" A poem thus recommended may be presumed to have 
already reached the whole circle of our readers, and we be- 
rieve that all those readers will concur with us in considering 
Rokeby as a composition, which, if it had preceded, instead of 
rollowing, Marmion, and the Lady of the Lake, would have 
contributed, as effectually as they have done, to the establish- 
ment cf Mr. Scott^ high reputation Whether, timed as it 



When conscience, with remorse and fear, 
Goads sleepmg Fancy's wild career. 
Her hght seems now the blush of sliame. 
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame. 
Shifting that shade, to come ao^l go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glo% , 
Then sorrow's hvery d'ras the air, 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Tlien from old BaUol's tower lookf? forth, 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 

now is, it be Hk ? to satisfy the just expectations wnicn iu« 
reputation has e »ited, ^ a question which, perhaps, will no 
bs decided with tne s<ime ananimity. Our own opinion is in 
the affirmative, but we confess that this is our revised opinion , 
and that when we concluded our first perusal of Rokeby, oui 
gratiticatic'i was uot quite unmixed with disappointment 
The reflections by which this impression has been subsequent 
ly modified, aiise out of our general view of the poem ; of the 
interest inspired by the fable ; of the masterly delineations of 
the characters by whose agency the plot is unravelled ; and of 
the spirited nervous oonciseuess of the narrative.' - Qua^ter/> 
Hevieto, No. xvi. 

s See AnDendix, Note A. 



AH TO I. 



ROKEBY. 



297 



Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall,' 
Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 

IL 

Those towers, which in the changeful gleam' 
Throw murky shadows on the stream, 
lliose towers of Barnard hold a guest, 
Tlie emotions of whose troubled breast, 
In wild and strange confusion driven. 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stem Oswald's senses tied, 
Oft had he changed his weary side, 
Composed his Umbs, and vainly sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 
Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true' and fancies vain. 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 
The expected futm-e with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time. 
Already rues the enacted crime. 
And calls her furies forth, to shake 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 
While her poor victim's outward throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes, 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 

III. 
Thus Oswald's laboring feelings trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping face. 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. 
There might be seen of shame the blush, 
Tliere anger's dark and fiercer flush. 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 

1 This couplet is not in the original MS. 

' MS. " shifting gleam." 

8 MS. — " Of feelings real, and fancies vain." 
* MS. — " Nor longer nature bears the shock. 
That pang the slumberer awoke." 

s There appears some resemblance betwixt the visions of 
Jhwald's sleep and the waking-dream of the Giaoar :— 

" He rtood. — Some dread was on his face. 

Soon Hatred settled in its place ; 

It rose not with the reddening flush 

Of transient Anger's hasty blush, 

But pale as marble o'er the tomb, 

Wliose ghastly wliiteness aids its gloom. 

a^ K !s brow was bent, his eye was glazed ; 

He raised his arnTj and fiercely raised. 

And sternly shook his hand on high, 

As doubting to return or fly ; 

IiE;)atient of his flight delay'd, 

Here loud his raven charger neigh'd — 

Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade; 

That sound had burst his waking-dream, 

As slnmber starts at owlet's scream. 
38 



Kelax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
The tear in the half-opening eye, 
The pallid cheek and brow, confess'd 
That grief was busy in his breast ; 
Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 
Impell'd the hfe-blood from the heart ; 
Featiu-es convulsed, and mutterings dread, 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
That pang the painfid slumber broke,* 
And Oswald with a start awoke.' 

IV. 

He woke, and fear'd again to close 
His eyeUds in such dire repose ; 
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hoiu: the castle-bell. 
Or hsten to the owlet's cry. 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by. 
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the tima^ 
And envying think, how, when the stin 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free. 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 



Far town-wai'd sounds a distant tread. 
And Oswald, starting from his bed, 
Hath caught it, though no human ear 
Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear. 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank. 
Until it reach'd the castle bank.* 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears, 
The warder's challenge now he hears ;'' 
Then clanking chains and levers tell. 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 
And, in the castle court below. 
Voices are heard, and torches glow. 

The spur hath lanced his courser's sides ; 
Away, away, for life he rides, 
'Twas but a moment that he stood 
Then sped as if by death pursued, 
But in that instant o'er his soul, 
Winters of memory seem'd to roll, 
And gather in that drop of time, 
A life of pain, an age of crime." 

Byron's Works 'ol. ix p. l.T» 

• MS — " Till underneath the castle banik. 

JVigh and more nigh the sound appears. 
The warder's challenge next lie hears " 

' See Appendix, Note B. 

"The natural superiority of the instrument over the em 
ployer, of bold, unhesitating, practised vice, over timid, sel 
fish, crafty iniquity, is very finely painted throughout the whoti 
of this scene, and th« dialogue that ensues. That the mind oc 
WycliflTe, wrought to the utmost agony of suspense, has given 
such acuteness to his bodily organs, as to enable him to distin 
gnish the approach of his hired bravo, while at a distance b» 
yond the reach of common hearing, is grandly imagiaeo, and 
admirably true to nature." — Critical Review. 



298 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



custro * 



As marshallmg the stranger's way, 
Straight for the room where Oswald lay ; 
The cry was, — " Tidings from the host,' 
Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
Stifling the tmnult of his breast, 
His answer Oswald thus express' d — 
■' Bring food and wine, and trim the fire • 
£.dmit the stranger, and retire. ' 

VL 

The stranger came with heavy stride, 
rhe morion's plumes his visage hide. 
And the buff-coat, an ample fold. 
Mantles his form's gigantic moold.' 
Full slender answer deigned he 
To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 
But mark'd, by a disdainful smile. 
He saw and scorn'd the petty wile, 
iVTjen Oswald changed the torch's place, 
Anxious that on the soldier's face* 
Its partial lustre might be thrown. 
To show his looks, yet hide his own. 
His guest, the while, laid low aside 
The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide. 
And to the torch glanced broad and clear 
The corslet of a cuirassier ; 
Then from his brows the casque he drew, 
And from the dank plxmie dash'd the dew 
From gloves of mail relieved his hands,* 
And spread them to the kindling brands, 
And, turning to the genial board,' 
Without a health, or pledge, or woi ^ 
Of meet and social reverence said. 
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ;' 
As free from ceremony's sway. 
As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 

VIL 

With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his cheery 
And quaff tlie full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside. 
Now paced the room with hasty stride, 
Iii ftvensh agony to learn 



> MS.—" The cry was — ' Heringham comes post, 
With tidings of a battle lost.' 
As one that roused himself from rest. 
His answer," &c. 

• MS. " with heavy pace, 

The plumed morion hid his face " 
s See Appendix, IJote C. 

• MS.— " That fell upon the stranger's face." 
° MS. " he freed his hands." 

MS.—" Then tum'd to the replenish'd board." 

' " The description of Bertram which follows, is highly pio- 

•aresqne ; ard the rude air of conscious superiority with which 

■e treats his employer, prepares the reader to enter into the 

*i" spirit of "lis character. ThesB, and many other little cir- 



Tidings of deep and dread concern. 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his rufiian feast.* 
Yet, viewing with alarm, at last. 
The end of that uncouth repast, 
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue, 
As, at his sign, liis train withdrew, 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear ana shame. 

VIIL 
Much in the stranger's mien appears. 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his dark face a scorching clime, 
And toU, had done the work of time, 
Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, 
Ajid sable hairs with sUver shared. 
Yet left — ^what age alone could tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ;• 
The full-drawn Hp that upward curl'd. 
The eye, that seem'd to scorn the world- 
That Up had terror never blench'd ; 
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quench'd 
The flash severe of swarthy glow. 
That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow,** 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball, 
Knew all his shapes, and scorn'd them all 

IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look, 

Unmoved, could blood and danger brook. 

Still worse than apathy had place 

On his swart brow and callous face ; 

For evil passions, cherish'd long. 

Had plough'd them with impressions stronaf 

All that gives gloss to sin, aU gay 

Light folly, past with youth away. 

But rooted stood, in manhood's hour, 

The weeds of vice without their flower. 



enmstances, which none bnt a poetical mind con. J have rosr 
ceived, give great relief to the stronger touches with wtiok 
this excellent sketch is completed." — Critical Review, 

« MS. — " Protracted o'er his savage feast. 

Yet with alarm he saw at last." «> 

» " As Roderick rises above Marmion, so Bertram ascendl 
above Roderick Dhn in awfulness of stature and strength oi 
coloring. We have trembled at Roderick ; but we look witfc 
doubt and suspicion at the very shadow of Bertram — and, M 
we approach him, we shrink with terror and antipathy from 

' The Up of pride, the eye cf flame.' " 

Britith Cride. 
"> See Ap:>endiz, Note D. 



CANTO I. 



ROKEBY. 



299 



And yet the soil in which they grew, 
Had it been tamed when hfe was new, 
Had depth and vigor to bring forth' 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that, e'en then, liis heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chasten'd mind, 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed. 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, fi-antic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 

X. 

Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter Btain'd, 
Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard.' 
And tliis felt Oswsld, while in vain 
He strove, by many a winding train. 
To lure his sxiUen p;uest to show, 
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know. 
While on far other subject hung 
His heart, than falter'd from his tongue.* 
Yet naught for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain, 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort, 
Return'd him answer dark and short. 
Or started from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange, 
And forced the embarrass'd host to buy. 
By query close, direct reply. 

XL 

A while he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church Reform' d — but felt rebuke 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 
Then stammer'd — " Hi is a field been fought? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 



M9. — " Show'd depth and vigor to bring forth 
The noblest fruits of virtuous worth. 
Then had the lust of gold accurst 
Been lost in glory's nobler thirst, 
And deep revenge for trivial cause, 
Been zeii for freedom and for laws 
And, frantic then no more, bis pride 
Had ta'en fair honor for its guide." 

' MS. " stern regard." 

» " The ' maatery' obtained by such a being as Bertram ovei 
the llmid wickedness of inferior villains, is well delineated in 
the conduct of Oswald, who, though he had not hesitated to 
{ifopose to hira the murder of his kinsman, is described as fear- 
ing Ut ask him the direct question, whether the crime has 
ietn accomplished. We must confess, for onr own parts, that 
we did not, till we came to the second reading of the canto, 
perceive the propriety, and even the moral beauty, of this cir- 
•amstance. We are now quite convinced that, in introaucing 



For sure a soldier, famed so far 

In foreign fields for feats of war, 

On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 

Until the field were won and lost." 

" Here, in your towers by circling Tee*, 

You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease ■* 

Why deem it strange that others come 

To share such safe and easy home. 

From fields where danger, death, and toil, 

Are the reward of civil broil ?" — * 

" Nay, mock not, friend 1 since well wo know 

The near advances of the foe, 

To mar our northern army's work, 

Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 

Thy horse vrith vahant Fairfax lay," 

And must have fought — how went the day T-< 

XIL 

" Wouldst hear the tale ? — On Marston heatl ' 
Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 
Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now 
Fired was each eye, and flush'd each brow , 
On either side loud clamors ring, 

* God and the Cause !' — ' God and the Kingl' 
Right Enghsh all, they rush'd to blows, 
With naught to win, and aU to lose. 

I could have laugh' d — but lack'd the time- 
To see, in phrenesy sublime, 
How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 
For king or state, as humor led ; 
Some for a dream of public good, 
Some for church-tippet, gown and hood. 
Draining their veins, in death to claim 
A patriot's or a martyr's name. — 
Led Bertram Risingham the hearts,* 
That coimter'd there on adverse parts, 
No superstitious fool had I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky I 
Chih had heard me thi-ough her statea, 
And Lima oped her silver gates, 
Rich Mexico I had march'd through. 
And sack'd the splendors of Peru, 

it, the poet has been guided by an accurate pereeption of th« 
intricacies of human nature. The scene between King Joha 
and Hubert may probably have been present to his mind wnea 
he composed the dialogue between Oswald and his terriWi 
agent ; but it will be observed, that the situations of the rai 
spective personages are materially different ; the mysterioof 
caution in which Shakspeare's usurper is made to involve th« 
proposal of his crime, springs from motives undoubtedly mora 
obvious and immediate, but not more consistent with truth and 
probability, than that with which Wycliffe conceals tba drifl 
of his fearful interrogatories." — Critical Review. 

* MS. — " Safe sit yon, Oswald, and at ease." 
6 MS. — " Award the meed of civil broil." 

« MS. — " Thy horsemen on the outposts l«y. 
' See Appendix, Note E. 
8 MS.—" Led I but half of such bold heart! 
<0« coanter'd th^re," &c 



300 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 



TiU sunk Pizarro's daring name, 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bei tram's fame." — ' 
" Still from the pm-pose wilt thou stray 1 
Good gentle friend, how went the day 1" — 

XIII. 
"^Good am J deem'd at trumpet-sound. 
And good /rhere goblets dance the round, 
Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now. 
With rugged Bertram's breast and brow.-^ 
But I resume. The battle's rage 
Was like the strife which currents wage, 
Where Orinoco, in his pride, 
Rolls to the main no tribute tide, 
But 'gainst broad ocean m-ges far 
A rival sea of roaring war ; 
"WTiile, in ten thousand eddies driven, 
The billows fling their foam to heaven, 
And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 
Where rolls the river, where the main. 
Even thus upon the bloody field, 
The eddying tides of conflict wheel'd' 
Ambiguous, till that heart of flame. 
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came 
Hurling against our spears a line 
Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 
Tlien oiu-3, though stubborn in their zeal, 
In zeal's despite began to reel. 
What wouldst thou more ? — in tmnult tost. 
Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 
A thousand men who di'ew the sword 
For both the Houses and the Word, 
Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and down, 
To curb the crosier and the crown, 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch'd in gore, 
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
Thus fared it, when I left the fight, 
WiUi the good Cause and Conamons' right" — 

xrv. 

" Disastrous news !" dark WyclifFe said ; 
Assimied despondence bent his head. 



' The Ciuarterly Reviewer (No. xvi.) thus slates tha canses 
jf the hesitation he had had in arriving at the ultimate opin- 
on, ihit Rolceby was worthy of the " high praise" already 
footed from the commencement of his article : — " We con- 
re»9, then, that in the lan^'uage and versification of this poem, 
Fe were, in the first instance, disappointed. We do not mean 
U) ray that either is invariably faulty ; neither is it within the 
(lowerofacgident that the conceptions of a vigorous and highly 
tnltivated mind, should uniformly invest themselves in trivial 
expres^^.iis, or in dissonant rhymes ; but we do think that 
those golden lines, which spontaneously fasten themselves on 
the memory of the reader are more rare, and that instances of 
k culpable and almost slovenly inattention to the usual rales 
of diction and of metre, are more frequent in this, than in any 
preceding work of Mr. Scott. In support of this opinion, we 
adduce the following quotation, which occurs in stanza xii. : 
Knd in the course of a description which is, in some parts, un> 
laaalljr splendid- 



While troubled joy was in his eye, 

The weil-feign'J sorrow to behe. — 

" Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 

Told ye not that yoiu* chiefs were lost ! 

Complete the woful tale, and say. 

Who fell upon that fatal day ; 

What leaders of repute and name 

Bought by their death a deathless fame.* 

If such my direst foeman's d^:on:, 

My tears shall dew his honor'd tomb. — 

No answer ? — Friend, of aU our host. 

Thou know'st whom I should hate the most. 

Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate. 

Yet leavest me doubtful of his fate." — 

With look unmoved, — " Of friend or foe, 

Aught," answer'd Bertram, " wouldst thou know 

Demand in simple terms and plain, 

A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; — 

For question dark, or riddle high, 

I have nor judgment nor reply." 

XV. 
The wrath his art and fear suppress'd. 
Now blazed at once in Wyclifle's breast ; 
And brave, from man so meanly born, 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
"Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt * 
Philip of Mortham, hves he yet ? 
False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Trait'rous or perjured, one or both. 
Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise phght, 
To slay thy leader in the fight ?" — 
Then from liis seat the soldier spnmg. 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrimg ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail. 
Forced the red blood-drop from the nail — 
" A health !" he cried ; and, ere he quafl''d, 
Flung from him WychfFe's hand, and laugh'd : 
— " Now, Oswald WycUffe, speaks thy heart 1 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part 1 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear. 
Like me to roam a bucanier. 

' Led Bertram Risingham the hearts,' 

to 

' And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame.' 

" The author, surely, cannot require to be told, that th« 
feebleness of these jingling couplets is less oftensive tlian theii 
obscurity. The first line is unintelligible, because the condi- 
tional word ' if,' on which the meaning depends, is neither ex 
pressed nor implied in it ; and the third ine is equally far.lty, 
because the sentence, when restored to its natural order, caa 
only express the exact converse of the speaker's intention. W« 
think it necessary to remonstrate against these barbarous inver- 
sions, because we consider the rules of grammar as the onlj 
shackles by which the Hudibrastic metre, already so liuentitrOii 
can be confined r-iitliin tolerable limits." 

« MS.—" The doubtful tides of battle reel'd " 
s MS. — " Chose death in pre<erence to shame. 



1ANTO I ROKEBY. 3Cn 


What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 


W hen Mortham bade me, fts of yore, 


If Mortham's wealth and la ids be thine ? 


Be near him in the battle's roar, 


Wliat carest thou for beleaj;uer'd York, 


I scarcely saw the spears laid low. 


If this good hand have done its work ? 


I scarcely h<>ard the trumpets blow , 


Or what, though Fairfax and liis best 


Lq^t was the war in inward strife, 


Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 


Debating Mortham's death or hfe. 


\f Philip Mortham with them he, 


'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come, 


Lending liis life-Wood to the dye ? — ' 


As partner of his wealth and home, 


Sit, then ! and as 'mid comrades free 


Years of piratic wandering o'er, 


Carousing after victory. 


With him I sought our native shore. 


Wlien tales are told of blood and fear, 


But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 


That boys and women' shrink to hear, 


From the bold heart with whom he ranged ; 


From point to point I frankly tell' 


Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, 


The deed of death as il befelL 


Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years ; 




The wily priests their victim sought, 


X^'I. 


And damn'd each free-born' deed and thought 


" When purposed vengeance I forego. 


Then must I seek another home : 


Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 


My license shook his sober dome ; 


And when an insult I forgive,* 


If gold he gave, in one wild day 


Tlien brand me as a slave, and Uve 1 — 


I revell'd thrice the sum away. 


Philip of Mortham is with those 


An idle outcast then I stray' d. 


W hom Bertfam Risingham calls foes ; 


Unfit for tillage or for trade. 


Or whom more sure revenge attends," 


Deem'd, Uke the steel of rusted lance, 


K number'd with ungrateful friends. 


Useless and dangerous at once. 


As was his wont, ere battle glow'd. 


The women fear'd my hardy look, 


Along the marshall'd ranks he rode. 


At my approach the peaceful shook , 


And wore his visor up the while. 


The merchant saw my glance of flame, 


I saw his melancholy smile. 


And lock'd his hoards when Bertram came ; 


When, full opposed in front, he knew 


Each child of coward peace kept far 


Where RoKEBr's kindred banner flew. 


From the neglected son of war. 


* And thus,' he said, ' will friends divide !' — 




I heard, and thought how, side by side, 


XVIII. 


We two had turn'd the battle's tide, 


" But civil discord gave the call, 


In many a well-debated field. 


And made my trade the trade of all. 


■ Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 


By Mortham urged, I came again 


I thought on Darien's deserts pale. 


His vassals to the fight to train. 


Where death bestrides the evening gale, 


W hat guerdon waited on my care ?' 


1 How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 


I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 


And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 


Sour fanatics each trust obtain' d, 


I thought on Quariana's cliff, 


And I, dishonor'd and disdain'd. 


Where, rescued from our foundering skiff, 


Gain'd but the high and happy lot. 


Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 


In these poor arms to front the shot 1 — 


Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 


All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell , 


i And when his side an »" dw found. 


Yet hear it o'er, and mark it wcU. 


I 8\ick'd the Indian's .rjnom'd wound. 


'Tis honor bids me now relate 


Th(;se thoughts like torrents rush'd along,* 


Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 


To sweep away my purpose strong. 


XIX, 


XVIL 


" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly pu% 


" Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent 


Glance quick as lightning through the heart 


Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 


As my spur press'd my courser's side. 


MS.—" And heart's-blood lent to aid the dye? 


» M9. — " Whom surest his revenge attends. 


Sit, then ! and as to comrades boon 


If number'd once among his friends." 


Carousing for achievement won." 


« MS.—" These thoughts rush'd on, like torrent's fway 


• MS.—" That boy3 and cowarda," &c. 

• MS. — " Frank, as from mate to mate, I tell 


To sweep my stern resolve away." 


What way the deed of death befell." 


' MS.—" Each liberal deed." 


* MS. -" Name when an insult I forgave, 


8 MS.—" But of my labor what the meed 1 


And, Oswald WyclifTe, cal me slave." 


I could not cant of church or omM* ' 



302 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. casto i 


Fliilip of Mortham's cause was tried, 


The shepherd sees his spectre gUde. 


And, ere the charging squadrons mix'd, 


And near the spot that gave me name. 


His ])lea was cast, his doom was fix'd. 


The moated moun d of Risingham,* 


I watch'd him through the doubtful fray, 


Where Reed upon her margin sees 


That eh anged as March's moody day,* # 


Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees. 


Till, Kke a streaia that bursts its bank,* 


Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 


Fierce Eupert thunder'd on our flank 


An outlaw's image on the stone ;" 


Twas (hen, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 


Unmatch'd in strength, a giant he. 


Where each man fought for death or life, 


With quiver'd back,'" and Mrtled knee. 


Twas then I fired my petronel, 


Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 


And Mortham, steed and rider, feU. 


The tameless monarch of the wold. 


One dying look he upward cast, 


And age and infancy can teU, 


Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 


By brother's treachery he fell. 


Think not that there I stopp'd, to view 


Thus warn'd by legends of my youth, 


What of the battle should ensue ; 


I trust to no associate's truth. 


But ere I clear'd that bloody press. 




Our northern horse ran masterless ; 


XXI. 


Monckton and Mitton told the news,* 


" W hen last we reason'd of this deed. 


How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 


Naught, I bethink me, was agreed. 


And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 


Or by what rule, or when, or where, 


Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 


The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 


Cursing the day when zeal or meed 


Then Ust, while I the portion name, 


First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed.* 


Our differing laws give each to claim. 


Yet when I reach'd the banks of Swale, 


Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, 


Had rumor learn'd another tale ; 


Her rules of heritage must own ; 


With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say. 


They deal thee, as to nearest heir. 


Stout Cromwell has redeem'd tlie day :* 


Thy kinsman's lands and livmgs fair. 


But whether false the news, or true, 


And these I yield : — do thou revere 


Oswald, I reck as light as you." 


The statutes of the Bucanier.'* 




Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn . 


XX. 


To aU that on her waves are borne, 


Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 


When i'alls a mate in battle broil, 


How his pride startled at the tone 


His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil; 


In which his complice, fierce and free, 


When dies in fight a daring foe, 


Asserted guilt's equality. 


He claims liis wealth who struck the blew ; 


In smoothest terms his speech he wove, 


And either rule to me assigns 


Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 


Those spoils of Indian seas and mines. 


Promised and vow'd in courteous sort, 


Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark ; 


But Bertram broke profession short. 


Ingot of gold and diamond spark. 


" Wyclilfe, be sure not here I stay. 


ChaUce and plate from churches borne, 


No, scarcely till the rising day ; 


And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 


Warn'd by the legends of my youth,* 


Each string of pearl each silver bar. 


I trust not an associate's truth. 


And all the wealth of western war. 


Do not my native dales prolong 


I go to search, where, dark and deep, 


Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 


Those Trans-atlantic tieasures sleep. 


Train'd forward to his bloody fall, 


Thou must along — for, lacking thee. 


By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ?* 


The heir will scarce find entrance free ; 


Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side. 


And then farewell. I haste to try 


.- MS. — " That changed as with a whirlwind's sway." 


• MS. — " Tavght by the legends of my ycntil 


• " dashing 


To trust to no associate's t«utS.'' 


On thy wai^horse throngh the ranks. 


T See Appendix, Note H. 


Like a stream which burst its banks." 


6 MS.—" Still by the spot that gave me naB<#, 


Byron's fforks, vol. x. o. 275- 


The moated ramv of R'sing'iara, 


• MS.—" Hot Rnpert oc the spur pnrsnes ; 

Whole troops of fliers choked the Onse." 


A giaiit torn, th«=- 8l,'a.igrfr sev/S, 
Half hid by rifted rocks »nd tree*." 




• Bee Appendix, Note I. 


« See Appendix, Note F. 


w MS.-" With bow in hand," 4lo. 


■ See Appendix, Note O 


" See Appendix, Note K 


' 





tjANTO I. ROKEBY. 30d 


/ach varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 


Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace 


When cloy'd each wish, these wars aiford 


On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand, 


Fresh worii for Bertram's restless sword." 


For feeble heart and forceless hand : 




But a fond mother's care and joy 


XXII. 


Were centred in her sickly boy. 


An undecided answer hung 


No touch of childhood's froUc mood 


J On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 


Sh®w'd the elastic spring of blood ; 


\ Despite his craft, he heard with awe 


Hour after hour he loved to pore 


Tlus ruffian stabber fix the law ; 


On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore. 


While his 3wn troubled passions veer 


But tum'd from martial scenes and Ught, 


Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear :— 


From Falstaff 's feast and Percy's Sight, 


Joy'd at the soul that Bertram flies, 


To ponder Jaques' moral strain. 


He grudged the miu-derer's mighty prize, 


And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ; 


Hated his pride's presumptuous tone. 


Ana weep himself to soft repose 


And fear'd to wend with him alone. 


O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 


A.t length, that middle course to steer, 




To cowardice and craft so dear, 


XXV. 


' His charge," he said, " would iU allow 


In youth he sought not pleasures found 


His absence from the fortress now ; 


By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound 


Wilfrid on Bertram should attend, 


But loved the quiet joys that wake 


His son should journey with his friend." 


By lonely stream and silent lake ; 




In Deepdale's solitude to he, 


XXIII. 


Where aU is chfF and copse and sky 


Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 


To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 


And wreathed to savage smile his frowu. 


Or lone Pentlragon's mound to seek.' 


" Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me, 


Such was his wont ; and there his dream 


Whichever bears the golden key. 


Soar'd on some wild fantastic theme. 


Yet think not but I mark, and smile 


Of faithful love, or ceaseless spiing. 


To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 


Tin Contemplation's wearied wing 


If injury from me you fear. 


The enthusiast could no more sustain. 


What, Oswald WycUffe, shields thee here ? 


And sad he sunk to earth agam. 


I've sprxmg from walls more high than these. 




I've swam through deeper streams than 


XXVI. 


Tees. 


He loved — as many a lay can teU, 


Might I not stab thee, ere one yeU 


Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell ; 


Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 


For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 


Start not — it is not my design, 


The art imteachable, untaught ; 


But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 


He loved — his soul did nature frame 


And, trust me, that, in time of need, 


For love, and fancy nursed the flame ; 


This hand hath done more desperate deed. 


Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 


Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; 


Of such soft mould is loved again ; 


Time calls, and I must needs be gone. 


Silent he loved — in every gaze 


1 


Was passion,* friendship in his phrase. 


xxrv. 


So mused his Ufe away — till died 


Naught of his sire's ungenerous part 


His brethren all, their father's pride. 


Fjtlluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 


Wilfrid is now the only heir 


A heart too soft from early life 


Of aU his stratagems and care. 


To hold with fortune needful strife. 


And destined, darkling, to pursue 


His sire, while yet a hardier race' 


Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue* 


MS.-: " while yet aronnd him stood 


Beattie's Edwin ; but in some essential respects it is madt 


A numerous race of hardier mood." 


more true to nature than that which probably served for iti 


" And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb. 


original. The possibility may perhaps be questioned (its gre« 


When all in mist the world below wag lost. 


improbability is unquestionable), of such excess.ve refinement, 


What dreadful pleasure 1 there to stand sublime. 


such over-strained, and even morbid sensibility, as are pw 


Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast." 


trayed in the character of Edwin, existing in so rude a state ol 


Beattib's Minstrel. 


society as that which Beattie has represented, — but thesa 


MS. — ' vVas love, but friendship in his phrase." 


qualities, even when found in the most advanced and polished 


"The prototype of Wi'frid may periaps be found in 


stages of life, are rarely, very rarely, united with a robust and 



xxvn. 

Vilfri'l must love and woo' the bright 
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. 
To love her was an easy best, 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her was a harder task 
To one that dm-st not hope or asL 
7et all Matilda could, she gave 
fi! pity to her gentle slave ; 
Friendsliip, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward 1 
She read the tales liis taste approved, 
And sung the lays he framed or loved; 
Yet, loth to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The favoring glance to friendsliip due,' 
Tlien grieved to see her victim's pain, 
And gave the dangerous smiles again. 

XXVIIL 
So did the suit of Wilfrid stand. 
When war's loud summons waked the 

land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The wo-foreboding peasant sees ; 
In concert oft they braved of old 
The bordering Scot's mcursion bold ; 
Frowning defiance in their pride,' 
Their vassals now and lords divide. 
From liis fair hall on Greta banks, 
Tlie Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, 
To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
WHio drew the sword for royal Charles. 
Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 
His sister had been Rokeby's bride. 
Though loTig before the civil fray, 
In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
Philip of Mortham raised fiis band, 
And march'd at Fairfax's command 
While Wycliffe, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less j)rompt to brave the bloody field, 
Made Barnard's battlements his shield. 
Secured them with his Lunedale powers, 
And f )r the Commons held the towers. 

thy ftame of body. In both these particolare, the char- 
»oter ol Wilfrid is exempt from the objections to which we 
■.bink that of the Minstrel liable. At the period of the Civil 
Wars, in the higher orders of Society, intellectual refinement 
had advanced to a degree sufficient to give probability to ita 
•xiatence. The remainder of our argument will be best ex- 
plained by the beautiful Hues of the poet," (stanzaa xx" and 
ixvi.) — Critical Review. 

» MS.—" And first must Wilfrid woo," &o. 

• MS.—" The fuel fond her favor threw." 

» MS. — " Now frowning dark on different side 
Their vassals and their lords divide. 

« MS.—" Dvne Alice and Matilda bright. 



XXIX. 
The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight* 
Waits in his haUs the event of fight ; 
For England's war revered the cJaim 
Of every unprotected name. 
And spared, amid its fiercest rage. 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe,» 
Must the dear privilege forego. 
By Greta's side, in evening gray, 
To steal upon Matilda's way, 
Striving," with fond hypocrisy, 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Claming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the meeting aU to chance. 
Or framing, as a fan- excuse. 
The book, the pencil, or the muse : 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the long'd-for minutes last,— 
Ah 1 minutes quickly over-past 1 — '' 
Recording each expression free. 
Of kind or careless courtesy. 
Each friendly look, each softer tone. 
As food for fancy when alone. 
All this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green,* 
To watch Matilda's wonted round. 
While springs his heart at every sound 
She comes ! — 'tis but a passing sight. 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She comes not — he will wait the hour 
When her lamp lightens in the tower ;• 
'Tis somethuig yet, if, as she past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" Wliat is my life, my hope ?" he said ; 
" Alas ! a transitory shade." 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason stror* 
For mastery in vain with love, 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come, 
While stiU he tiu-n'd impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued, 

Daughter and wife of Rokeby's Rnight 
Wait in his halls," &c. 
' MS. — " But Wilfrid, when the strife arose. 
And Rokeby and his son were ?oea. 
Was doom'd each privilege tc lo««, 
Of kindred friendship and jie 31dm. 

MS. — " Aping, with fond hypocrisy, 

The careless step," &o. 
' The MS. has not this couplet. 

1 MS.— "May Wilfrid haunt the { .t,i l . 

,.r-..- ■ 1 1 o. .... I thicketa g rew 

Wiltnd haunts Scargill's ) " 

• MS. " watch the hour. 



That her lamp kindles in her tower.' 



7ANT0 1. ROKEBY. 308 


In all but this, unmoved he view'd 


While one augments its gaudy show. 


Each outward change of ill and good : 


More to enhance the loser's wo«.* 


But Wilfi-id, docile, soft, and mild, 


The victor sees his fau-y gold 


Was Fancy's spoil'd and wayward child • 


Transform'd, when won, to drossy mold, 


In her bright' car she bade him ride, 


But still the vanquish'd mourns his losa 


With one fair form to grace his aide, 


And rues, as gold, that gUttering dross. 


Or, in some wUd and lone retreat,' 




Fliuig her high spells around his seat, 


XXXII. 


Bathed in her dews his languid head. 


More wouldst thou know — ^yon tower snrrer 


Her fairy mantle o'er him spread. 


Yon couch unpress'd since parting day. 


For him her opiates gave to flow. 


Yon untrimm'd lamp, whose yellow gleam 


Wliich he who tastes can ne'er forego. 


Is mingling with the cold moonbeam, 


A.nd placed him in her circle, free 


And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 


From every stern reaUty, 


On his pale cheek imequal spread ;* 


rill to the Visionary, seem 


The head reclined, the loosen'd hair. 


Har day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 


The hmbs relax'd, the mournful air. — 




See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 


XXXL 


Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while, — 


Woe to the youth whom fancy gains, 


'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought. 


Winning from Reason's hand the reins. 


To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 


Pity and woe ! for such a mind 


For, like the bat of Indian brakes. 


Is soft, coiitemplative, and kind ; 


Her pinions fan the wotmd she makes, 


And woe to those who train such youth. 


And soothing thus the dreamer's pain. 


And spare to press the rights of truth. 


She drinks his hfe-blood from the veini* 


The mind to strengthen and anneal, 


Now to the lattice turn his eyes. 


While on the stithy glows the steel 1 


Vain hope ! to see the sim arise. 


teach hun, wliile your lessons last, 


Tlie moon with clouds is still o'ercast, 


To iudge the present by the past; 


StiU howls by fits the stormy blast ; 


Remind him of each wish pursued, 


Another howc must wear away, 


How rich it glow'd with promised good ; 


Ere the East kindle into day. 


Remind him of each wish enjoy' d. 


And hark 1 to waste that weary houi, 


How soon his hopes possession cloy'd 1 


He tries the minstrel's magic powe'. 


TeU him, we play unequal game. 




Whene'er we ehoot by Fancy's aim ;* 


XXXIIL 


And, ere he strip him for her race, 
Show the conditions of the chase. 


.Song 


I'wo sisters by the goal are set, 


TO THE MOON.' 


Cold Disappointment and Regret'; 


Hail to thy cold and clouded beam. 


One disenchants the winner's eyes. 


Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky i 


And strips of aU its worth the prize. 


Hail, though the mists that ft'er thee strea** 


MS.—" mid car." 


That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind. 


MS — " Or in some fair bnt lone retreat. 


More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had >fain«d I 


Flung her wild spells aronnd his seat. 




For )wm her opiates ) gave to ) q^^ 


" Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart. 


opiate ) draughts bade ) 


And, while it dazzles, wounds tlie mental siylit 1 


Which he who tastes can ne'er forego. 


To joy each heightening charm it can imnut^ 
But wraps the hour o^voe in tenfold nighi. 


Taught him to turn impatient ear 


From truth's intrusive voice severe." 


And often, where no real ills affright 


s In the MS., after this couplet, the following lines conclude 


Its visionary fiends, an endless train. 


ae stanza : — 


Assail with equal or superior might. 


" That all who on her visions press, 


And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain. 


Find disappointment dog success ; 


And shiverijig nerves, shoot stings of more than in«n» 


But, miss'd their wish, lamenting hold 


pain." Beattii 


Her gilding fiilse for sterling gold." 


' MS. — " On his pale cheek in crimson glow ; 


• " Soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways. 


The short and painful sighs that show 


And yet, even there, if left without a guide, 


The shrivell'd lip, the teeth's white row. 


The young adventurer unsafely plays. 


The head reclined," &c. 


Eyee, dazzled long by Fiction's gaudy rays. 


' MB. " the sleeper's pain, 


In modest Tmth no light nor beauty find ; 


Drinks his dear life-blood from the vein.' 


4jui who, my child, would trust the meteor blaze 
19 


* " The Uttle poem that follows is in ov judf meot, m* •* 



806 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Lend to thy brow their sullen dye I' 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled •v iew our scenes below, 
Or liow a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and woe ! 

Fail Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide. 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear. 
For while a softer strain I tried, 

Tliey liid my blusl\, and calm'd my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was form'd to light some lonely dell. 
By two fond lovers only seen, 

Reflected from the crystal well, 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell. 

Or quivering on the lattice bright. 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night 1 

XXXIV. 
He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 
A voice ! — ^his father seeks the tower, 
With haggard look and troubled sense, 
Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep address'd ? 
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor ;' 
Bertram brings warrant to secure 
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 
For the State's use and public good. 
The menials will thy voice obey ; 
Let liis commission have its way,' 
In eveiy point, in every word." — 
« Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword I 
Bertram is — what I must not teU. 
I hear his hasty step — farewell '"* 

Ihe best of Mr. Scott's attempts in this kind. He, certainly, 
i« not in general successful as a song-writer ; but, without any 
Mtraorilinary effort, here are pleasing thoughts, polished ex- 
pressions, aiitl musical versification." — Mov'My Peviea 
> JW • -' Are tarnishing thy lovely dye I 
A sad excise let Fancy l^ — 

How should so kind a planet show 
Her stainless silver's lustri high, 
To light a world of war and woe I" 

• MS. — " Here's Risingham brings tidings sure, 

Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor; 
And he hath warrant to secure," &o 

• MS. — " See that they give his warrant way." 

• With the MS. of stanza-s xxviii. to xxxiv. Scott thus ad- 
iresses his ()rinter :— " I send yon the whole of the canto. I 
wish Erskine and yon would look it over together, and con- 
nder whetiier upon the whole matter, it is likely to make an 
'inpression. If it does really come to good, I think there are 
10 limi'a to the interest of that style of composition ; for the 
■«fi»»y of hfe ^nd character are boundless. 



H k c b g . 



CAIJTO SECOND. 



Fae m the chaEj,bers of the west. 
The gale had s-'gh'd itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
Tlie thin gray clouds -r ix dimly light 
On Brusleton and Hougliton height ; 
And the rich dale^ that eastward lay, 
Waited the waJ.wning touch of day, 
To give its wo'jds and cultured plain. 
And towers and spires to Ught again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
While, as a livelier twilight falls. 
Emerge proud Barnard's bamier'd walls. 
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

IL 

What prospects, from his watch-tower high. 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 
Fai sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees,* 
And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapors from the stream ; 
And ere he paced his destined hour 
By Brackenbury's dimgeon-tower,' 
These silver mists shall melt away, 
And dew the woods with glittej'ing spray. 
Tlaen in broad lustre shall be shown 
Tliat mighty trench of living stone,' 
And each huge trunk that, from the sido. 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tido 

" I don't know whether to give Matilda a mother or not 
Decency requires she should have one : but she is as likely t< 
be in my way as the gndeman's mother, according to the prov 
erb, is always in that of the gudewife. Yours truly, W. S — 
Abbot sf or d," (Oct. 1812.) 

" We cannot close the first Canto without bestowing tlH 
highest praise on it. The whole design of the picture is ex 
oellent ; and the contrast presented to the gloomy and fearfu 
opening by the calm and innocent conclusion, is maaterly 
Never were two characters more clearly and forcibly set it 
opposition than those of Bertram and Wilfrid. Oswald com 
pletes the group ; and, for the moral purposes of the paintaf 
is perhaps superior to the others. He is admirably designed 

' That middle course to steer 

To cowardice and craft so dear.' " 

Jilonthly Rmint, 
' See Appendix, Note Ij. 

• MS. — " Betwixt the gate and Baliol's tower." 
' MS. — " Those deep-hewn banks of living stooA." 



r4NT0 n 



ROPIEBY. 



301 



W here Tees, full many a fathom low, 


Their winding path then eastward cast 


Wears with his rage no common foe ; 


And Eghston's gray ruins pass'd ;* 


For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 


Each on his own deep visions bent. 


Nt)r clay-mound, checks his fierce career. 


Silent and sad they onward went. 


Condemn'd to mine a channell'd way, 


Well may you think that Bertram's mottd,' 


O'er solid sheets of marble gray. 


To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 




Well may you tliink bold Risingham 


III. 


Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame , 


hoT Tees alone, in dawning bright, 


And small the intercom-se, I ween. 


eiha! rush upon the ravish'd sight ; 


Such uncongenial souls betwe-ea, 


But many a tributary stream 




Each from it*? own dark dell shall gleam : 


V. 


St lindrop, who, from her silvan bowers,' 


Stem Bertram shunn'd the nearer way, 


Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 


Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay, 


The rural brook of Egliston, 


And, skirting high the valley's ridge. 


And Balder, named from Odin's son; 


They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge, 


And Greta, to whosj banks ere long 


Descending where her waters wind 


We lead the lovers of the song ; 


Free for a space and unconfined. 


And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild, 


As, 'scaped from BrignaU's dark-wood gler. 


And fairy ThorsgiU's murmarmg child. 


She seeks wild Mortham's deepw den. 


And last and least, but loveliost still. 


There, as his eye glanced o'er the moimd, 


Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 


Raised by that Legion" long renown'd. 


Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd. 


Whose votive shrine asserts their claim. 


Yet long'd for RosUn's magic gladvj ? 


Of pious, faithful, conquering fame. 


Who, wandering there, hath sought to change 


" Stern sons of war !" sad Wilfrid sigh'd 


Even for that vale so stern and strange, 


" Behold the boast of Roman pride 1 


Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent, 


W hat now of aU your toils are known I 


Through her green copse like spires are icnt ? 


A grassy trench, a broken stone '" — 


Yet, Albin, yet the praise be tliine, 


This to himself ; for moral strain 


Thy scenes and story to combine 1 


To Bertram were address'd in vain. 


Thou bid'st him, who by Roslin strays, 




List to the deeds of other days ;' 


VL 


'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave. 


Of different mood, a deeper sigh 


The refuge of thy champion brave f 


Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high' 


Giving each rock its storied tale. 


"Were northward in the daAvning seen 


Poming a lay for every dale, 


To rear them o'er the thicket green. 


Knitting, as with a moral band, 


then, though Spenser's self had stray'd 


Thy na<Ae legends with thy land. 


Beside him through the lovely glade, 


To lend each scene the interest high 


Lending his rich luxuriant glow 


Which £enius beams from Beauty's eye 


Of fancy, all its charms to show, 




Pointing the stream rejoicmg free. 


IV. 


As captive set at liberty. 


Bertram awaited not the sight 


Flashing her sparkling waves abroad,* 


Which sum-ise shows from Barnard's height, 


And clamoring joyful on her road ; 


But from the towers, preventing day. 


Pointing where, up the sunny banks. 


With Wilfrid took his early way. 


The trees retu-e in scatter'd ranks, 


While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale, 


Save where, advanced be/ore the rest, 


Still mingled in the silent dale. 


On knoll or hillock rears hi« crest. 


By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, 


Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 


The southern bank of Tees they won ; 


As champions, when then- band is broke, 


M8. — " Staindrop, who, on her silvan way, 


Such uncongenial eonls between ; 


Salutes proud Raby's turrets gray." 


Well may you think stnrn Rbinghaia 


« See Notes to the song of Fair Rosabelle, in the Lay of the 


Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 


Eiaet Minstrel. 


And naught of mutual interest lav 
To bind the comrades of the way*' 


s Cartlbnd Crag's, near Lanark, celebrated as among the fa- 


ronte re'^^ats of Sir William Wallace. 


6 See Appendix, Note N. ' Ibid. Note O 


■> Pee Appendix, Note M. 


6 MS. — " Flashing to heaven her sparkling spray, 


• MS. — ■' Forbrfsf the interconrse, I ween, 


And cWmoring joyful on her war " 



108 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OAsro n 



Stand forth to guard the reai-ward post, 
The bulwark of the scatter'd host — 
All tills, aud more, might Speuser say, 
Yet waste ui vain liis magic lay, 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, 
Whose lattice lights Matikla's bower. 

VII. 
llie open va^-e is soon pass'd o'er, 
Kokuby, though nigh, is seen no more ;' 
Jinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
A wild and darker course they keep, 
A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 
As e'er the foot of Mhistrel trode !" 
Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, 
Deeper aud narrower grew the dell ; 
It seem'd some mountain, rent and riven, 
A chaiuiel for the stream had given, 
So high the cliffs of Umestone gray 
Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way. 
Yielding, along their rugged base,' 
A flinty footpath's niggard space. 
Where lie, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 
May hear the headlong torrent rave, 
Aud hke a steed in frantic tit, 
Tliat flings the froth from curb and bit,* 
May view her chafe her waves to spray. 
O'er every rock that bars her way. 
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 
Tliick as the schemes of human pride 
That down Ufe's current drive amain, 
As frail, as frothy, and as vain 1 

VIII. 

The cliffs that rear theu- haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed. 
Were now all naked, wild, and gray, 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to every crevice clung. 
And o'er the dell tlieir branches hun? •. 
Aud there, all splinter'd and uneven, 
The sldver'd rocks ascend to heaven ; 

' MS.— ' And Rokeby's tower is seen no more ; 
Sinking mid Greta's thicketa green, 
The jourueyers seek another scene." 

• See Appendix, Note P. 

• MS. — " Yielding their ragged base beside 



A \ '''"'^ , > path by Greta's tide." 

( niggard > 



MS 



-" That C/ng8 the/oarn from curb and bit, 
I tawny ^ 
Chafing her waves to < whiten \ wrath, 

( spongy ) 
O'er every rock that bars her path, 
Till down her boiling eddies ride," &o. 
• Ms — " The frequtnt ivy swathed their breast, 

Aijjd wreathed its tendrils roond their orest 
Or from their summit bade them fall, 
And tremble o'er the Greta's brawl." 



Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast,* 
And wreathed its garland round their crest. 
Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air. 
As pemions wont to wave of old 
O'er the high feast of Baron bold, 
When revell'd loud the feudal rout, 
And the arch'd halls return'd their shout , 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 
And sucli the echoes from her shore. 
And so the ivied banners gleam,' 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks recede, 

But leave between no sunny mead. 

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand. 

Oft found by such a mountain strand ;' 

Fornimg such warm and dry retreat. 

As fancy deems the lonely seat, 

Where hermit, wandering from his cell, 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew,* 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchrni green. 

Seem'd that the trees their ehadows cast, 

The earth that nourish'd thi?m to blast ; 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love ; 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flowv>r, 

Arose witliin its baleful bower : 

The dank and sable earth receives 

Its only carpet from the leaves, 

That, from the withering branches cast, 

Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. 

Tliough now the sun was o'er the lull, 

In this dark spot 'twas twihght still,' 

Save that i>n Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copsewood 

glide ; 
And wild and savage contrast made 



• MS — " And so the ivy's banners } ^^ 

'file 



green. 

(jleam, 



Waved wildly trembling o'er the scene, 
Waved wild above the clamorous stream. 



'MS.- 



" a torrent's strand ; 



Where in the warm and dry retreat, 
May fancy form some hermit's seat.' 

8 MS. — " A darksome grove of funeral yew, 

Where trees a baleful shadow cast. 
The ground that nourish'd them to blagt. 
Mingled with whose sad tints were seen 
The blighted fir's sepulchral green." 

» MS.—" In this dark grove 'twas twilight stiH, 
Save that upon the rocks opposed 
Some straggling beams of morn reposed ; 
And wild and aav.ige contrast made 
That bleak and dark funereal shade 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, struggling through the greenwu«d ipray 
Upon the rock's wild summit lay.' 



eiNTO a. 



ROKEBY. 



SCI 



That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, glimmering through the iry spray. 
On the opposing summit lay. 



• The lated peasant shunn'd the dell ; 
For Superstition wont to tell 
Of many a grisly sound and sight, 

, Scaring its path at dead of night. 
When Christmas logs blaze high and wide, 
Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 
While Cm-iosity and Fear, 
Pleasm-e and Pain, sit crouching near. 
Till cliildhood's cheek no longer glows. 
And village maidens lose the rose. 
The thrilling interest rises higher,' 
The circle closes nigh and nigher, 
And shuddering glance is cast behind, 
As louder moans the wintry wind. 
Believe, that fitting scene was laid 
For such wild tales in Mortham glade 1 
For who had seen, on Greta's side, 
By that dim hght fierce Bertram stride. 
In such a spot, at such an hour, — 
If touch'd by Superstition's power. 
Might well have deem'd that Hell had given 
A murderer's ghost to upper Heaven, 
While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide 
Like hia pale victim by his side. 

XL 

Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind : 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith and love, and pity barr'd. 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had hsted many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale, 
Tliat in his secret soul retain'd 
The credence they in childhood gain'd : 

> Mis. — " The interest rises high and higher." 
« The MS. has not the two following couplets, 
s " Also I shall shew very briefly what I'orce conjurers and 
witchbs have in constraining the elements enchanted by them 
K others, that they may exceed or (jAJ short of their natural 
crder : premising this, that the extream land of North Finland 
Kid Lapland was so taught witchcraft formerly in heathenish 
times, as if they had learned this cursed art from Zoroastres the 
Persian ; though other inhabitants by the sea-coasts are reported 
to be bewitched with the same madness ; for they exercise this 
ievilish art, of all the arts of the world, to admiration ; and in 
bis, oi other such like mischief, they commonly agree. The 
Finlanders were wont formerly, amongst their other errors of 
{entilisme, to sell winds to merchants that were stopt on their 
toasts by contrary weather ; and when they had tlieir price, 
iiey knit three magical knots, not like to tlie laws of. Cassias, 



Nor less his wild adveutm^ous youth 
BeUeved in every legend's truth ; 
Leam'd when, beneath the tropic gale, 
Full sweU'd the vessel's steady sail, 
And the broad Indian moon her Ught 
Poiur'd on the watch of middle night. 
When seamen love to hear aitd tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell :* 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shor«. 
How whistle rash bids tempests roar. 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite, 
Of Brick's cap and Elmo's Ught ;^ 
Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
Shoots hke a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lower'd is every topsail-yard. 
And canvas, wove in earthly looms. 
No more to brave the storm presmnea ' 
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky. 
Top and top-gaUant hoisted high, 
Full spread and crowded every sail. 
The Demon Frigate braves the gale ' 
And well the doom'd spectators know 
The harbmger of wreck and wow 

XIL 
Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key,' 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood. 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appall'd the Ustening Bucanier, 
Whose light-arm'd shallop anchor'd lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
Ring from the moonhght groves of cane ; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare. 
Who wearies memory for a prayer, 
Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning Ufts the sail. 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 

bound up with a thouig, and they gave them unto he rr.f* 
chants ; observing that rule, that when they unloosed the fim. 
they should have a good gale of wind ; when the se ond. i 
stronger wind ; but when they untied the third, they shoii i 
have such cruel tempests, that they should not be abjo o .ot i 
out of the forecastle to avoid the rocks, nor move u "b-n to pu.l 
down the sails, nor stand at -l e helm to govern the shin : aiK^ 
they made an unhappy trial o; the truth of it who denied ihii' 
there was any sncli power in those knots." — Olaus Maoniis'i 
History of the Ooths, Swedes, and Vandals. Lond. 1658. fol 
p. 47. — [See Note to The I'Irate, " Sale of Winds," /('ucm 
ley JVovels, vol. xxiv. p. i;i6.] 

■> See Appendix, Note Ci. 

6 Ibid. Note R. 

8 Ibid. Note S. » Ibid. Note T. 



310 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO a 



XIIL 

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child, 
Train'd in the mystic and the wild, 
With tills on Bertram's soul at times 
Rush'd a dai-k feeling of Ills crimes ; 
Such to his troubled soul their form, 
As the pale Death-ship to the storm. 
Ana such their omen dim and dread, 
Ao ohrieLs ar,a tjIccs of the dead, — 
That pang, whose transitory force' 
Hoverd 'twixt horror and remorse ; 
That pang, perchance, his bosom press'd, 
As Wilfrid sudden he address'd : — 
" Wilfi-id, this glen is never trode 
U ntil tlie sun rides high abroad ; 
Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
A Fonii, that seem'd to dog our way ; 
Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee, 
And sliroud itself by cliff or tree. 
How think'st thou ? — Is oiu- path waylaid ? 
Or liath thy sire my trust betray'd ? 

If so" Ere, starting from his dream, 

That turn'd upon a gentler theme, 
Wilfrid had roused huii to reply, 
Bertram spnuig forward, shouting high, 
" Wliate'er thou art, thou now shalt stand !"- 
And forth he darted, sword in hand. 

XIV. 
As bursts the levin in its wrath," 
He shot him down the soundmg path ; 
Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out. 
To his loud step and savage shout.' 
Seems that the object of Ills race 
Hath scaled the cliflfs ; his frantic chase 
Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent 
Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 
Straining each sinew to ascend. 
Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend. 
Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 
Views from beneath his dreadful way : 
Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings 
Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 
Now. like the wild-goat, must he dart 
An unsupport-^d leap in air ;* 
Hid in the shribby rain-course now, 

• MS. — " Its fell, though transitory force 

Hovers, 'twixt pity and remorse." 

• MS.—" As bursts the levin-bolt \ '" ' wrath.* 

' ita * 

• MS. — " To his fierce step and savage slioat, 

Seems that the object of his ] '*'^® 
I chase 

Had scaled the cliffs ; his desperate chase." 
' MS — " A desperate leap through empty air; 

Hid in the copse-clad rain-course now." 
' MS -" Pee, he emerges ! — desperate now 

Tow drd the naked beetling brow, 



You mark him by the crashu\g bough, 
And by his corselet's sullen clank. 
And by the stones spurn'd from the bank 
And by the hawk scared from her nesi. 
And ravens croaking o'er their guest, 
Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 
The tribute of his bold essay 

XV. 
See, he emerges! — desperate now* 
All farther course — Yon beetling brow. 
In craggy nakedness sublime, 
What heart or foot shall dare to climb ? 
It bears no tendril for his clasp. 
Presents no angle to his grasp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
Balanced on such precarious prop,' 
He strains his grasp to reach the top. . 
Just as the dangerous stretch he makes, 
By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes , 
Beneath his tottermg bulk it bends, 
It sways, ... it loosens, ... it descends 1 
And downward holds its headlong way, 
Crashing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 
Loud thimders shake the echoing deU I — 
Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate. 
The hardy Bertrani's falling weight 
He trusted to liis sinewj' hands, 
And on the top unharm'd he stands ! — ^ 

XVI 

Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 
At intervals where, rouglily hew'd, 
Rude steps ascending from the dell 
Render'd the cHffs accessible. 
By chcuit slow he thus attaln'd 
Tlie height that Risingham had gain'd. 
And when he issued from the wood, 
Before the gate of Mortham stood.' 
'Twas a fail* scene ! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tower and portal gray : 
And from the grassy slope he sees 
Tlie Grf eta flow to meet the Tees ; 
Where, issuuig from her darksome bed. 



His progress — heart and foot must fai! 
Von upmost crag's bare peak to scale," 

' MS. — " Perch'd like an eagle on its top, 
Balanced on its uncertain prop. 
Just as the perilous stretch he makes. 
By heaven, his tottering footstool sliakt*.'' 

' Opposite to this line, the MS. has this note, nvomt la 
amuse Mr. Ballantyne : — " If my readers will not allov iJiat 1 
have climbed Parno-ssus, they must grant that I have tumeu 
the Kittle JsTine Steps." — See note to Redgauntlet. — Wnverltt 
JiToiiels, vol. XXXV. p. 6. 

t See Appendix, Note U. 



SANTO II. 



ROKEBY. 



Sll 



She caught the morning's eastern red, 
Ajid through the softening vale belo-w 
Roll'd her bright waves, in rosy glow, 
All blushing to her bridal bed,' 
Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay, 
Sing forth her nuptial roimdelay. 

XVII. 

"Iwas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
Tliat summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 
But morning beam and wild-bird's call, 
Awaked not Morthitm's sQent hall.'' 
No porter, by the low-brow'd gate. 
Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
To the paved court no peasant di'ew ; 
Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 
The maiden's carol was not heard. 
As to her morning task she fared : 
In the void offices aroimd, 
Rmig not a hoof, nor bay'd a hoxmd ; 
Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh, 
Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrimm'd, undress'd, neglected now, 
Was alley'd walk and orchard bough : 
All spoke the master's absent care,' 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South of the gate, an arrow flight. 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite, 
As if a canopy to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
I^OT their huge boughs in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carved oer in ancient Gothic wise. 
With many a scuvcheon and device : 
There, spent srith ton and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood poadeiiug by I he tomb. 

XVUI. 
" It vanish'd, like a flitting g^osl I 
Behind tliis tomb," he said, " 'tvas '.ost — 
This tomb, where oft I deem'd lie& stored 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoaid. 
'Tis true, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid ;* 
Eut weightier reasons may be guess'J 
For their lord's strict and stern behest, 



MS — " A« some fair maid in cloister bred, 
Is iiiusliiag to lier bridal led." 

a ' Tne beantifni prospect commanded by that «in->eD«..«, 
Kwn under the chei» f 'il light of a summer's morning, i- fi».«ly 
Kintrasted with iLe ilence and solitude of the place." — 0»(»- 
tai Review. 

• MS. — ' AM sjoke the master absent far, 



civil war. 



• II I ( neglect and ) 
AllB,toke| ' J I 

( the woes of i 

Close by the gate, an arch combined, 

Two haughty elms their branches twined.' 



That none should on his steps irtrude, 
"Wliene'er he sought this solitude. — 
An ancient mariner I knew, 
"What time I sail'd with Morgan's crew. 
Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 
Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 
Adventurous hearts ! who barter' d, bold, 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not, would his experience say. 
Captain or comrade with your prey ; 
But seek some charnel, when, at full 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull : 
There dig, and tomb your precious heap ; 
And bid the dead your treasure keep ;' 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task compel. 
Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave,' 
Or prisoner, on the treasure-grave ; 
And bid his discontented ghost_ 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 
Such was the tale. Its truth, I ween. 
Is in my morning vision seen." 

XIX. 

Wilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wild, 

In mingled mirth and pity smiled, 

Much marvelling that a breast so bold' 

In such fond tale belief should hold ;' 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition's form and show. — 

The power within the guilty breast. 

Oft vanquish' d, never quite suppress'd. 

That unsubdued and lurking Ues 

To take the felon by surprise. 

And force him, as by magic speU, 

In his despite his guilt to tell, — * 

That power in Bertram's breast awoke . 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 

" 'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head . 

His morion, with the plume of red. 

His shape, his mien — 'twas Mortham, right 

As when I slew him in the fight." 

" Thou slay him ? — thou ?" — With conscious start 

He heard, then mann'd his hauguiy heari- 

" I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 

Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot 

But it ia spoken — ^gor will I 

* MS. — " Here lies the partner of his bed ; 

But weightier reasons should appear 
For all his moonlight wanderings here. 
And for the sharp rebuke they *ot, 
That pried around his favorite spot." 

6 See Appendix, Note V. 

8 MS. — " Lacks there such chamel-vanlt ■? — a ilsw^ 
Or prisoner, slaughter on the grave." 

1 MS.—" Should faith in such a fable hold " 

8 See Appendix, Note W 



11% 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO A 



Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 
1 slew liim ; I ! for thankless pride ; 
'Twas by this hand that Mortham died 1" 

XX. 

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 

Averse to every active part, 

B-t moat averse to martial broil, 

From danger shi-unk, and tm-n'd from toil 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nm-sed one brave spark of noble fire, 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong, 

His blood beat high, his hand wax'd stro'vg. 

Not his the nerves that could sustain, 

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ; 

But, when that spark blazed forth to flame,' 

He rose superior to his frame. 

And now it came, that generous mood ; 

And, in fuU current of his blood. 

On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 

Placed firm his foot, an I drew his brand. 

"Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt 

sold. 
Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
Arouse there, ho ! take f pear and sword 1 
Attach the mm-derer of your Lord 1" 

XXI. 

A moment, fix'd as by a spell. 

Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle, 

That one so feeble, soft, and tame. 

Set gi'asp on warlike Risingham.' 

But when he felt a feeble stroke,' 

The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 

To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand, 

To dash him headlong on the sand. 

Was but one moment's work,— one more 

Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore : 

But, in the instant it arose. 

To end his life, his love, his woes, 

A warlike form, that mark'd the scene, 

Presents his rapier sheathed between, 

Parries the fast-descending blow, 

And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 

Nor then ur.scabbarded his brand, 

But, sternly pointing with his hand. 

With monarch's voice forbade the fisrht. 

And motion'd Bertram from liis sight. 

' MS. •' But, when blazed forth that noble flame." 

» " T/iC 8Dd(ien impression made on the mind of Wilfrid by 

18 avowal, 19 one of the happiest touches of moral poetry. 

The eflect which the unexpected bnrst of indignation and 

'alor [.r«lni;e9 on Bertram, ia as finely imagined." — Critical 

Review. — " This most animating scene is a worthy companion 

o the rencounter of Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu, in the 

jsdyof the Lake." — Monthly Review. 

• *•**, — " At length, at slight and feeble stroke, 

1 fiend i 
Thattozed thit skin, his I J awoke." 



" Go, and repent " — he said, " while tune 
Is given thee ; ad i not crime to crime." 

XXIL 

Mute, and uncertain, and amazed, 

As on a vision Bertram gazed 1 

'Twas Mortham's bearing, bold and high,' 

His sinewy frame, his falcon eye. 

His look and accent of command. 

The martial gesture of his hand. 

His stately form, spare-built and tall, 

His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Mortham aii 

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career* 

A thousand thoughts, and all of fear ; 

His wavering faith received not quite 

The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 

But more he fear'd it, if it stood 

His lord, in Uving flesh and blood. — 

What spectre can the chai-nel send, 

So dreadful as an injured friend ? 

Then, too, the habit of command. 

Used by the leader of the band, 

When Risingham, for many a day, 

Had march'd and fought beneath his sway, 

Tamed him — and, with reverted face. 

Backwards he bore his sullen pace ;* 

Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham stared. 

And dark as rated mastiff glared ; 

But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 

Plimged in the glen, and disappeared ; — 

Nor longer there the Warrior stood. 

Retiring eastward through the wood ;'' 

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives 

XXIII. 
Still rung these words in WUfrid's ear, 
Hinting he knew not what of fear ; 
When nearer came the coiu-sers' tread, 
And, with his father at their head, 
of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 
Rein'd up their steeds before the tower. 
" Whence these pale looks, my son ?" he said 
Where's Bertram?— Why that naked blade?' 
Wilfrid ambiguously replied 
(For Mortham's charge his honor tied), 
" Bertram is gone — tJie villain's word 
Avouch'd him mm-derer of his lord ' 

« MS. — " 'Twas Mortham's spare and sinewy fraos* 
His falcon eye, his glance of flame " 

' MS. — " A thousand thoughts, and all ot tear. 
Dizzied his brain in wild career; 
Doubting, and not receiving quite, 
The form he saw as Mortham's sprite, 
Still more he fe.Tr'd it, if it stood 
His living lord, in flesh and blood." 

* MS. — " Slow he retreats with sullen pace." 

' MS. — " Retiring through the thickest wood. 

e MS. — " Rein'd ud their steeds by Mortham towat 



OANTO IT 



ROKEBY. 



319 



Even now we fought — ^but, when youi tread 

Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 

In Wycliffe's conscious eye appear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 

On his pale brow the dewdrop broke, 

And his lip quiver'd as he spoke : — 

XXIV. 
•• A murderer! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram rav«s, or you 1 
Yet, grant such strange confession true,. 
Pursuit w«re vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And foUow'd now in Wycliffe's train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
Chafed not against the curb more high 
Than he at Oswald's cold reply ; 
He bit his lip, implored his saint, 
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint. 

XXV. 

« Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall," 
By that base traitor's dastard ball. 
Just when I thought to measure sword. 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the murderer 'scape who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true ?* 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
No 1 ere the sun that dew shall dry.s 
False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle 'larum beU 1 
Arouse the peasants with the knell I 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride I 
Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be, 
That honors Mortham's memory, 
Let him dismoimt and follow me 1 

MS — " Yes ! I beheld him foully slain, 
B/ thai base traitor of his train." 

* MS — " j4 Knight, so generous, brave and true." 

• MS " that dew shall drain, 

False Risingham shall be kill'd or ta'en." 
< Mis. -To the Printer^. — "On the disputed line, it may 
<tand thus, — 

' Whoever finds him, strike him dead ;' 

Of,- 

' Who first shall find him, strike him dead.' 

Bot I think the addition of felon, or any such word, will im- 
pair tht Btrenffth of the passage. Oswald is too anzions to 
40 



Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name I" 

XXVL 
Instant to earth young Redmond sprung; 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band. 
Who waited not their lord's conmiand. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew. 
His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
His pistols in his belt he placed. 
The green-wood gain'd, the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark 1" — and in he boimds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry 
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly- - 
But venture not, in useless strife, 
On ruffian desperate of his life. 
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead I* 
Five himdred nobles for his head 1" 

XXVII. 
The horsemen gallop' d, to make good 
Each path that issued from the wood. 
Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
Of Redmond and his eager rout • 
With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire, 
And envying Redmond's martial fire,* 
And emulous of fame. — ^But where 
Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ? 
He, bound by honor, law, and faith. 
Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 
Leaning against the elmin tree. 
With drooping head and slacken'd knetj, 
And clenched teeth, and close-clasp'd handu 
In agony of soul he stands ! 
His downcast eye on earth is bent. 
His soul to every somid is lent : 
For in each shout that cleaves the air, 
May ring discovery and despair.' 

XXVIIL 
What 'vail'd it him, that brightly play'd 
The morning sim on Mortham's glade i 
All seems in giddy roimd to ride. 



use epithets, and is hallooing after the men, by this tlEM e« 
tering the wood. The simpler the line the better. In mj 
humble opinion, shoot him dead, was much bolter than W) 
other. It implies, Do not even approach him; kill him <it 
distance. I leave it, however, to you, only sayi;.g that 
never shun common words when they are to the pui pose. Ai 
to your criticisms, I cannot but attend to them, be.:anse inej 
touch passages with which I am myself discontented. — W. S ' 
6 MS. — " Jealous of Redmond's noble fire." 
« " Opposed to this animated picture of ardent courage and 
ingennous youth, that of a guilty conscience, which imms- 
diately follows, is indescribably Vrrible, Ind ^alculated It 
achieve the highest and noblest |>iir<ios»s o' iramdtic fijtioB 
— Critital Revieie. 



314 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO rn 



Like objects on a stormy tide, 

Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 

Lnperfectly to sink and swim. 

What 'vail'd it, that the fair domain, 

[ts battled mansion, liill, and plain, 

On which the sun so brightly shone, 

Envied so long, was now liis own ?' 

The lowest dungeon, in that hour. 

Of Brackenbury's dismal tower," 

Had been his choice, could such a doom 

Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! 

Forced, too, to tiu-n vmwDling ear 

To each surmise of hope or fear, 

Murmur'd among the rustics round. 

Who gather'd at the 'larum sound ; 

He dared not turn his head away, 

E'en to look up to heaven to pray, 

Or call on hell, in bitter mood, 

For one sharp death-shot from the wood 1 

XXIX. 
At length, o'erpast that dreadful space. 
Back straggling came the scatter'd chase ; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
Retiu-n'd the troopers, one by one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 
AU trace was lost of Bertram's way, 
Tliough Redmond stiU, up Bvignal wood,* 
Tlie hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 
0, fatal doom of hmnan race ! 
Wliat tyrant passions passions chase 1 
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone. 
Avarice and pride resume their throne ;* 
The pang of instant terror by. 
They dictate us their slave's reply :— 

XXX. 

" Ay — let him range like hasty bound I 
And if the grim wolf's lair be found. 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond, or with Risiugham.^ 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy 1 
Thy fair Matilda, aU so coy 
To thee, is of anotlier mood 
To that bold youth of Eriu's blood. 
Thy ditties will she freely praise. 
And pay thy pains with coiu-tly phrase 
[n a rough j^ath will oft conmiand — 
Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 
His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd, 

1 " The contrast of the beaatifal morning, and the prospect 
iM the rich domain of Alortham, which Oswald was come to 
leize, witli the dark remorse and misery of his mind, is power- 
fully represented: (JVon domua et fundus!'' &o. &a.)— 
Monthly Review. 

» See Ajjpendii, Note X. 

* " Though Redmond still, as unsubdued." 

« The MS. adds :— 

" Of Mortham's treasure now be dreanu 



Unwilling takes his proffer'd aid. 

While conscious passion plainly speaka 

In downcast look and blusliing cheeks. 

Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh. 

And all her soul is in her eye ; 

Yet doubts she stiU to tender free 

The wonted words of courtesy. 

These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore eigl^ 

And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 

Thine shall she be, if thou attend 

The counsels of thy sire and friend. 

XXXI. 

" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light* 
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 
Brave Cromwell turn'd the doubtful tide, 
And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; 
Thi'ee thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold Marquis fled"; 
Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 
Must fine for freedom and estate. 
Of these, committed to my charge, 
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 
Redmond, his page, arrived «o say 
He reaches Barnard's towe.s to-day. 
Right heavy shall his ransom be. 
Unless that maid compound with thee 1* 
Go to her now — be bold of cheer. 
While her soul floats 'twixt hope and feai 
It is the very change of tide. 
When best the female heart is tried- 
Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 
Are in the current swept to sea ;' 
And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 
May Ughtly row his bark to shore." 



Hokcbg. 



CANTO THIED. 



The himnMig tribes of air and earth 
Respect the brethren of their birth ;• 
Nature, who loves the claim of kind. 
Less cruel chase to each assign'd. 
The falcon, poised on soaring -ft mg, 

Now nurses more ambitious sciiemes. 
» MS. — "This Redmond brought, at peep of light 

The news of Marston's happy 6£ht." 

<^ See Appendix, Note Y. 

' MS. — " In the warm ebb are swept to sea." 

I lower i 
" MS. — " The : tribes of eartli and air. 

meaner \ ' 

In the wild chase their kindred spare.' 

The second oonplet in erpolated. 



OASTO in. 



ROKEBY. 



811 



Watches the -^ild-duck by the spring ; 
T!>e slow-hound wakes the fox's lau- ; 
The greyhound presses on the hare; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
fhe wolf devours the fleecy dam: 
Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, 
Theii likeness ijna their lineage spare, 
Man, onlv mars kmd Natm-e's plan. 
Ana turns the fierce pursuit on man ; 
Plying war's desultory trade, 
Incursiuii, flight, and ambuscade,' 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, • 
At first the bloody game begun. 

II. 

The Indian, prowling for his prey, 

Who hears the settlers track his way, 

And knows in distant forest far 

Camp his red brethi'en of the war ; 

He, when each double and disguise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries, 

Low crouching now his head to hide, 

Where swampy streams through rushes glide,' 

Now covering with the wither'd leaves 

The foot-prints that the dew receives :' 

He, skiU'd in every silvan guUe, 

Knows not, nor tries, such various wile, 

As Risingham, when on the wind 

Arose the loud pursuit behind. 

In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared. 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswair higb^ 

To bugle rung and blood-homid's cry,* 

Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, 

And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 

And well his ventirrous hfe had proved 

The lessons that his childhood loved. 

III. 

Oft had he shown, in climes afar, 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, 
The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
Tlie speed, that in the flight or chase, 
OutstrippM the Charib's rapid race ; 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
The iron frame, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air. 
Nor less confirm'd to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chiU, and famine's throe 

1 MS. — • invasion, flight, and ambuscade." 

' MS. — " Where the slow waves through rashes glide." 

' See Appendix, Note Z. ' 

• See Appendix, Note 2 A. 

MS. — Where traces in the dew remain." 

MS. — " \nd oft his soul within him rose. 
Prompting to rush upon his foes, 



These arts he proved, his life to save, 
In peril oft by land and wave. 
On Arawaca's desert shore. 
Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Track'd the marauder's steps in vain 
These arts, in Indian warfare triod 
Must save him now by Greta's aide. 

IV. 

'Twas then, in hoti r of utmost need. 

He proved his courage, art, and speech 

Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace. 

Now started forth in rapid race. 

Oft doubling back in mazy train. 

To blind the trace the dews retain :' 

Now clombe the rocks projecting high, 

To bafiie the pursuer's eye ; 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling souid 

The echo of his footsteps drown' d. 

But if the forest verge he nears, 

There trample steeds, and glimmer speari 

If deeper down the copse he drew, 

He heard the rangers' loud halloo. 

Beating each cover while they came, 

As if to start the silvan game. 

'Twas then — like tiger close beset* 

At every pass with toil and net, 

'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare, 

By clashing arms and torches' flare. 

Who meditates, with furious bound. 

To burst on hunter, horse, and hovmd,- ' 

'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, 

Prompting to rush upon his foes : 

But as that crouching tiger, cow'd 

By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd. 

Retreats beneath the jimgle's shroud, 

Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 

And couches in the brake and fern. 

Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye.' 



Then Bertram might the bearing trace 
Of the bold youth who led the chase : 
Who paused to list for every sound 
Climb every height to look arouna. 
Then rushing on with naked sword. 
Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 
'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 
'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 

And oft, like tiger toil-beset, 

That in each pass finds foe and net," fta 

' In the MS. the stanza concludes thus : 

" Suspending yet his purpose stern. 
He couch'd him in the brake and feril 
Hiding his face, test foemen spy 
The sparide of his swarthy ef« ' 

• See Appendix Note 3 B. 



816 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO IB 



Dicjorder'd from his glowing cheek ; 

Mien, face, and I'jrm, young Redmond speak. 

A form more active, light, and strong, 

Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 

The modest, yet the manly mien, 

Might grace the court of maiden queen ; 

A face more fiur you well might find,' 

For Redmond's knew the sun and wind. 

Nor boasted, from their tinge when free, 

The chm'm of regularity ; 

But every feature had the power 

To aid the expression of the hom* : 

Whether gay wit, and humor sly, 

Danced laughing in his Ught-blue eye • 

Or bended brow, and glance of fire, 

And kiadling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 

Or soft and sadden'd glances show 

Her ready sympathy with woe ; 

Or in that wayward mood of mind, 

When various feelings are combined, 

When joy and sorrow mingle near, 

And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear; 

And rising doubts keep transport down. 

And anger lends a short-Hved frown ; 

In that strange mood which maids approve 

Even when they dare not call it love ; 

With every change his features play'd, 

As aspens show the Ught and shade.' 

VI. 

Well Risingham yoimg Redmond knew ; 
And much he marvell'd that the crew, 
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, 
Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 
For never felt his soul the woe, 
That wails a generous foeman low. 
Far less that sense of justice strong. 
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause :* 
And twice that Redmond came so near 
Where Bertram couch'd like himted deer, 
The very boughs his steps displace 
Rustled against the ruffian's face, 
Who, desperate, twice prepared to start, 
And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 
But Redmond timi'd a different way. 
And the bent boughs resinned their sway. 
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
Deeper to plimge in coppice green. 

I These six conpleU were often qaoted by the late Lord 
R.nnedder as giving, in his opinion, an excellent portrait of 
the author liimaelf. — Ed. 

9 li. the MS. this image comes after the line " to aid the ex- 
feiession of the hoar," and the conplet stands: 

" And like a flexile aspen play'd 
Alternately in light and shade." 



Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the brake. 
Watches with red and glistening eye. 
Prepared, if heedless step draw nig h, 
With forked tongue and venom'd fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside, 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
And through the deep savannah wii.d. 
Some undisturb'd retreat to find. 

• VII. 

But Bertram, as he backward drew. 
And heard the loud pursuit renew, 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
Oft mutter'd in his savage mind — 
" Redmond O'Neale 1 were thou and I 
Alone this day's event to try, 
With not a second here to see, 
But the gray cliff and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, 
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud 1 
No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower." 
Eluded, now behind him die, 
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry ; 
He stands in Scargill wood alone. 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry. 
Or Greta's tound that murmiu"s by ; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild, 
The su^nmet- axm in quiet smiled. 

VIII. 
He Usten'd long with anxious heart. 
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start,* 
And, while his atretch'd attention glows, 
Refused his weary frame repose. 
'Twas silence all — he laid him down, 
Where pm pie he«%th profusely strown. 
And throatwort, with its azure bell,* 
And moss and thyme his cushion sweU. 
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 
The course of Greta's playful tide ; 
Beneath, her banks now eddying dun, 
Now brightly gleaming to the sun, 
As, dancing over rock and stone. 
In yellow light her currents shone. 
Matching in hue the favorite gem 
Of Albin's mountain-diadem. 

SMS. — " The chase he heads, vhate'er the cause." 

i MS. " and limbs to start, 

And, while his sCreu:h'd attention glows. 
Scarce felt his wea/y frame repose. " 
' The Campanula Latifolia, grand thrNitw^rt, et Cantet 
bnry bells, grows in profusion npon th» b^iut'.ful b*nks >^ tht 
river Greta, where it divides the manors of Brigiiall and Soar 
)pU, abont three miles above Greta Bridiie. 



FANTO III. 



ROKEBY. 



di 



Then tired to watch the current's play. 

He turu'd his weary eyes away, 

To where the bank opposing show'd 

Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy ■wood ■ 

}ne, prominent above the rest, 
Rear'd to the sun its pale gray breast ; 

Ground its broken summit grew 
T'le hazel rude, and sable yew;- 
A thousand varied Uchnns dyed 
Its waste and weather-be.-iten side, 
And round its rugged basis lay, 
By time or thunder rent away, 
Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, 
"Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 
Such was the scene's wUd majesty. 
That fiU'd stern Bertram's gazing eye.* 

IX. 

In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
R«volviag, in his stormy mind, 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, 
His patron's blood by treason spilt ; 
A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dread, 
That it had power to wake the dead 
Then, pondering on his hfe betray'd' 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, 
In treacherous purpose to withhold, 
So seem'd it, Mortham's promised gold, 
A deep and full revenge he vow'd 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud ; 
Revenge on "Wilfrid — on his sire 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire 1 — 
If in such mood (as legends say. 
And well believed that simple day), 
The Enemy of Man has power 
To profit by the evil hour. 
Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge !* 
But though his vows, with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made,' 
As weU might reach hell's lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the grove embrown'd. 
No nether thunders shook the ground ;— 
The demon knew his vassal's heart. 
And spared temptation's needless art* 



■ MB. 



' show'd. 



With many a rocky fragment rnde. 
Its old gray cliffs and shaggy wood." 

The MS. adds : 

Yet as he gazed, he fail'd to find 
According image ton ch his mind." 

• MS.—" Then thought he on his life betray'd." 

• Bee Appendix, Note 2 C. 

• MS. — " For deep and dark revenge were made, 

As well might wake hell's lowest shade." 

• " Bertram is now alone : the landscape aronnd is truly 
p»nd pvtiollf illominat^d by the sun ; and we are reminded 



X. 

Oft, mingled with the direful theme, 

Came Mortham's form — Was it a dream I 

Or had he seen, in vision true, 

That very Mortham whom he slew I 

Or had in living flesh appear'd 

The only man on earth he fear'd ?— 

To try the mystic cause intent, 

His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 

'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance, 

lake sunbeam flash'd from sword or lance 

At once he started as for fight, 

But not a foeman was in sight f 

He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse, 

He heard the river's sounding course ; 

The soUtary woodlands lay. 

As slumbering in the summer ray. 

He gazed, like lion roused, around, 

Then sunk again upon the ground. 

'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam. 

Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream , 

Then plvmged him from his gloomy train 

Of ill-connected thoughts again, 

UntU a voice behind him cried, 

" Bertram 1 well met on Greta flid«» " 

XL 

Instant his sword was in his hand, 

As instant sxmk the ready brand ; 

Yet, dubious stiU, opposed he stood 

To him that issued from the wood : 

" Guy DenzU !— is it thou ?" he said ; 

" Do we two me'dt in Scargill shade ! — 

Stand back a space ! — thy purpose show, 

"Whether thou comest as friend or foe. 

Report hath said, that DenzQ's name 

From Rokeby's band was razed with shamft."- 

" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 

"Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 

Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs.' 

I reck not. In a war to strive, 

"Where, save the leaders, none tjm thrive, 

Suits iU my mood ; and better game 

Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham,* 



of the scene in The Robbers, in wr -jD-something of a i 
contrast is exhibited between the beaaties of exteraaJ oatlM 
and the agitations of hnman passion. Xt is in snch pietnrei 
that Mr. Scott delights and excels." — Monthly keview. Om 
is surprised that the reviewer did not qnote Milten ntli»m 
than Schiller : 



"The fiend 



Saw nndelighted all delight." — Ed 
T MS.—" Look'd round— no foeman wa« Inaight 
« See Appendix, Note 2 D. 
* MS. — " Unscropolons, gallant Risinghaoh' 



S18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



cxsTO m 



Who watch'J with mfi in midnight dark, 

To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 

How think'st thou ?" — " Speak thy purpose out ; 

I love not mystery or doubt." — 

XII. 
"Then list —Not far tliere lurk a crew 
Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, 
Gieac'd from both factions — Roundheads, freed 
Fjom cant of sermon and of creed ; 
And Cayaliers, whose souls, Uke mine, 
Spurn at the bent's of discipline. 
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 
A warfare of our own to hold, 
Than breathe our last on battle-down, 
For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 
Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 
A chief and leader lack we yet. — 
Thou art a wanderer, it is said ; 
For Mortham's death, thy steps waylaid,* 
Thy head at price — so say our spies, 
Wlio range the valley in disguise. 
Join then with us : — though wild debate 
And wrangling rend our infant state. 
Each to an equal loth to bow, 
Will yield to chief renown'd as thou." — 

XIIL 

• Even now," thought Bertram, passion-stirr'd, 

" I caU'd on hell, and hell has heard 1' 

Wliat lack I, vengeance to command. 

But of stanch conu-ades such a band ?' 

This DenzO, vow'd to every /vil 

Might read a lesson to the devil. 

Well, be it so I each knave and fool 

Shall serve as my revenge's tooL" — 

Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, 

But tell me where thy comrades lie ?"— 

" Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said ; 

" Descend, and cross the river's bed, 

"WTiere rises yonder cliff so gray." — 

*• Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the way." 

Then mutter'd, " It is best make sm-e ; 

Guy Denzil's faith was never pure." 

He foUow'd down the steep descent, 

I'lien tlirough the Greta's streams they went ; 

And, when they reach'd the farther shore, 

ITiej" stood the lonely cliff before. 



MS. — " Thy head at price, thy steps waylaid." 

"I but half ■>M«h'd 

To see the devil, and he'j here already." — OtwxT 
MS. — " What lack I, my revenge to quench, 

But such a band of comrades stanch ?" 
M?. — " But when Guy Denzil pulj'd the spray, 
And brambles, from its roots away, 
Ha saw, forth issuing to the air." 
*«e Appendix, Note 2 E. 
' We should here have concladed oar remarks on the eha^ 



XIV. 

With wonder Bertram heard within 
The flinty rock a murmur'd din ; 
But when Guy pidl'd the wdding spray, 
And brambles, from its base away,* 
He saw, appearing to the air, 
A little entrance, low and square, 
Like opening ceil of hermit Icae, 
Dark, winding through the living stone. 
Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here ; 
And loud and louder on their ear, 
As from the bowels of the earth, 
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 
Of old, the cavern strait and rude, 
In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 
And Brignall's woods, and Scargill'a wave 
"E'en now, o'er many a sister cave,* 
Where, far within the darksome rift, 
The wedge and lever ply tliek tlu-ift. 
But war had silenced rural trade. 
And the deserted mine was made 
The banquet-hall and fortress too. 
Of Denzil and his desperate crew. — 
There GuLIt his anxious revel kept ; 
There, on his sordid pallet, slept 
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drain'd 
Still in his slumbering grasp retain'd \ 
Regret was there, liis eye still cast 
With vain repining on the past ; 
Among the feasters waited near 
Sorrow, and uiu-epentant Fear, 
And Blasphemy, to phrensy driveu. 
With liis own crimes reproaching heaven : 
While Berlram shoVd, amid the crew 
The Master-Fiend that Jlilton drew. 

XV. 
Hark ! the loud revel wakes again. 
To greet the leader of the train. 
Behold the group by the pale lamp, 
That struggles with the eartliy damp. 
By what strange features Vice hath kno'wij 
To single-out and mark her own ! 
Yet some there are, whose brows retain 
Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. 
See yon pale stripling !* when i boy, 
A mother's pride, a father's joy I 
Now, 'gauist the vault's rude walls rochneil. 



acteis of the drama, had not one of its subordinate personages 
been touched with a force of imagination, which renden it 
worthy even of prominent regard and attention. The poet hai 
just presented us with the picture oi a gang of banditti on 
which he has bestowed some a( the most gloomy coloring o( 
his powerful pencil. In the midst of this horrible gronp, is 
distinguished the exquisitely natural and intereetiog portiail 
which follows : — 



See yon pale stripling ! 



' &c." 

Critical RevUm. 



t «NTO III. 



ROKEBY. 



V 



An early image fiEs his mind ; 

TTie cottage, once his sire's, he sees, 

Embo'vrer'd upon the banks of Tees ; 

He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 

And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 

A tear is springing — but the zest 

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, 

Hath to loud laughter stirt-'d the rest. 

On him f-Jiey call, the aptest mate 

For jovial song and merry feat : 

Fast flies his dream — with dauntless ail, 

As one victorious o'er Despair, 

He bids the ruddy cup go round, 

TiU sense and sorrow both are drown'd; 

And soon, in merry wassail, he,* 

The life of all their revelry, 

Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 

Her blossoms on the wildest ground, 

'Mid noxious weeds at random streVd, 

Themselves all profitless and rude. — 

With desperate merriment he smig. 

The cavern to the chorus rung ; 

Yet mingled with his reckless glee 

Remorse's bitter agony. 

XVI. 
Song.' 
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair. 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queea 
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A. Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

" 0, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
Fd rather rove with Edmund there. 

Than reign our Enghsh queen." — 

" If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 
To leave both tower and town. 

Thou first must guess what life lead we, 
1 hat dwell by dale and down \ 



'■ MS — " And soon the lon)lest wassailer he. 
And life of all tl<;ir revelry." 

' Scott rtvisited Rokeby in 1812, for the purpose of refresh- 
k&e his raeffiory ; and Mr. Morritt says, — " 1 had, of course, 
had many |)revious opportunities of testing the almost con- 
icientious fidelity of his local descriptions ; but 1 could not 
help Ijeing singularly struck with the lights which this visit 
threw on that characteristic of his compositions The mom- 
r.g after lie arrived he said, ' You have often given me mate- 
»ials for romance — now I want a good robber's cave and an old 
shnrch of the right sort.' We rode out, and he found what he 
Tantec' in the arcient slate quarries of Brignall and the ruined 
Abbey oi Ej'islon. I observed him noting down even the 
aeeolia/ iitti* wild-llowers And her's that Accidentally ^ew 



And if thou canst that riddle read. 

As read fuU well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou 
speed. 

As bhthe as Queen of May." — 

CHORUS. 

Tet sung she, " Brignall banks are fsur, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove tv rth Edmtmd there. 

Than reign our English queen. 

xvn. 

" I read you, by your bugle-hom, 

And by yom* palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn. 

To keep the king's greenwood."— 
" A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry mom 

And mine at dead of night." — 

CHORUS. 

Tet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" With biu'nish'd brand and musketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

Tliat fists the tuck of drum." — 
" I Ust no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trvmapet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum. 

My comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS. 

" And, ! though Brignall banks be uur, 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dar^ 

Wotild reign my Queen of May ! 

XVIII. 
" Maiden 1 a nameless fife I lead. 

A nameless death I'U die ; 
The fiend, whose lantern fights the mead,* 

Were better mate than I ! 



round and on the side of a bold crag near h« intenaeu mt» • 
Guy Denzil ; and could not iielp saying, tJiat as he wae not U 
be upon oath in his work, daisies, violets, and primroses woaM 
be as poetical as any of the humble plants he was examining 
1 laughed, in short, at his scrupulousness , but I nnderstoor 
him when lie replied, 'that in nature herself no two scene 
were exactly alike, and that whoever copied truly what was 
before his eyes, would possess the same variety in his descrip- 
tions, and exhibit apparently a« imagination as boundless a* 
the range of nature in the scenes he recorded ; whereas — wlio 
ever trusted to imagination, would soon find his own mind 
circumscribed, and contracted to a few favorite iiia^e* "•" 
Life of Scott, vol. iv. p. 19. 
5 MS. — " The goblin-light m teu iuea<i. 



820 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO m 



And when Fm with my comrades met,' 
Beneath the greenwood bough. 

What once we were we all forget, 
Nor think what we are now. 

CHOKUS. 

" Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands there 

"Would grace a summer queen." 

When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
Was silence on the sullen throng. 
Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But, far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
Of import fo\il and fierce, design'd, 
While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
The wealth of mm-der'd Mortham hung ; 
Though half he fear'd his daring tongue. 
When it should give his wishes birth," 
Might raise a spectre from the earth 1 

XIX. 
length his wondrous tale he told : 
i^en, scornful, smiled his comrade bold ; 
For, train'd in hcense of a court. 
Religion's self was Denzil's sport ; 
Then judge in what contempt he held 
The visionary tales of eld ! 
His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 
The unbeliever's sneering jest. 
" 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer," 
To spell the subject of your fear ; 
'Nor do I boast the art renown' d, 
Vision and omen to expound. 
Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
To spectre watcliing treasured hoard, 
As bandog keeps his master's roof, 
Bidding the plunderer stand aloof. 
This doubt remahis — thy goblin gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt ; 
For why liis guard on Mortham hold, 
When Rokeby castle hath the gold 
Thy patron won on Indian soil,* 
B; stealth, by piracy, and spoil?" 

XX. 

At tills he paused — for angry shame 
Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. 

MS.—" And were I with my true love «et 
Under the greenwood bongh, 
What once I was she must forget, 
Nor think what I am now." 

M3. " give the project birth.' 

M8.^" ' 'Twere hard, my friend,' he said, ' to spell 
The morning vision that you tell ; 
Nor am I seer, for art reaown'd. 



He blush'd to think, that he should seem 

Assertor of an airy dream. 

And gave his wrath another theme. 

" Denzil," he says, " though lowly laid. 

Wrong not the memoiy of the dead ; 

For, while he lived, at Mortham's look 

Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 

And when he tax'd thy breach of word 

To yon fair Rose of AUenford, 

I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound,* 

Whose back the himtsman's lash hatii 

foimd. 
Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 
The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 
He won it bravely with his brand, 
When Spain waged warfare with our land • 
Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer. 
Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 
Mine is but half the demon's lot, 
For I believe, but tremble not. — 
Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 
Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ; 
Or, think'st that Mortham would bestow 
His treasure with his faction's foe ?" 

XXI. 

Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed mirth 

Rather he would have seen the earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 

Than venture to awake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submiss he answer'd, — " Mortham's mmd, 

Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined. 

In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he ; 

But since return'd from over sea," 

A sullen and a silent mood 

Hath numb'd the current of his blood.; 

Hence he refused each kindly call 

To Rokeby's hospitable hail. 

And our stout knight, at dawn of mom 

Who loved to hear th<? bugle-horn. 

Nor less, when eve his oaks embrown'a, 

To see the ruddy cup j^-o ro md. 

Took umbrage that a friend so near 

Refused to share his chase and cheer ; 

Thus did the kindred barons jar. 

Ere they divided in the war. 

Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 

Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir."^ 



Dark dream« and omens to expoond. 
Yet, if ray faith I must afford," * fce. 

* MS. " hath his gold. 

The gold he won on Indian soil." 
-" like rated hound." 



»MS._ 

' Pee Appendix, Note 2 F. 

' MS. " Denzil's mood of mirth ; 

He would have rather seen the earth," ko. 



IJANTO «1. 



ROKEBl. 



3Si 



xxn. 

" Destiued to her 1 to yon alight maid 1 
The prize my life had welluigh paid, 
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, 
I fought my patron's wealth to save ! — ' 
Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier, 
Wliom youthful friends and early fame 
Call'd soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man, he sought our crew, 
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew ; 
And rose, as men with us must rise, 
By scorning hfe and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he rovecl, 
As danger for itself he loved ; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
111 was the omen if he smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laugh'd, each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate.' 
Foremost he fought in every broU, 
Then scornful turn'd him from the spoil ; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
Hot with our dear-bought yictory, 
Of mercy and humanity. 

XXIII. 
" 1 loved him well : his fearless part, 
His gallant leading, won my heart. 
And after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I that wrangled for his right,* 
Redeem'd his portion of the prey 
Tliat greedier mates had torn away : 
Li field and storm thrice saved liis life, 
And once amid our comrades' strife. — * 
Yes, I have loved thee 1 Well hath proved 
My toil, my danger, how I loved 1 
Yet wiU I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise if thou canst !" he look'd around, 
And sternlv stamp' d upon the ground— 
" Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Even as this mom it met mine eye. 

The MS. has not this couplet. 

" There was a laughing devil in his sneer. 
That raised emotions both of rage and fear ; 
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, 
Hope withering fled— and Mercy sigh'd farewell." 

Byron's Works, vol. ix. p. 272. 

• MS. — " And when \ ^ J bloody fight was done 

( his ) 

* I wrangled for the share he won." 

• See Appendix, Note 2 G. 

■ MS. — " To thee, niy friend, 1 need not tell, 

What thon hast canse to know so well." 
MS — " Around thj captain's moody mind." 
41 



And give me, if thou darest, the lie P 
He paused — then, calm and passion-freed. 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed 

XXIV. 

" Bertram, to thee I need not tell. 
What thou hast cause to wot so well,' 
How Superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind '* 
But since he drove thee fi"om h's tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bowor. 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had svray 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved ; 
But he would gaze upon her eye, 
Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. 
He, whom no hving mortal sought 
To question of liis secret thought, 
Now every thought and care confess'd 
To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare, 
In earth, in ocean, or in air. 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still boimd liim unto life ;* 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials bore, by his commands, 
Three coffers, with their iron bands. 
From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep^ 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride,* 
His gift, if he in battle died." — 

XXV. 

" Then DenzU, as I guess, lays train, 
These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here,' 
Where many a peril waits him near, 
For aU his feats of war and peace. 
For plunder'd boors, and harts of greese t*' 
Since through the hamlets as he fared. 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, 
Or where the chase that hath not runff" r 
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung f— » 
" I hold my wont — my rangers go. 
Even now, to track a milk-white doe." 

» MS. — " But it must be Matilda's share 

This, too, still bound him unto life." 
' MS. — " From a strong vault in Mortham towei, 

In secret to Matilda's bower. 

Ponderous with ore and gems of pride. ' 
• MS. — " Then may I guess thou hast some train. 

These iron-banded chests to gain ; 

Else, why should Denzil hover heie." 
10 Deer in season. 
» MS. " that doth not know 

The midnight clang of Denzil'i bow- • 

- I hold my sport," &c. 
u See Appa»aiz, Nc-te 2 H 



822 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKb. canto in 


By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 


That issues at a secret spot, 


In Greta wood she harbors fair, 


Bv most neglected or forgot. 


And when my huntsman marks her way, 


Now, could a spial of oiu- train 


What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 


On fair pretext admittance gain. 


Were Rokeby's daugl\ter in our power, 


That sally-port might be unbarr'd : 


We rate her ransom at her dower." — 


Then, vain were battlement and ward 1" — 


XXVL 


XXVIIL 


" 'Tia well i — there's vengeance in the thought ; 


" Now speak'st thou weU : — to me the same, 


Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 


If force or art shall urge the game ; 


And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said, 


Indifferent, if like fox I wind,* 


Pays lover's homage to the maid. 


Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 


Bertram she scorn' d — If met by chance, 


But, hark ! om* merry -men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay.'^ 


She turn'd from me her shuddering glance, 


Like a nice dame, that will not brook 




On what she hates and loathes to look ; 


Song. 


She told to Mortham she could ne'er 


" A wearj' lot is thine, fair maid. 


Behold me without secret fear. 


A weary lot is thine ! 


Foi eboding evil : — She may rue 


To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 


To find her prophecy faU true ! — 


And press the rue for wine ! 


The war has weeded Rokeby's train, 


A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,* 


Few followers in his halls remain ; 


A feather of the blue, 


1 If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, 


A doublet of the Tiincoln-green, — 


1 We are enow to storm the hold, 


No more of me you knew, 


Bear off the plunder, and the dame. 


My love I 


And leave the castle aU in flame." — 


No more of me you knew. 


XXVII. 


" This mom is merry June, I trow, 


" Still art thou Valor's venturous son ! 


The rose is budding fain ;' 


Yet ponder first the risk to rtm : 


But she shall bloom in winter snow. 


The menials of the castle, true. 


Ere we two meet again." 


And stubborn to their charge, though few ;' 


He turn'd his charger as he spake. 


The waU to scale — the moat to cross — 


Upon the river shore," 


Tlie wicket-grate — the inner fosse" 


He gave his bricUe-reins a shake. 


— " Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 


Said, " Adieu for evermore. 


On what fair guerdon can we seize ?' 


My love ' 


Our hardiest venture, to explore 


And adieu for evermore." — * 


Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 




And the best prize we bear away. 


XXLX. 


The earnings of his sordid day." — 


" W hat youth is this, your band among. 


" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 


The best for minstrelsy and song ? 


In sight of road more sure and fair. 


In his wild notes seem aptly met 


Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath, 


A strain of pleasure and regret." — 


Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 


" Edmond of Winston is his name ; 


List, then ; — for vantage or assault. 


The hamlet sounded with the fame 


From gilded vane to dimgeon-vault, 


Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 


Ea-"! pass of Rokeby -house I know: 


Now center'd all in BrignaU cave ! 


There ie one postern, dark and low, 


I watch him well — ^his wayward course 


» M3 — " The menials of the castle few, 


ate as a sudden interruption to Bertram's conversation, now 


Bui stubborn to their charge, and true." 


ever naturally it mig'jt be introduvcc' among the feasters, wh«i 


• MS. — " VVIiat prize of vantage ehall we seize 1" 


were at some distance. 


• MS.—" That issue* level with the moat ' 


" Fain, in old English and Scotch, ex).resses, I tDink, a pro 


« MS.-" I care not if a fox I wind." 


pensity to give and receive pleasurable emotions, H sort of fond 
ness which may, without harshness, 1 think, be apfJied. to « 


* .MS " our merry men again 


rose in the act of blooming. You remember ' Jocliey fow vat 


Are frolicking in blithesome strain." 


Jenny fain.'— W. S." 


• MS — " A laughing eye, a dauntless mien." 


9 MS.— " Upon the 1 *^''*'* 'shore.' 


' MS.—" To the Printer :— The al)ruptnes3 as to the song is 


^ I ScctUsh S 


loavoidat/ e. The music of the drinking party could only oper- 


■ See Apuendiz, Note 2 I 



CAirro IV. 



ROKEBY. 



fi'Zt 



Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, 
And oft the scar ■will ache and smart. 
Tet is he useful ; — of the rest, 
By fits, the darling and the jest, 
His harj), his story, and his lay, 
Oit aid the i He hours away :' 
SVheu utstaploy'd, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He taned his strings e'en now — again 
He wakes them, with a blither strain," 

XXX. 

Sbong. 

ALLEN-A-DALE. 

AJlen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning. 
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale I 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth' prances in pride. 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game. 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of t"he lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-dale I 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, [bright ; 
Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as 
Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, 
Yet twenty tall yeomen* will draw at his word ; 
And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, 
Wlao at Rere-cross" on Stanmore meets Allen-a- 
Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 

The mother, she ask'd of his household and home : 

" Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the 

hill. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gaUanter still ; 
'TLs the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so 

pale, [Dale. 

Ar-1 with all its brig4it spangles!" said Alleu-a- 

rhe father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
riiey liftea the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
Bui loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, 



iMS.- 



.p Scathed )^;^ 
' Seared ) 



s MS. — " Oft help the weary night away." 

s The ruins nl Ravensworth Castle stand in the North Ri- 
ling of Vorkshire, about three miles from the town of Rich- 
mond, and adjoin ng to the waste called the Forest of Arkin- 
jarth. Itbplongol originally to the powerful family of Fitz- 
Hngh, from -hon it pa.^ed to the Lords Dacre of the South. 



And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI. 

" Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay, 
Love mingles ever in his lay. 
But when his boyish wayward fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 
O ! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each various shape." — 
"Nay, then, to aid thy project. Guv — 
Soft ! who comes here V — " My trusty spy 
Speak, Hamhn ! hast thou lodged our deer ?"— 
" I have — but two fair stags are near. 
I watcL'd her, as she slowly stray'd 
From Egliston up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid WyclifFe sought her side, 
And then yoxmg Redmond, in his pride. 
Shot down to meet them' on their way : 
Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net 
Before their path be homeward set." 
A hurried and a whisper'd speech 
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; 
Who, tmiiing to the robber band, 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand 



Hokcbg. 



OANTO FOURTH. 



L 

When Denmark's raven soar'd on high, 
Tiiiunphant tlu"ough Northimabrian sky, 
Tin, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke ' 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blacken'd each cataract and spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves liis source, 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ;* 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name," 
Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone, 
And gave their Gods the land they woo. 
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 



« MS. — " But a score of good fellows," &c. 

6 gee Appendix, Note 2 K. 6 Ibid. Note 2 L. 

' See Appendix, Note 2 M. 

8 The Tees rises about the skirts of Crossfell, and falls ot« 
the cataracts named in the text before it leaves tbe raoantaini 
which divide the North Riding from Cumberland High-Forc< 
8 seventy-five feet in height. 

8 See Appendix, Note 2 M. 



324 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKiJ. c*nto i> 


And Woden's Croft did title g^ain 


Then g^ray Philosophv stood nigh, 


Fi-om the stem Father of the Slain ; 


Though bent by age, in spirit high : 


But to the Monarch of the Mace, 


Thero rose the scar-seam'd veteran's spear 


Tliat held in fighi the foremost place, 


ITiere Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 


To Odin's son, and SLfia's spouse. 


Wliile Childhood at her foot was placed. 


Near Stratfortli high they piiitl then- vows, 


Or clung delighted to her waist. 


Remember'd Tlioi-'s victorious fame, 




And ea v& the dell the Tliimderei's name. 


IV. 




" And rest we here," Matilda said. 


a 


And sat her in the varying shade. 


Tet Scald or Kemper aiT i, I ween, 


" Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 


Who gave that soft and quiet scene, 


To friendship due^ from fortune's power. 


With all its varied light and shade. 


Thou, Wilfred, ever kind, nmst lend 


And every Little sunny glade. 


Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 


And the bUthe brook that strolls along 


And, Rechuond, thou, at my behest. 


Its pebbled bed with smnmer song, 


No farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 


To the grim God of blood and scar, 


For to my care a charge is left. 


Tlie grisly King of Northern War. 


Dangerous to one of aid bereft ; 


0, betTer were its banks assign'd 


Wellnigh an orphan, and alone. 


To spirits of a gentler kind ! 


Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown." 


For where the tliicket-groups recede, 


Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced. 


And the rath primrose decks the mead,' 


Beside her on the turf she placed ; 


ITie velvet grass seems carpet meet 


Tlien paused, with downcast look and eye. 


For the hght fairies' lively feet. 


Nor bade yoimg Redmond seat liim nigL 


Ion tufted knoll, with daisies strowu, 


Her conscious diffidence he saw, 


Might make proud Oberon a thi-one, 


Drew backward, as in modest awe. 


While liidden ui the thicket nigh. 


And sat a little space removed. 


Puck should brood o'er his frohc sly ; 


Unmark'd to gaze on her he loved. 


And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 




Tiound ash and elm, it verdant rings, 


V. 


Its pale and azure-pencdl'd flower 


Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her ha»t 


Should canopy Titania's bower. 


Half hid Matilda's forehead f:ur. 




Half hid and half reveal'd to view 


III. 


Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 


Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 


The rose, with faint and feeble streak, 


But, skirting every sunny glade, 


So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek. 


In fair variety of green 


Tliat you had said her hue was pale ;' 


The woodland lends its silvan screen. 


But if she faced the summer gale, 


Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak, 


Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved. 


Its Ixiughs by weight of ages broke ; 


Or heard the praise of those she loved. 


And towers erect, in sable spire. 


Or when of interest was express'd' 


Tlie pine-tree scathed by lightning-fire ; 


Aught that waked feeluig in her breast, 


The droopmg ash and birch, between. 


The mantling blood in ready play 


Hang their fair tresses o'er the green. 


Rivall'd the blush of rising day. 


And all beneath, at random grow 


Tliere was a soft and pensive grace, 


Each coppice dwarf of varied show, 


A cast of thought upon her face. 


Or. round the stems profusely twined, 


That suited well the forehead high, 


Fling summer odors on the wind. 


The eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 


Su;L varied group Urbino's hand 


The mild expression spoke a mind 


Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd. 


In duty firm, composed, resign'd ; 


What tLjie he bade proud Athens own 


'Tis that which Roman aft has given. 


On Mars's Moimt the God Unknown 1 


To mark their maiden Queen of Hcavea 


' MS. — " The early primrose decks the mead, 


Or longer spoke, or quicker moved." 


And tlie short velvet grass seems meet 


• MS. — " Or aught of interest was express'd 


For the light fairies' frolic feet." 


That waked a feeling in her breast, 


' MS. — " That you had said her cheek was pale ; 


The mantling blood, \ '"'^ '"°™°8 beao- 


Bat if she faced the moraing gale, 


' in ready play." 



OAFTO jv. ROKEBY. S2i 


In hours of sport, that mood gave way' 


Safe and unransom'd sent them home, 


To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 


Loaded with many a gift, to prove 


And -when the dance, or tale, or song, 


A generous foe's respect and lov^ 


In harmless mirth sped time along, 




Vull oft her doating sire would call 


VII. 


His Maud the merriest of them aU. 


Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 


But days of war and civil crime. 


Some touch of early snow was shed ; 


Allow'd but ill such festal time. 


Calm he enjoy'd, by Greta's wave, 


And her soft pensiveness of brow 


The peace which James the Peaceful ga'* ? 


Had deepen'd mto sadness now. 


While Mortham, far beyond the main, 


In Marston field her father ta'en. 


Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain.- - 


Her friends dispersed, brave Morthara slain^ 


• It chanced upon a wintry night,* 


While every ill her soul foretold, 


That wliiten'd Stamnore's stormy heigl: t, 


From Oswald's tliirst of power and gold, 


The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd. 


And boding thoughts that she must part 


In Rokeby -hall the cups were fill'd, 


• With a soft vision of her heart, — ^ 


And by the huge stone chimney sate 


All lower'd around the lovely maid, 


The Knight in hospitable state. 


To darken her dejection's shade. 


Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 




WTien a loud summons shook the gate. 


VI. 


And sore for entrance and for aid 


Who has not heard — while Erin yet 


A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 


Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 


The porter answer'd to the call, 


"WTio has not heard how brave O'Neale 


And instant rush'd into the hall 


In English blood imbrued his steel,' 


A Man, whose aspect and attire* 


Against St. George's cross blazed high 


Startled the circle by the fire. \ 


The banners of his Tanistry, 




To fiery Essex gave the foil, 

And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil ? 


VIII. 


His plaited hah- in elf-locks spread" 


But chief arose his victor pride. 


Around liis bare and matted head ; 


When that brave Marshal fought and died,* 


On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim, 
His vesture show'd the sinewy limb; 


And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 


His billows red with Saxon gore. 


In saffron dyed, a linen vest 


'Twas first in that disastrous fight, 


Was frequent folded round his breast ; 


Rokeby and Mortham proved their might.* 


A mantle long and loose he wore, ' 


There had they fallen 'mongst the rest. 


Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore. 


But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast ; 


He clasp'd a burden to his heart. 


The Tanist he to great O'Neale ;• 


And, resting on a knotted dart. 


He check'd his followers' bloody zeal. 


The snow from hair and beard he shook, 


To quarter took the kinsmen bold. 


And round him gazed with wilder'd look. 


And bore them to his mountain-hold. 


Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 


Gave them each silvan joy to know. 


He hasten'd by the blaze to place, 


Slieve-Uonard's cliffs and woods could show,'' 


Half lifeless from the bitter air, 


Shared with them Erin's festal clieer, 


His load, a Boy of leauty rare. 


Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer, 


To Rokeby, next, he louted low. 


And, when a fitting time was come. 


Then stood erect liis tale to show," 


MS. — " In fitting hours the mood gave way 


6 MS. — " A kinsman near to great O'Neale." 


To Fancy's light and frolic play, 


See Appendix, Note 2 Q,. 


When the blithe dance, or tale, or song 


' MS. — " Gave them each varied joy to know, 


In harmless mirth sped time along, 


The words of (»phalie could show." 


When oft her doting sire would call 




His Maudlin merriest of them all." 


8 MS. " stormy night, 


MS. — " With a soft vision of her heart, 


When early snow clad Stanraore's height.' 


That stole its seat, ere yet she knew 


9 MS.—" And instant into Rokeby-hall j 


The guard to early passion due." 


A stranger rusli'd, whose wild attir» j 


See 4.i)pendix, Note 2 O. * Ibid. Note 2 P. 


Startled," &c. 


MS -" And. by the deep resounding More, 


10 See Appendix, Note 2 R. 


The English veterans heap'd the shore. 




It was in that disastrous fight 


" MS. — " Shaggy with svow, and stain'd with gom 


That Rokeby proved his youthful ^ n,j„i,» >i 
Rokeby ami Mortham proved th«ir j 


His features as his dress were wild. 


And in his arms he bore a chi.d 



iHZO SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto iv 


With wild majestic port and tone,' 


The brand of Lenaugh More th' Red, 


Like envoy of some barbarous throne.' 


That hung beside the gray wolf's head. — 


' Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear 1 


'Twas from his broken phj-ase descried, 


Tarlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 


His foster-father was his guide,* 


He graces thue, and to thy care 


Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 


Young Redmond gives, liis grandson fair. 


Letters and gifts a goodly store ; 


He bids thee breed him as thy son, 


But ruffians met them in the wood, 


For Turlough's days of joy are done; 


Ferraught in battle boldly stood. 


And other lords have seized his land, 


Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length, 


And faint and feeble is his hand ; 


And stripp'd of all, his failing strength 


A nd aU the glory of Tyrone 


Just bore him here — and then the child 


Is like a morning vapor flown 


Renew'd again his moaning wild.' 


To bind the duty on thy soul, 




He bids thee think on Erin's bowl !' 


XI 


If any wi'ong the young O'Neale, 


Tlie tear down childhood's cheek tliat flowi 


He bidi) thee think of Erin's steel. 


Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 


To Mortham first this charge was due^ 


When next the summer breeze comes by, 


But, in his absence, honors you. — 


And waves the bush, the flower is dry 


Now is my master's message by, 


Won by their care, the orphan Ciiild 


And Ferraught will contented die." 


Soon on his new protector smiled, 




With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 


IX. 


Through his tliick curls of flaxen hair. 


His look grpw fix'd, his cheek grew pale. 


But blithest laugh'd that cheek and eye 


He smik when he had told his tale ; 


When Rokeby's Uttle Maid was nigh ; 


For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 


'Twas his, with elder brother's pride, 


A mortal wound was in his side. 


Matilda's tottering stejjs to guide ;' 


Vain was aU aid — in terror wild. 


His native lays in Irish tongue. 


And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child- 


To soothe her infant ear he sung. 


Poor Ferraught raised liis wistful eyes, 


And primrose twined with daisy fair. 


And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 


To form a chaplet for her hair. 


AU reckless of his dying pain. 


By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand. 


He blest and blest him o'er again I 


The children still were hand in hand. 


And kiss'd the little hands outspread. 


And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 


And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head, 


The early knot so kindly tied. 


And, in his native tongue and plu-ase, 




Pray'd to each saint to watch his days ; 


XIL 


Tlien all his strength together dj-ew, 


But summer months bring wilding shoot 


Tlie charge to Rokeby to renew. 


From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit 


When half was falter'd from his breast, 


And years draw on our human span. 


And half by dying signs express'd, 


From child to boy, from boy to man ; ■ 


" Bless the O'Neale !" he famtly said, 


And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 


And thus the faithful spirit fled. 


A gaUant boy m himter's green. 




He loves to wake the felon boar, 


X. 


In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 


Twas long ere soothing might prevail 


And loves, against the deer so dun, 


1 Upon the Child to end the tale ; 


To draw the shaft, or hft the gun : 


And tlien he said, that from his home 


Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 


Hi.r grandsu-e had been forced to roam. 


The hazel's spreading bouglis to climb. 


Which had not been if Redmond's hand 


And down its cluster'd stores to hail. 


na<) but had strength to draw the brand. 


Where young Matilda holds her veil 


With staggering and unequal pace, 


' MS. — " To bind the charge upon thy soul, 


He liasten'd by the blaze to place. 


Remember Erin's social bowl." 


Half lifeless from the bitter air, 




His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 


« See Appendix, Note 2 T. 


To Rokeby, then, with solemn air, 


» Here follows in the MS. a stanza of sixteen lines, whio* 


He tnrn'd his errand to declare." 


the author subsequently dispersed through stanzas i f. acd 


This couple is not in the MS. 


xvi . post. 


1 


' MS. — " Three years more old, 'twas Redmond's prids 


1 6ee A ppendix. Note 2 3 


MaliUla'ii tottering steps to juide." 



«ANTO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



321 



And she, whose veil receives the shower,* 

Is alter'd too, and knows her power ; 

Assumes a monitress's pride, 

Hei Rc'lmond's dangerous sports to chide • 

Yel listens stiU to hear him tell 

Hew the gtim wild-boar* fought and fell, 

How at his fall the bugle rung, 

Tin rock and greenwood answer flung ; 

Tlien blesses her, that man can find 

A pastime of such savage kind I' 

XIIL 

But Redmond knew to weave his tale 

So well with praise of wood and dale, 

And knew so well each point to trace, 

Gives Uving interest to the chase, 

And knew so well o'er all to throw 

His spirit's wild romantic glow. 

That, while she blamed, and while she fear'd, 

She loved each venturous tale she heard. 

Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 

To bower and hall their steps restrain, 

Together they explored the page 

Of glowing bard or .gifted sage ; 

Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 

The minstrel art alternate tried. 

While gladsome harp and hvely lay 

Bade winter-night flit fast away : 

Thus, from their childhood, blending still 

Their sport, their study, and their skill, 

An union of the soul they prove. 

But must not think that it was love. 

But though they dared not, envious Fame 

Soon dared to give that union name ; 

And when so often, side by side. 

From year to year the pair she eyed. 

She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 

As dull of ear and dim of sight, 

Sometimes his purpose would declare, 

That young O'Ncale should wed his heir. 

XIV. 

The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes ;* 
'Twas pliiin that Oswald, for his son, 
Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won. 
Now must they meet with change of cheer, 
With mutual looks of shame and fear ; 

1 MS. — " And she on whom these treasures shower." 

• MS. — " Grim sanglier." 

• MS. — " Then blesa'd himself that man can find 

,' pastime of such cruel kind." 
» MS. — " From their Tiearts and eyes." 
' M.S.- " And Redmond, too, apart must me, 

The lo"<> he never can subdue ; 

Then came the war, and Rokeby said, 

No rebel s son should wed his maid." 



• M» 



Thought on 



the I 



heroes 
founders 



J of his line, 



Now must Matilda stray apart, 
To school her disobedient heart ; 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware,' 
No rebel's son should wed his heir ; 
And Redmond, nurtm-ed while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild. 
Now sought the lonely wood or streail, 
To cherish there a happier dream, 
Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
As in the regions of romance ; 
And count the heroes of his line," 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,' 
Shane-Dymas* wild, and Geraldine," 
And Connan-more, who vow'd his race 
For ever to the fight and chase. 
And cursed him, of his lineage born, 
Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn 
Or leave the mountain and the wold. 
To shroud himself in castled hold. 
From such examples hope he drew, 
And brighten'd as the trumpet blew. 

XV. 
If brides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid. 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife, 
On Rokeby's Lord bestow'd his life, 
And well did Rokeby's generous Knight 
Young Redmond for the deed requita. 
Nor was his liberal care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
Seek the North-Riding broad and wide. 
Like Redmond none could steed bestride ; 
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
Like Redmond none could wield a brand ; 
And then, of humor kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy, 
There never youth was form'd to steal 
Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 

XVL 
Sir Richard loved him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were dono, 

Great Nial of the Pledges Nine, 
Shane-Dymas wild, and Connan-Mar, 
Who vow'd hie race to wounds and war, 
And cursed all, of his lineage bom, 
Who sheathed the sword to reap the core 
Or left the green-wood and the wold. 
To shroud himself in house or hold." 

» See Appendix, Note 2 U. 8 Ihid. Note 9 ¥ 

I 8 Ibid. Note 2 W . 



S28 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAirro rv 




And to the gales of war he gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguish'd by his care, 
He chose that honor'd flag to bear," 
And named his page, tJie next degree, 
In that old time, to chivalry." 
In five pitcli'd fields he well maintain'd 
Die honor'd place his worth obtiiin'd. 
And high was Redmond's youthful name 
Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smiled on Marston fight. 
The eve had seen him dubb'd a knight ; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife, 
Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 
But when he saw him prisoner made, 
Ue Iviss'd and then resign'd his blade,' 
And yielded him an easy prey 
To those who led the Kniglit away ; 
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 
In prison, as in fight, his lova 

XVIL 
When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 
A watery ray, an instant seen 
Tlie darkly closuig clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf reclined, 
Tlie past and present fill'd liis mind :* 
" It was not thus," Affection said, 
" I dream'd of my retui'n, dear maid ! 
Not thus, when from thy trembling hand, 
I took the banner and the brand, 
When round me, as the bugles blew, 
riieir blades three hundred warriors drew, 
And, while the standard I uuroll'd, 
Clash'd their bright arms, with clamor bold. 
Where is that banner now ? — its pride 
Lies 'whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide 1 
Wliere now those warriors ? — in their gore, 
They cumber Marston's dismal moor 1 , 
And wliat avails a useless brand, 
Held by a captive's shackled hand, 
Tha* only would his life retain, 
To aid thy sire to bear liis chain 1" 
Thus Redmond to himself apart; 
Nor lighter was liis rival's heart; 
For WQfrid, while his generous soul 
Disdain'd to profit by control. 
By many a sign could mark too plain, 
Save with such aid, his hopes were vain. — 
But now Matilda's accents stole 

Appendix, Note 2 X. » Ibid. Note 2 Y. 

MS. — " His vajor saved old Rokehy's life. 

But when he saw him prisoner made, 
He Itiss'd and then flung down his bla</e." 
ktiit this line the MS. haa : — 

" His riiin'd hopes, impending woes — 
Till lA his eye the tear-drop rose." 



On the dark visions of their soul, 
And bade their moiu-nful musing fly 
Like mist before the zephyr''^ sigh. 

XVIIL 
" I need not to ray friends rtcall. 
How Mortham shimn'd my father's hall 
A man of silence and of woe. 
Yet ever anxious to bestow 
On my poor self whate'er could prove 
A kinsman's confidence and love. 
My feeble aid could sometimes chase 
The clouds of sorrow for a space ; 
But oftener, fix'd beyond my power,' 
I mark'd his deep despondence lower. 
One dismal cause, by aU unguess'd. 
His fearful confidence confess'd ; 
And twice it was my hap to see 
Examples of that agony. 
Which for a season can o'erstrain 
And wreck the structiu-e of the brain. 
He had the awful power to kuow 
Tlie approaching mental overthrow. 
And while liis mind had courage yet 
To struggle with the dreadful fit. 
The victim writhed against its throes,' 
Like wretch beneath a murderer's blowa 
This malady, I well could mark. 
Sprung ft-om some direful cause and dark 
But still he kept its source couceal'd, 
Tin arming for the civil field; 
Then in my charge he bade me hold 
A treasure huge of gems and gold, 
With this disjointed dismal scroll, 
That tells the secret of his soul. 
In such wild words as oft betray 
A mind by anguish forced astray." — 

XIX. 

mortham's histoet. 
" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start 
As if a dagger thrill'd my heart, 
Wlien it has hap'd some casual jihrasf 
Waked memory of my former days. 
BeUeve, that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past 
But I ! — my youth was rash and vain,^ 
And blood and rage my manhood stain 
And my gray hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend I 
Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 

• MS. — " But oftener 'twas my hap to see 
Such storn-8 of bitter apony, 
As for th* moment would o'erntrain 
And wre <k the balance of the brain.' 



MP.- 



-" beneat his throes." 



? MS. — " My youtn was follv's reign." 



JANTO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



32t 



Thy kinsman, when his guilt is knowii. 


Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood— 


And must i lift the bloody veil 


• There was a gallant in the wood 1' 


That hides my dark and fatal tale 1 


We had been shooting at tixe deer ; 


I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease 1 


My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near: 


Leave me one little hour in peace 1 


That ready weapon of my wrath 


Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill 


I caught, and, hasting up the path,' 


Thine own commission to fulfil S 


In the yew grove my wife I found : 


Or, while thou point'st with gestiu^e fierce, 


A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 


Thy bUghted cheek, thy bloody hearse, 


I mark'd his heart — the bow I drew — 


How can I paint thee as thou wert. 


I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true 1 


So fair in face, so warm in heart 1 


I foimd my Edith's dying charms 




Lock'd in her murder'd brother's arms 1 


XX. 


He came in secret to inquire 


" Yes, she was fair 1 — Matilda, thou 


Her state, and reconcile her sire.' 


Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 




But hers was like the sunny glow, 


XXIL 


That laughs on earth and all below I 


" All fled my rage — the villain first, 


We wedded secret — there was need— 


Whose craft my jealousy had nursed; 


Difi'ering in coimtry and in creed ; 


He sought in iax and foreign clime 


And, when to Mortham's tower she came, 


To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 


We mentioned not her race and name. 


The manner of the slaughter done 


Until thy sire, who fought afar,' 


Was known to few, my guilt to none ; 


Should turu him home from foreign war, 


Some tale my faithful steward framed — 


On whose kind influence we reUed 


I know not what — of sliaft mis-aim'd ; 


To soothe her father's ire and prida 


And even from those the act who knew. 


Few months we Uved retired, unknown. 


He hid the band from which it flew. 


To all but one dear friend alone, 


Untouch'd by human laws I stood. 


One darling friend — I spare his shame. 


But God had heai-d the cry of blood ! 


I will not write the villain's name 1 


There is a blank upon my mind. 


My trespasses I might forget,' 


A fearful vision ill-defined. 


And sue in vengeance for the debt 


Of raving till my flesh was torn. 


Due by a brother worm to me, 


Of dnngeon-bolts and fetters worn— 


Ungrateful to God's clemency,' 


And when I waked to woe more mild. 


That spared me penitential time. 


And question'd of my infant child — 


Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 


(Have I not written, that she bare 




A boy, like summer morning fair ?) — 


XXL 


With looks confused my menials tell 


" A kindly smile to all she lent. 


That armed men in Murtham deU 


But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 


Beset the nmse's evening way. 


So kind, that from its harmless glee,* 


And bore her, with her charge, away. 


The wretch misconstrued villany. 


My faithless friend, and none but he, 


Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 


Could profit by tliis viUany ; 


A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove. 


Him then, I sought, with purpose dread 


Alone we sat — the flask had flow'd. 


Of treble vengeance on his head I 


My blood with heat unwonted glow'd, 


He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound 


i^en through the alley'd walk we spied 


Some faint relief from wandering found; 


With hurried step my Edith ghde, 


And over distant land and sea 


Cowering beneath the verdant screen, 


I bore my load of misery. 


As one unwilling to be seen. 




Words camidt paint the fiendish smile, 


XXIIL 


That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while 


" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 


Fiercely T question'd of the cause ; 


Among a daring crew and dread,* 


He made a cold and artful pause, 


With whom fuU oft my hated life 


. MS.—" Until thy father, then aCar." 


The readiest weapon of my wrath, 


« MS.—' I. a poor debtor, should forget." 


And hastening np the Greta path." 


MS. — * Forgetting God's own clemency." 


• This couplet is not in the MS. 


MS. — " So kindly that from harmless glee." 


» MS -" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps thfn» 


VIS. — " I caught 1 cross-bow that waj near, 
42 


Among a wild and daring crew " 



530 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



I ventured in such desperate strife, 


An art that thou wilt gladly know. 


rimt even mj fierce associates saw 


How thou Biayst safely quell a foe." 


My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 




Much then I learn'd, and much can show, 


XXVL 


Of human guilt and hmnan woe, 


On hands and knees fierce Bertram iieyf 


T 8t nci'er have, in my wanderings, known 


The spreading birch and hazels thrt/ugh, 


A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own I — 


Tin he had Redmond full in view ; 


It chanced, that after battle fray. 


The gun he level'd — Mark like thii 


Upon the bloody field we lay ; 


Was Bertram never known to miss, 


The yellow moon her lustre shed 


When fair opposed to aim there sate 


Upon the wounded and the dead. 


An object of his mortal hate. 


While, sense in toil and wassail drown'd, 


That day young Redmond's death had "een 


My ruffian comrades slept around. 


But twice Matilda came between 


There came a voice — its silver tone 


The carabine and Redmond's breast. 


Was soft, Matilda, as thiue own — 


Just ere the spring his finger press'd. 


* Ah, wretch !' it said, 'what makest thou here, 


A deadly oath the rufiian swore. 


While unavenged my bloody bier. 


But yet his fell design forbore : 


While ujiprotected lives mine heir, 


" It ne'er," he mutter'd, " shall be said. 


Without a father's name and care V 


That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid V 




Then moved to seek more open aim, 


XXIV. 


When to his side Guy DenzU came : 


" I heard — obey'd — and homeward drew ; 


" Bertram, forbear ! — we are imdone 


The fiercest of our desperate crew 


Forever, if thou fire the gun. 


I brought at time of need to aid 


By aU the fiends, an armed force 


My purposed vengeance, long delay'd. 


Descends the deU, pf foot and horse 1 


But, humble be my thanks to Heaven, 


We perish if they hear a shot — 


That better hopes and thoughts has given, 


Madman 1 we have a safer plot — 


And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught 


Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back ' 


Mercy by mercy must be bought ' — 


Behold, down yonder hoUow track. 


Let me in misery rejoice — 


The warlike leader of the band 


I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 


Comes, with his broadsword in his hand." 


I claim'd of him my only child. 


Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 


As he disowu'd the theft, he smiled 1 


That Denz.il's fears had counseU'd true, 


That very calm and callous look. 


Then cursed his fortune and withdrew, 


That fiendish sneer his visage took, 


Threaded the woodlands imdescried. 


As when he said, in scornful mood. 


And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 


' There is a gallant in the wood 1'— 




I did not slay him as he stood — 


XXVIL 


All pi aise be to my Maker given 1 


They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 


Long suflfrance is one path to heaven." 


Doom'd to captivity or death. 




Their thoughts to one sad subject lent, 


XX^. 


Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 


rhus far the woful tale was heard, 


Heedless and unconcern'd they sate, 


When something in the thicket stirr'd. 


W hile on the very verge of fate ; 


U] R..-,iraond sprung; the villain Guy 


Heedless and unconcern'd remam d. 


(For he it was that lurk'd so nigh), 


When Heaven the murderer's arm restraint 


Dr«;w back — ^he durst not cross his atee^ 


As ships drift darkling down the tide, 


A mimeni's space with brave O'Neale, 


Nor see the shelves o'er wliich they glide. 


Fur all the treasured gold that rests 


Uninterrupted thus they heard 


Ij Mortham = iron-fcanded chests. 


What Mortham's closing tale declared. 


Reilmond resumed his seat ; — he said, 


He spoke of wealth as of a load, 


Some roe was rustling in the shade. 


By Fortune on a vn-etch bestow'd. 


Bertram laugh'd grimly when he saw 


In bitter mockery of hate, 


His timorous comrade backward draw ; 


His cureless woes to aggravate ; 


" A. trusty mate art thou, to fear 


But yet he pray'd Matilda's care 


A single arm, and aid so near I 


Might save that treasure for his heir — 


Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 


TTia Edith's son — for still he raved 


Oive »ae thy carabine — I'U show 


Afl confident his life was savod : 



<!ANrO IV. 



ROKEBY. 



33^ 



In frequent vision, he averr'd, 

He saw his face, his voice he heard ; 

Then argued cahn — had murder been, 

The blood, the corpses, had been seen; 

Some had pretended, too, to mark 

On Windermere a stranger bark, 

Whose crew, with zealous care, yet mild, 

Guardsd a female and a child. 

While these faint proofs he told and press' d, 

Hope seen'd to kindle in his breast ; 

Though inconsistent, vague, and vain, 

It warp'd his judgment, and his brain.* 

XXVIII. 

These solemn words his story close : — 
" Heaven witness for me, that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight, 
Moved by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law : — 
These righted, I fling arms aside, 
And seek my son through Europe wida. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
Ab-eady casts a grasping eye. 
With thee may imsuspected he. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her retain her trust three years ; 
If none, from me, the treasure claim, 
Perish'd is Mortham's race and name. 
Then let it leave her generous hand. 
And Sow in bounty o'er the land ; 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot. 
Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot ; 
So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic war." 

XXIX. 

The generous youths, who weU had knowE 

Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone, 

To that high mind, by sorrow swerved, 

Gave sympathy his woes deserved ;" 

But Wilfrid chief who saw reveal'd 

Why Mortham wish'd his hfe conceal'd, 

Ir secret, doubtless, to pursue 

The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew. 

ThoMghtful he heard Matilda tell, 

That she would share her father's cell, 

His partner of captivity. 

Where'er his prison-house should be ; 

Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled and forsook by aU, 

Open to rapine andUo stealth. 

Had now no safeguard for the wealth 

Tntrusted by her kinsman kind, 



M8. — " Hope, inconsistent, vagne, and vain, 

Seem'd on the theme to warp his brain." 
' MS — " To that liigli mind thus warp'd and swerved, 



And for such noble use design'd. 

" Was Barnard Castle then her choice,' 

Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice, 

" Since there the victor's laws ordain 

Her father must a space remain ?" 

A flutter'd hope his accents shook, 

A flutter'd joy was in his look. 

Matilda hasten'd to reply. 

For anger flash'd in Redmond's eye ; — 

" Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 

" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 

Else had I for my sire assign'd 

Prison less galling to his mind. 

Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees 

And hears the mm-mur of the Tees, 

Recalling thus, with every glance. 

What captive's sorrow can enhance ; 

But where those woes are highest, there 

Needs Rokeby most his daughter's caro 

XXX. 

He felt the kindly check she gave. 

And stood abash' d — then answer'd gravo .- - 

" I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 

I have beneath mine own command, 

So wills my sire, a gallant band. 

And well could send some horseman wight 

To bear the treasure forth by night. 

And so bestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem." — 

" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said : 

" 0, be it not one day delay'd ! 

And, more, thy sister-friend to aid. 

Be thou thyself content to hold. 

In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 

Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke, 

Arm'd soldiers on then* converse broke, 

Tlie same of whose approach afraid. 

The rufiians left their ambuscade. 

Their chief to Wilfrid bended low. 

Then look'd around as for a foe. [said 

"What mean'st thou, friend," young W/ckliflF« 

" Why thus in arms beset the glade ?" 

" That would I gladly learn from you ; 

For up my squadron as I drew, 

To exercise our martial game 

Upon the moor of Barninghame,' 

A stranger told you were waylaid, 

Surrounded, and to death betray'd. 

He had a leader's voice, I ween, 

A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 

He bade me bring you instant aid ; 

1 doubted not, and I obey'd." 



The pity gave his woes deswTed ** 
3 MS. — ' ' In martial exercise to move 
Upon the open moor abova " 



332 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cawto ^ 


XXXL 


II. 


Wilfrid changed color, and, amazed, 


The eve, that slow on upland fades. 


Tum'd short, and on the speaker gazed ; 


Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades. 


While Redmond every thicket roimd 


Where, sunk within theh- banks profound. 


Track'd earnest aa a questing hound, 


Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 


And DenzU's carabine he found ; 


The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 


Sura evidence, by which they knew 


Of noontide make a twilight brown, 


The warning was as kind as true.' 


Impervious now to fainter light. 


Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed 


Of twilight make an early night.* 


To leave the deU. It was agreed, 


Hoarse into middle air arose 


That Redmond, with Matilda fair. 


The vespers of the roostmg crowa, 


And fittmg guard, should home repair;' 


And with congenial murmurs seem 


At nightfall "Wilfrid should attend, 


To wake the Genii of the stream ; 


With a strong band, his sister-friend, 


For louder clamor'd Greta's tide. 


. To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 


And Tees in deeper voice replied, 


To Barnard Castle's lofty towers, 


And fitful waked the evening wind, 


Secret and safe the banded chests. 


Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd.* 


In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 


"Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul 


This hasty purpose fix'd, they part. 


Felt in the scene a soft control. 


Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 


"With lighter footstep press'd the ground. 




And often paused to look aroimd ; 
And, though his path was to his love, 






Could not but linger in the grove. 


Eokfbg. 


To drink the thrilling interest dear. 


Of awful pleasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we, 




OANTO FIFTH. 


Even when our passions strike the key 
III. 


L 


The sultry summer day is done, 


Now, through the wood's dark mazes past, 


The western hills have hid the sun, 


The opening lawn he reach'd at last, 


But moimtain peak and village spire 


Where, sUver'd by the moonlight ray. 


Retain reflection of his fire. 


The ancient Hall before him lay.' 


Old Barnard's towers are purple still. 


Those martial terrors long were fled. 


To those that gaze from Toller-hill ; 


That frown'd of old around its head : 


Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 


The battlements, the turrets gray. 


Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 


Seem'd half abandon'd to decay ;' 


And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, 


On barbican and keep of stone 


Rich with the spoils of parting day, 


Stern Time the foeman's work had done. 


In crimson and in gold array'd. 


"Where banners the invader braved, 


Streaks yet a while the closing shade, 


The harebell now and wallflower waved; 


Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 


In the rude guard-room, where of yore 


The tints which brighter hours had given. 


Their weary hours the warders wore, 


Thus aged men, full loth and slow, 


Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze. 


The vanities of life forego. 


On the paved floor the spindle plays ;• 


And count their youthful follies o'er, 


The flanking guns dismounted lie. 


Till Memory lends her light no more.' 


The moat is ruinous and dry,* 


1 MS. -" And they the gan of D&nzil find ; 


* MS. " a darksome night." 


A witness sure to every mind 


» MS. — " By fits awaked the evening wind 


The warning was as true as kind." 


By fits in sighs its breath resign'd." 


1 MS. -" It was agreed, 


« MS.—" Old Rokeby's towers before him lay. 


That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 




Shonid straight to Rokeby-hall repair 


» See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 


And, foes so near them, known so late. 


B MS.—" The weary night the warders wore. 


A guard should tend her to the gate." 


Now by the fagot's gladsome light 


• " The fifth canto opens with an evening-scene, of its ao- 


The maidens plied the spindle's sleigkL 


•astoraed beaaly when delineated by Mr. Scott. The monn- 


• MS.—" The beams had long forgot to bear 


tun fading in the twilight, is nobly imagined." — JilontlUy 


The trembling drawbridge into air; 


MfvitlB. 


The huge oortcullis "one " &o 



•INTO V. 



ROKEBY. 



339 



The grim portcullis gone — and all 
The fortress tum'd to peaceful HalL 

IV. 

But yet precaations, lately ta'en,' 

Show'd danger's day revived again ; 

The court-yard wall shoVd marks of care, 

The fall'n defences to repair, 

Lending such strength as might withstand 

The insult of marauding band. 

The beams once more were taught to bear 

The trembling drawbridge into air, 

And not, till question'd o'er and o'er, 

For Wilfrid oped the jealous door. 

And when he enter' d, bolt and bar 

Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 

Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch, 

The old gray porter raised his torch. 

And view'd him o'er, from foot to head, 

Ere to the hall liis steps he led. 

That huge old halJ, of knightly state, 

Dismantled seem'd and desolate. 

The moon through transom-shafts of stone, 

Wliich cross'd the latticed oriels, shone, 

And by the mournful Ught she gave, 

The Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave. 

Pennon and banner waved no more 

O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, 

Nor glinunering arms were marshall'd seen. 

To glance those silvan spoils between. 

Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 

A.ccomplish'd Rokeby's brave array. 

But all were lost on Marston's dayl 

Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 

Where armor yet adorns the wall. 

Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 

And useless in the modem fight I 

Like veteran relic of the wars. 

Known only by neglected scars. 



Matilda soon to greet him came. 

And bade them light the evening flame ; 

Said, all for parting was prepared. 

And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 

But then, reluctant to unfold* 

His father's avarice 6f gold, 

He hinted, that lest jealous eye 

Should on their precious burden pry, 

He judged it best the castle gate 

To enter when the night wore late ; 



9tS. — " But yet precaution show'd, and 
fear, 
That dread of evil times was here ; 
There were late raai*<'i of jealous ) 
For there were recenv «arks of i 
The fall'n defences to >oair; 
And not, till anetition'd u'er and o'er 



And therefore he had left command 
With those he trusted of his band, 
That they should be at Rokeby met, 
What time the midnight- watch was set. 
Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 
Till then was busied to prepare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful change. 
With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased. 
His cold imready hand he seized. 
And press'd it, tUl his kindly strain 
The gentle youth return'd again. 
Seem'd as between them this was said, 
" A while let jealousy be dead ; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 

VL 

There was no speech the truce to bind, 

It was a compact of the mind, — 

A generous thought, at once impress'd 

On either rival's generous breast. 

Matilda well the secret took, 

From sudden change of mien and look 

And — for not small had been her fea/ 

Of jealous ire and danger near — 

Felt, even in her dejected state, 

A joy beyond the reach of fate. 

They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 

And talk'd, and hoped for happier daya, 

And lent then- spirits' rising glow 

A while to gild impending woe ; — 

High privilege of youthful time. 

Worth all the pleasures of our prime 1 

The bickering fagot sparkled bright. 

And gave the scene of love to sight. 

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 

Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow. 

Her nut-brown curls and forehead high. 

And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate, 

Without a glance of jealous hate ; 

The maid her lovers sat between. 

With open brow and equal mien ; — 

It is a sight but rarely spied, 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's priJa 

VIL 

While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarm'd the outer gate, 
Avr ere the tardy porter stirr'd, 

For Wilfrid oped the I **"f '''^ { doof. 
^ ( jealous > 

And, on his entry, bolt and har 

Resumed their place with sullen jar. 

» MS. — " Confused he stood, as loth to say 

AThat might his sire's base mood displar 

Then hinted last tf i mn larions eye " 



334 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto t 


Tlie tinlding of a harp was heard. 


IX. 


A manly voice of mellow swell, 


Sonji rcsumeU. 


Bore burden tc lie music well. 


" I have song of war for knight, 


SottQ. 


^ Lay of love for lady bright, 


Fairy tale to lull the heir, 


" Summer eve is gone and past, 


Goblin grim the maids to scare. 


Summer dew is falling fast ; 


Dark the night, and long till day. 


I have wander'd all the day, 


Do not bid me farther stray 1 


Do not bid me farther stray . 




Gentle hearts, of gentle kin, 


" Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 


Take the wandering harper in 1" 


I can coimt them name by name ;* 




Legends of their line there be, 


But the stern porter answer gave, 


Known to few, but known to me 


With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave I 


If you honor Rokeby's kin, 
Take the wandering harper in 1 


The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 


Were meeter trade for such as thou." 




At this unkind reproof, again 


" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 


Answer'd tb«. ready Minstrel's strain. 


For the harp, and for the bard ; 




Baron's race throve never well. 


Sons tesutneD. 


Where the curse of minstrel felL 


" Bid not me, in battle-field. 


If you love that noble kin. 


Buclder lift, or broadsword wield 1 


Take the weary harper in 1" — 


All my strength and aU my art 




Is to touch the gentle heart,' 


" Hark I Harpool parleys — there is hope," 


With the wizard notes that ring 


Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope."— « 


Fom the peaceful minstrel-string." — 


— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow, 




Naught know'st thou of the Felon Sow,"* 


The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 


Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 


" Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide ; 


She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide ; 


If longer by the gate thou dwell. 


Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 


Trust me, thou shalt not part so welL" 


To Riclunond's friars to make a feast. 




Of Gilbert GrifEnson the tale 


VIIL 


Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 


With some, what of appealing look 


That well could strike with sword amata. 


The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 


And of the valiant son of Spam, 


" These notes so wild and ready tlu"ill. 


Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph ; 


They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 


There were a jest to make us laugh ! 


Hard were his task to seek a home 


If thou canst tell it, in yon shed 


More distant, since the night is come ; 


Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 


And for his faith I dare engage — 




Yoiu- Harpool's blood is sour'd by age ; 


X. 


His gate, once readily display'd, 


Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope," said she, 


To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 


" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 


Now even to me, though known of old, 


But, for tills harper, may we dare. 


Did but reluctantly unfold." — 


Redmond, to mend liis couch and fare?"'** 


" blame not, as poor Harpool's crime, 


" 0, ask me not ! — At minstrel-string 


An evil of this evil time. 


My heart from infancy would spring 


Be deems dependent on his care 


Nor can I hear its simplest stram, 


The safety of his patron's heir, 


But it brings Erin's dream again. 


Nor judges meet to ope the tower 


When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 


To guest unknown at parting hour,* 


(The Filea of O'Neale was he," 


Urging his duty to excess 


A blind and bearded man, whose eld 


Of rough and stubborn faithful neas. 


Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 


For this poor harper, I would fain 


I've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 


He may relax : — Hark to Jiis strak I" — 


With aspects shaggy, wild, and stem. 


' MS. — " 0, bid not me bear aword and shibi 


* MS. — " To vagrants at onr parting honr. * 


Or rtrnggle to the bloody field, 


8 See Appendix, Note 3 A. 


To geax'vi vt this hand was made. 


< See Appendix, Xote 3 B. ^ Ibid. NoU S O 



«ANTO V. 



ROKEBY. 



SSfl 



Enchanted by the master's lay, 
Linger around the livelong day, 
Shift from -wild rage to wilder glee, 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy,' 
And feel each varied change of soul 
Obedient to the bard's control. — 
Ah, Clandeboy 1 thy friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more ;• 
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze, 
Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 
The manthng brambles hide thy hearth, 
Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
All undistinguish'd in the glade, 
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid, 
Their vassals wander wide and far. 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
Tlie lovely woods of Clandeboy 1" 
He spoke, and proudly turn'd aside, 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 

XL 

Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 
Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 
Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 
It is the will of heaven," she said. 
" And think' st thou, Redmond, I can part 
From this loved home with lightsome heart 
Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 
Even from my infancy was dear ? 
For hi this calm domestic bound 
Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 
That hearth, my sire was wont to grace, 
Full soon may be a stranger's place ;* 
This hall, in which a child I play'd. 
Like tliine, dear Redmond, lowly laid, 
The bramble and the thorn may braid ; 
Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine, 
It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 
Yet is this consolation given, 
My Redmond, — 'tis the will of heaven." 
Her word, her action, and her phrase. 
Were kindly as in early days ; 
For coM reserve had lost its power, 
In sorrow's sj mpathetic hour. 
Yovjig Redmond dared not trust hia voice ; 

1 MS.~ — " t» sympathy." « See Appendix, Note 3 D. 

• MS.-- That h?arth, my father's honor'd place, 

FhU soon may see a stranger's face." 
t MS. " Tanist's power." 

• MS — " Find for the needy room and fire, 

And this poor wanderer, by the blaze." 

• MS. — " wtfat think'st thou 

Of yonder harp 1— Nay, clear thy brow." 
Marwood-chase is the old park extending along the Dnr- 
»8m side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill 
(B an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding 
k snperb view of the ruins. 
■ MP. -" Where rose and lily 1 will twine 
In gnerdon of a song of thine. ' 



But rather had it been his choice 
To share that melancholy hour. 
Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's power,* 
In fuU possession to enjoy 
Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 

XIL 
The blood left Wilfrlu't ashen cheek ; 
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 
" Happy in friendship's ready aid, 
Let all my murmm-s here be staid ! 
And Rokeby's Maiden wiU not part 
From Rokeby's haU with moody heart 
This night at least, for Rokeby's fame, 
The hospitable hearth shall flame, 
And, ere its native heir retire. 
Find for the wanderer rest and fire, 
While this poor harper, by the blaze * 
Recounts the tale of other days. 
Bid Harpool ope the door with speed. 
Admit him, and relieve each need. — 
Meantime, kind WycUffe, wilt thou try 
Thy minstrel skill ? — Nay, no reply — * 
And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought, 
Thy verse with laurels would be bought ; 
And poor Matilda, landless now. 
Has not a garland for thy brow. 
True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades, 
Nor wander more in Greta shades ; 
But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 
Wilt a short prison-walk aUow, 
Where summer flowers grow wild at will, 
On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill ;' 
Then holly green and lily gay 
Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay.'" 
Tlie mournful youth, a space aside, 
To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 
And then a low sad descant rung. 
As prelude to the lay he sung. 

XIIL 

S'fje ffijptess OTreat!).' 
O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree I 
Too lively glow the lilies hght. 
The varnish'd holly's all too bright, 

9 " Mr. Scott has imparted a delicacy (we mean ift tha 9m 
loring, for the design we cannot approve), a sweetsess aidj 
melancholy smile to this parting picture, that really enchanl 
ns. Poor Wilfrid is sadly discomfited by the last instance of 
encouragement to Redmond ; and Matilda endeavors to cheer 
him by requesting, in the prettiest, and yet in the most touch- 
ing manner, ' Kind Wycliffe,' to try his minstrelsy. We will 
here just ask Mr. Scott, whether this would not be actual in- 
fernal and intolerable torture to a man who had any soul 1 
Why, then, make his heroine even the unwilling cause of such 
misery 1 Matilda had talked of twining a wreath for her poef 
of ftolly green and lily gay, and he sings, broken-hearted, * Th , 
Cypress Wreath.' We have, however, inserted this ar one 'X 
the best of Mr. Scott's songs." — Monthly Revieio 



336 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cantc v 




The May-flower and the eglantine 


Who wears a sword he must not draw 


May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 


But were it so, in minstrel pride 




But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 


The land together would we ride, 




Or weave it of the cypress-tree 1 


On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 
Botmd for the halls of barons bold,' 




Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 


Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 




With tendrils of the laugliing vine ; 


From Michael's Mount to SkiddaVs Pea^ 




The manly oak, the pensive yew, 


Smr^ey wide Albin's mountain strand. 




To patriot and to sage be due ; 


And roam green Erin's lovely land. 




The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 


Wliile thou the gentler souls should moTe^ 




But that Matilda wiU not give ; 


With lay of pity and of love, 




Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 


And I, thy mate, in rougher strain, 




Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 


Would sing of war and warriors slain. 
Old England's bards were vanquish'd then, 




Let merry England proudly rear 


And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden,* 




Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 


And, silenced on lernian shore. 




Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 


M'Curtm's harp should charm no more I* * 




With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew ; 


In lively mood he spoke, to wile 




On favor'd Erin's crest be seen 


From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile 




The flower she loves cf emerald green- 






But, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 


XV. 




Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 


" But," said Matilda, " ere thy name. 
Good Redmond, gain its destined fame. 




Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 


Say, wilt thou kindly deign to caU 




■The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 


ITiy brother-minstrel to the hall ? 




And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 


Bid all the household, too, attend. 




"With bloody hand the victor weaves, 


Each m his rank a humble friend ; 




Let the loud trump his triumph teU ; 


I know their faithful hearts will grieve, 




But when you hear the passing-bell, 


When their poor Mistress takes her leave • 




Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me. 


So let the horn and beaker flow 




And twine it of the cypress-tree. 


To mitigate their parting woe." 

The harper came ; — m youth's first prime 




Yes 1 twine for me the cypress bough ; 


Himself ; in mode of olden time 




But, Matilda, twine not now ! 


His garb was fashion'd, to express 




Stay till a few brief months are past. 


The ancient English minstrel's dress, 




And I have look'd and loved my last I 


A seemly gown of Kendal green, 




When villagers my shroud bestrew 


With gorget closed of silver sheen • 




With panzies, rosemary, and rue, — 


His harp in silken scarf was slimg. 




Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me. 


And by his side an anlace hung. 




And weave it of the cypress-tree. 


It seem'd some masquer's quaint array 
For revel or for holiday. 




XiV. 






Cifeale observed the starting tear. 


XVI. 




And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer — 


He made obeisance with a free 




'' No, noble WUfrid 1 ere the day 


Yet studied air of courtesy. 




When mourns the land thy silent lay. 


Each look and accent, framed to please. 




Shall many a wreath be freely wove 


Seem'd to affect a playful ease ; 




By hand of friendship and of love. 


His face was of that doubtful kind. 




I would not wish that rigid Fate 


That wins the eye, but not the mind , 




Had doom'd thee to a captive's state. 


Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 




Whose hands are bound by honor's law. 


Of brow so young and smooth as this. 




MB — " 1 would not wish thee \ '° degree 


Bound for ^alls of barons bold. " 




' a 


That sought the 




So lost to hope aa falls to me ; 

Bnt 7" ''"'" ^"<=''' 1 in minstrel pride, 
if then wert, ) 


> Drnmmond of Hawthornden was in the jenith of hlf rape 




taUon as a poet during the Civil Wars. He died ia 1*48. 




The land we'd traverse side by side, 


9 See Ap|)endix, Note 3 E. 




Od -yancing steeds, like minstreb old 


4 Ibid. Note 3 F. 





OAKTO V. R0KP,j3Y. 837 


His was the subtle look ana sly, 


W hat should my soarmg views make good ' 


That, spying all, seems naught to spy ; 


My Harp alone ! 


Round all the group his glances stole. 




Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole. 


Love came with all his frantic fire, 


Vet sunk oeneath Matilda's look. 


And wild romance of vain desire :* 


iMor could the eye of Redmond brook.' 


The baron's daughter heard my lyre, 


To the suspicious, or the old, 


And praised the tone ; — 


Si-btle and dangerous and b"-! 1 


W hat could presumptuous hope inspire 1 


Haa seem a this self-invited guest ; 


My Harp alone 1 


But young our lovers, — and the rest, 




Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 


At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 


At partmg of their Mistress dear, 


And manhood's pride the vision curst. 


Tear-bUndcd to the Castle-hall," 


And all that had my folly nursed 


Came as to bear her funeral palL 


Love's sway to own ; 




Yet spared the spell that luU'd me first, 


XVII. 


My Harp alone 1 


All that expression base was gone. 




When wakea the guest his minstrel tore ; 


Woe came with war, and want with woe ; 


It fled at inspiration's call. 


And it was mine to undergo 


As erst the demon fled from Saul.' 


Each outrage of the rebel foe : — * 


More noble glance he cast around, 


Can aught atone 


More free-drawn breath inspired the sound, 


My fields laid waste, my cot laid low » 


His pulse beat bolder and more high, 


My Harp alone ! 


In aU the pride of muistrelsy ! 




Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er. 


Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, 


Sunk with the lay that bade it soar 1 


Have rued of penury the smart. 


His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 


Have felt of love the venom'd dart. 


Its vices wild and follies vain, 


W hen hope was flown ; 


And gave the talent, with him bom, 


Yet rests one solace to my heart, • 


To be a common curse and scorn. 


My Harp alone ! 


Such was the youth whom Rokeby's Maid, 




With condescending kindness, pray'd 


Then over mountain, moor, and hill, 


Here to renew the strains she loved. 


My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still ; 


At distance heard and well approved. 


And when this life of want and ill 




Is wellnigh gone. 


XVIIL 


Thy strings mine elegy shall thrUl, 




My Harp alone ! 


Song. 




THE HAEP. 


XIX 


1 was a wild and way\»ard boy, 


" A pleasing lay !" Matilda said ; 


My cliildliood scorn'd each childish toy, 


But Harpool shook his old gray head. 


Retired from all, reserved and coy, 


And took his baton and his torch, 


To musing prone. 


To seek his guard-room in the porch. 


I woo'd my sohtary joy. 


Edmimd observed ; with sudden change, 


My Harp alone. 


Among the strings his fingers range, 




Until they waked a bolder glee 


My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, 


Of military melody ; 


Despised the humble stream and wood. 


Then paused amid the martial sound. 


Where my poor fathers cottage stood, 


And look'd with well-feign'd fear around ;— • 


To fame imknown ; — 


" None to this noble house belong," 


' MS. — " Nor couM keen" Redmond's aspect brook.' 


an harp, and played virith his hand : So Sanl was refreehM 


» MS.- " Came blindfold "> the Castle-hall, 


and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him."— 1 SaS 


As if 10 bear her funeral pall." 


UKL, chap. xvi. 14. 17, 23. 


» " But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an 


* MS. — " Lovo uame, with all his ardent fire. 


>»Til spirit fron the Lord troubled him. 


His frantic dream, his wild desire " 


" And Sail said nnto his servants, Provide me now a man 


6 MS. — " And doom'd at once to undergo, 


rtiat can play well, ant" bring him -o me. And it came to pass. 


Each varied outrage of the foe." 


mhuc the «j" spirit from God wras upon Saul, that David took 


« MS. — " And looking timidly around '' 



838 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAT/rtO M 



He said, " that -w^ould a Slinstrel wrong, 

Whose fate has been, through good and ill. 

To love his Royal Master still ; 

^nd with your honor'd leave, would fain 

Rejoice you with a loyal strain." 

Then, as assured by sign and look, 

The irarlike tone again he took ; 

And Harpool stopp'd, and turnd to hear 

A dittj of the Cavalier. 

XX. 
Sonfl. 

THE CAVALIEE. 

Wliile the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray 
My true love has mounted his steed and away 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down; 
"Heaven sliield the brave Gallant that fights for 
the Crown! 

He has doif 'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to 
bear, [hair, 

Ee has placed his steel-cap o'er his long flowing 

From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs 
down, — [the Crown ! 

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for 

For the rights of fair England that broadsword be 

draws. 

Her King is his leader, her Church is his Cause ; 
His watchword is honor, liis pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the 

Crown! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and 

all 
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
]}ut tell these bold traitors of London's proud 

town, [Crown !' 

That the spears of the North have encircled the 

There s Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; 

There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Mon- 
trose 1 [and Brown, 

Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, 

With the Barons of England, that fight for the 
Ciown? 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier 1 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his epear, 



iMS.- 



-" of prond London town. 



That the North baa brave nobles to fight for the 
Cnwn." 

* In the MS th? last qnatrain of this song is. 

If tliey boast that fair Reading by treachery fell, 
Uf .Stratton and Lansdoune the Cornish can tell, 
&nd the Tiortli tell of Bramhara and Adderton Down, 



Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may •irnwr 
In a pledge to fair England, her Chu/'ch, an(J De 
Crown.' 

XXI. 

" Alas 1" Matilda said, " tha t strain, 
Good harper, now is heai'd in vain ! 
The time has been, at such a sound. 
When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round. 
An himdred manly hearts would bound • 
But now the stirring verse we hear, 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear !* 
Listless and sad the notes we own, 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without liis meet applause, 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Even when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's Heir such power retains, 
Let this sUght guerdon pay thy pains :— 
And, lend thy harp ; I fain would try, 
If my poor skill can aught supply, 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, 
To mourn the cause in which we fall" 

XXIL 
The harper, with a downcast look, 
And trembling hand, her bounty took. — 
As yet, the conscious jjride of art 
Had steel'd him in his treacherous part ; 
A powerful spring, of force unguess'd. 
That hath each gentler mood suppress'd, 
And reign'd in many a human breast ; 
From his that plans the red campaign. 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
Tlie failing wing, the blood-shot eye, — 
The sportsman marks with apathy. 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drown'd in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle's roar,' 
Loves still the triumph of his art. 
And traces on the pencill'd chart 
Some stern invader's destined way, 
Tlirough blood and ruin, to his prey ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame, 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, though not the fame 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditating crime ? 



kWhere God bless the brave gallants who foofV 
for the Crown.' 
' MS. — " But now it sinks upon the ear. 

Like dirge beside a hero's bier." 
« MS. — " Marking, with sportive cruelty, 

The failing wing, the blood-shot eye.' 
• MS. — " The veteran chief, whose broken age, 
No more can lead the battle's rago.' 



BAKTO y. 



ROKEBY. 



33S 



"WTiat against pity arms his heart ? — 
\ » the conscious pride of art.' 

XXIII. 

B'a+ principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
Bin soul, like bark with rudder lost, 
On Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
N IT Vice nor Virtue had the power 
Bisyond the impression of the hour ; 
Alu, 1 when Passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to Vu-tue's share I 
y»-;t now she roused her — for the pride, 
That lack of sterner guilt suppUed, 
Could scarce support him when arose 
The lay that mom-n'd Matilda's woes. 

THE FAREWELL. 

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 

They mingle with the song : 
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From every loved £nd native haunt 

The native Heir must stray, 
A.nd, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt, 

Must part before the day. 

Sewn from the halls my fathers rear'd, 

Their scutcheons may descend, 
A hne so long beloved and fear'd 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

ShaU bid those echoes swell ; • 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we felL 

Th^ lady paused, and then again 
Resiimed the lay in loftier strain.' 

XXIV. 
Let our halls and towers decay, 

Be our name and Une forgot, 
Lands and manors pass away, — 

We but share our Monarch's lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Bittles won and banners taken, 
Still in death, defeat, and woe. 

Ours be loyalty tmshaken 1 

Constant still in danger's hour. 
Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 

' " Surely, no poet has ever paid a finer tribute to the power 
»f his art, tlian in the foregoing description of its effecU on the 
rnind of this unhappy boy I and none has ever more justly ap- 
preciated the worthlessnesB of tlie sublimest genins, unre- 
Itrained by reasoa and abandoned by virlne."— Critical Re- 

tlMt 



Lands and honors, wealth and power,' 

Wall their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth, and power, and pride 1 

Mortal boons by mortals given ; 
But let Constancy abide, — 

Constancy's the gift of Heaven 

XXV. 
While thus MatUda's lay was heard, 
A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd. 
In peasant hfe he might have known 
As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
But village notes could ne'er supply 
That rich and varied mel(«dy ; 
And ne'er in cottage-maid -^-^ seen 
Tlie easy dignity of mien, 
Claiming respect, yet waiving state. 
That marks the daughters of the great. 
Yet not, perchance, had these alone 
His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown • 
But while her energy of mind 
Superior rose to griefs combined. 
Lending its kindling to her eye, 
Giving her form new majesty, — 
To Edmimd's thought MatUda seem'd 
The very object he had dream'd ; 
When, long ere guilt liis soul had known. 
In Winston bowers he mused alone, 
Taxuig his fancy to combine 
The face, the air, the voice divine. 
Of princess fair, by cruel fate 
Reft of her honors, power, and state,* 
Till to her rightful realm restored 
By destined hero's conquering sword. 

XXVL 

" Such was my vision !" Edmund thought, 
" And have I, then, the rum wrought 
Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 
In fairest vision form'd her peer ? 
Was it my hand that could unclose 
The postern to her rutliless foes ? 
Foes, lost to honor, law, and faith. 
Their kindest mercy sudden death 1 
Have I done this ? I ! who have swore, 
That if the globe such angel bore, 

1 would have traced its circle broad, 

To kiss the ground on which she trode .- - 
And now — ! would that earth would riv«^ 
And close upon me while aUve ! — 
Is there no hope ? Is all then lost S — 
Bertram's already on his post ! 

2 This couplet is not in the MS. 

3 MS. — " Knightly titles, weaith and poweir. 

1 MS — " Of some fair princess of romance 
The gierdon of a hero's lance " 



JiO SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. CAyro » 


Even now, teside the Hall's arch'd door, 


E'en now, in yonder shado'vy nook. 


I saw liis shadow cross the floor 1 


I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! — 


He was to wait my signal strain — 


A himiaii form distinct and clear — 


A little respite thus we gain: 


God, for thy mercy ! — It diaws near 1" 


By wliat I lieard the menials say, 


She saw too true. Stride after stride, 


Young WychfFe's troop are on their way — 


The centre of that chamber wide 


Alarm precipitates the crime ! 


Fierce Bertram gain'd ; then made a stai'^. 


My harp must wear away the time." — 


And. proudly waving with his hand. 


And then, in accents faint and low, 


Thunder'd — " Be still, upon your lives ! — 


He falter'd forth a tale of woe.' 


He bleeds who speaks, he dies who striv« 




Behind their chief, the robber crew 


XXVII. 


Forth from the darken'd portal drew 


SSallaU. 


In silence — save that echo dread 


" And wliither would you lead me, then ?" 


Retm-n'd their heavy measured tread.* 


Quoth the Friar of orders gray ; 


The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 


And the Ruffians twain replied again. 


Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wav* 


" By a dying woman to pray." — 


File after file in order pass, 




Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 


" I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 


Then, halting at their leader's sign. 


A sight bodes httle harm, 


At once they form'd and curved their line. 


A lady as a hly bright. 


Hemming within its crescent drear 


With an infant on her arm." — 


Their victims, Uke a herd of deer. 




Another sign, and to the aim 


" Tlien do thine office, Friar gray, 


Levell'd at once then- muskets came, 


And see thou slirive her free ?" 


As waiting but their chieftain's word. 


Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 


To make their fatal volley heard. 


Fling all its guilt on thee. 






XXIX. 


" Let mass be said, and trentrals read. 


Back in a heap the menials drew ; 


Wlien thou'rt to convent gone. 


Yet, even in mortal terror, true. 


And bid the bell of St. Benedict 
Toll out its deepest tone." 


Then pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 


The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 
Blindfolded as he came — 


" 0, haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried 


" Undo that wicket by thy side I 


Next morning:, all in Littlecot Hall 


Bear hence Matilda' — ^ain the wood — 


Were weeping for their dame. 


The pass may be a while made good — 
Thy band, ere this, must sm-e be nigh — 


Wild Darrell is an altered man, 


speak not — dally not — but fly !" 


Tlie villaffe crones can tell ; 


While yet the crowd their motions hide. 


He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray 


Through the low wicket door they glide. 


If he hears the convent bell. 


Through vaulted passages they wind, 




In Gothic intricacy twined ; 


If prince or peer cross Darrell's way. 


Wilfred half led, and half he bore. 


He'll beard him in his pride — 


Matilda to the po«tern-door. 


If he meet a Friar of orders gray, 


And safe beneath the forest tree. 


He droops and tm-ns aside.' 


The Lady stands at liberty. 




The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 


XXVIII. 


Renew'd suspended consciousness ; — 


" Harper ! paethinks thy magic lays. 


" Wliere's Redmond ?" eagerly she cries ; 


Matilda said, " can goblins raise ! 


" Thou answer'st not — he dies ! he dies I 


Wellnigh my fancy can discern. 


And thou hast left him, all bereft 


Near the dark porch, a visage stern; 


Of mortal aid — with murderers left 1 


The MS. ha.1 not this couplet. 


• MS. — " Behind him came his savage or»w 


• MS — " And see thy shrift be true, 


File after file in order due ; 


Else shall the soul, that parts to-day, 


Silent from that dark portal f-M, 


Fling all its guilt on yon." 


Like forms on Banquo's mafic glao " 


' See Appendix, Note 3 G, — (to which the author, in his in- 




■reaved copy, has made considerable addition* -Ed.) 


' MS.—" Conduct Matilda," &•. . 



^Airro T. 



ROXEBY. 



S4j 



I know it well — he would not yield 
His sword to man — hia doom is seal'd ! 
For my scorn'd life, vrhich thou hast bought 
\t price of his, I thaiik tht,2 i»jk." 

XXX. 

'ITie mijus* reproach, the angry look, 

The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 

" Lady," he said, " my band so near. 

In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 

For Redmond's death thou shalt not moum. 

If mine can buy his safe return." 

He turn'd away — his heart throbb'd high. 

The tear was bursting from his eye ; 

The sense of her injustice press'd 

Upon the Maid's distracted breast, — 

« Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vam t" 

He heard, but turn'd liim not again j 

He reaches now the postern-door, 

\ow enters — and is seen no more. 

XXXI. 

With all the agony that e'er 

Was gender'd 'twixt suspense and fear, 

She watch'd the line of windows tall,' 

Whose Gothic lattice lights the HaU, 

Distinguish'd by the paly red 

The lamps in dim reflection shed,'' 

Wlaile all beside in wan moonlight 

Each grated casement glimmer'd white. 

No sight of harm, no sound of iU, 

It is a deep and midnight stiU. 

Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 

AU in the Castle were at rest : 

When sudden on the windows shone 

A lightning flash, just seen and gone 1' 

A shot is heard — Again the flame 

Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came 

Then pcho'd wildly, from within, 

Of shout and scream the mingled din. 

And weapon-clash and maddening cry, 

Of those who kill, and those who die ! — 

As fill'd the Hall with sulphurous smoke, 

More red, more dark, ttie death-flash broke ; 

And forms were on the lattice cast. 

That struck, or struggled, as they past. 

XXXII. 
What sounds upon the midnight wind 
Approach so rapidly behind ? 



' MS. — " lVTatilda,~-Bhroucled by the trees, 
The Hne of lofty windows sees." 

• MS — The dying lamps reflection shed, 

While all arou'd the moon's wan light, 
On tower and casement glimmer'd white ; 
No •jigjt'. bodij \ aim, no sounds bode ill. 
It IS as j?'rr «• mii'night still." 

•MS — " A '. ief slj^n Pisli," &c. 



It is, It is, the tramp of steeds, 
Matilda hears the sound : she speeds. 
Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
" 0, haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 
Fly to the postern — gain the Hall !" 
From saddle spring the troopers all ;* 
Their gallant steeds, at hberty. 
Run wild along the moonUght lea. 
But, ere they biu-st upon the scene, 
FuU stubborn had the conflict been. 
When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight, 
It gave the signal for the fight ; 
And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars. 
Their momentary panic o'er. 
Stood to the arms which then they bore ; 
(For they were weapon'd, and prepared* 
Their Mistress on her way to guard.) 
Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale. 
Then peal'd the shot, and clash'd the steel ; 
The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
Darken'd the scene of blood and death. 
Wliile on the few defenders close 
The Bandits, with redoubled blows. 
And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell 
Renew the charge with fi-antic yelL' 

XXXIII. 

Wilfrid has faU'n — but o'er liim stood 

Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and bloui 

Cheering his mates with heart and hand 

Still to make good their desperate stand. 

" Up, comi-ades, up ! In Rokeby halls 

Ne'er be it said om- courage falls. 

What 1 faint ye for then* savage cry, 

Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 

These rafters have return'd a shout 

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout. 

As thick a smoke these hearths have given 

At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.' 

Stand to it yet ! renew the fight. 

For Rokeby's and MatUda's right ! 

These slaves ! they dare not, hand to hamL 

Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 

Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 

Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 

Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 

His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent 1 

Backward they scatter'd as he came. 

Like wolves before the levin flame * 



* MS. — " ' Haste to — postern — gain the Hall i 

Sprung from their steeds the troopers ah 
» MS. — " For as it hap'd they were prepared." 
« In place of this couplet the MS. reads, — 
" And as the hall the troopers gain, 
Their aid had wellnigh been in vair 
' See Appendix, Note 3 H. 

• MS. — " Like wolves at lightnir"'§ midnight P.aTx 



d42 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. casto t 


When, 'mid their howhng conclave driven, 


Startling, with closer cause jf dread. 


Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven. 


The females who the .onflict fled, 


Bertram rush'd on — but Harpool clasp'd' 


And now rush'd forth upon the plain, 


His knees, although in death he gasp'd, 


Filling the air with clamors vam. 


His falling corpse before him flung, 




And round the trainmell'd ruffian clung. 


XXXV. 


Just then, the soldiers fiU'd the dome, 


But ceased not yet, the HaU within, 


And, shouting, charged the felons home 


The shi-iek, the shout, the carnage- din. 


So fiercely, that, in panic dread, 


TiU burstbig lattices give proof 


They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled.* 


The flames have caught the rafter'd roof. 


Bertram's stem voice they heed no more, 


What 1 wait they till its beams amain 


Though heard above the battle's roar ; 


Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 


^^^lile, trampling down the dying man. 


The alarm is caught — the drawbridge falh^ 


He strove, with voUey'd threat and ban, 


The warriors hmry from the walls, 


In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 


But, by the conflagration's light, 


To rally up the desperate fight.' 


Upon the lawn renew the fight. 




Each struggling felon down was hew'd, 


XXXIV. 


Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 


Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold 


But forth the affrighted harper sprung, 


Than e'er fr^m battle-thunders roU'd, 


And to Matilda's robe he clung. 


So dense, the combatants scarce know 


Her slu-iek, entreaty, and command, 


To ami or to avoid the blow. 


Stopp'd the pursuer's Ufted hand.' 


Smothering and bluidfold grows the fight — 


Denzil and he aUve were ta'en ; 


But soon shall dawn a dismal Light ! 


The rest, save Bertram, aU are slain. 


Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 




The hollow sound of rusliiug flame ; 


XXXVI. 


New horrors on the tumult dire 


And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high' 


Arise — the Castle is on fire !* 


The general flame ascends the sky ; 


Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand, 


In gather'd group the soldiers gaze 


Or fiantic Bertram's desperate hand. 


Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 


Matilda saw — for frequent broke 


When, lilie infernal demon, sent. 


From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 


Red from his penal element, 


Yon tower, which late so clear defined 


To plague and to pollute the air, — 


On the fan- hemisphere reclined. 


His face all gore, on fire his hair. 


That, pencill'd on its azure pure, 


Forth from the central mass of smoke 


The eye could count each embrazure, 


The giant form of Bertram broke ! 


Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud, 


His brandish'd sword on high he rears, 


Seems giant-spectre in its shroud ; 


Then plmiged among opposing spears ; 


Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 


Round his left arm his mantle truss'd. 


A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, 


Received and foil'd three' lances' thrust ;• 


And, gathermg to united glare. 


Nor these his headlong course withstood,' 


Streams liigh into the midnight air ; 


Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood 


1 A dismal beacon, far and wide 


In vain his foes aroimd him clung; 


1 That waken'd Greta's slimibering sida 


With matchless force aside he flung 


So'-n all beneath, thrnugli gallery long. 


Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay. 


j And pendent arch, the fire flash'd strong 


Tosses the ban-dogs from nis way. 


.Snatching whatever could maintain, 


Through forty foes his path he made, 


Raise, or extend, its furious reign; 


And safely gain'd the forest glade. 


1 MS.—" Bertram had faced him ; while he gasp'd 


6 The MS. has not tliis couplet 


III death, his knees old Harpool rlasp'd. 


6 MS — "The g'awing lattices give pwof." 


His dying corpse before him flung." 


' MS. — " Her sirieks, entreaties, and command*. 


' MS.—" So fiercely charged them that they bled. 


Avail d to stop pursuing brands." 


Disbanded, yielded, fell, or fled." 


• MS.—" Where's Bertram now ? In fury drivBB 


1 MS. — " To rally them against their fate, 


The general flame ascends to heaven ; 


And fought himself as desperate," 


The gather'd groups of soldiers gaze 


MS —"Chance-kindled 'mid the tumult dire, 


Upon the red ana roaring blaze." 


The western tower is all on fire. 


» The MS. wants this couplet. 


Matilda saw," &c. 


10 MS.—" Tn vain the opposing spears withstood. 



OAKTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



341 



XXXVII. 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
Wlicn from the postern Redmond bore 
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 
Had in the fatal HaU been left,' 
Deserved there by all his train ; 
But Redmond saw, and turn'd again. — 
Beneath an oak he laid him down, 
Tha,t in the blaze gleam'd ruddy brown. 
And then his mantle's clasp undid ; 
Matilda held his drooping head, 
TU], given to breathe the freer air, 
Retui'iiing life repaid their care. 
He gazed on them with heavy sigh, — 
" I could have wish'd even thus to die 1" 
No more he said — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regain'd his steed ; 
The ready palfreys stood array'd, 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
Two Wilfrid ou his horse sustain, 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda look'd behind. 
As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 
In gioomy arch above them spread, 
The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red ; 
Beneath, in sombre hght, the flood 
Appear'd to roU in waves of blood. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
A space tlie conflagration drown'd ; 
TiU, gathering strength, again it rose, 
Announced its triumph in its close. 
Shook wide its Hght the landscape o'er, 
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more 1' 



Eokebg. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



Thk summer sun, whose early power 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower, 
And rouse her with his matin ray* 

• MS. — " Had in the smouldering hall been left," 
' " The (.astle on fire has an awful sublimity, which would 
tnrow at a humble distance the boldest reaches of the pictorial 
irt. . . . We refer our readers to Virgil's ships, or to his 
Troy in flames ; and though the Virgilian pictures be drawn 
•n a very extensive canvas, with confidence, we assert that the 
»a«tle on fire is much more magnificent. It is, in truth, incom- 
wably grand," — British Critic, 
MS. — " elancinjj rav 



Her duteous orisons to paj, — 
That morning stm has three times seen 
The flowers tmfold on Rokeby gi'een. 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fail' Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has tliree times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak, 
But, rising from their silvan screen, 
Marks no gray turrets glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 
That, hissing to the morning shower, 
Can but with smouldering vapor pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labor bound, 
Pauses to view the blacken' d mound 
Striving, amid the ruin'd space, 
Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 
That length of frail and fire-scorch'd wall 
Once screen'd the hospitable haU ; 
When yonder broken arch was whole, 
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole ■ 
And where yon tottering columns nod. 
The chapel sent the hymn to God, — 
So flits the world's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man. 
Gives mortal monuments a d.ate 
Beyond the power of Time and Fate, 
The towers must share the builder's doom ; 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heaven 
To Faith and Charity has given. 
And bids the Christian hope subUme 

Transcend the botmds of Fate and Time * 

( 

IL 

Now the third night of stunmer came. 
Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flai lo 
On Brignall cliff's and Scargill brake 
The owlet's homilies awake, 
The bittern scream'd from rush and flag. 
The raven slumber'd on his crag. 
Forth from his den the otter drew, — 
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew. 
As between reed and sedge he peers, 
With fierce roimd snout and sharpen'J earn, 
Or, prowling by the moonbeam crw^l. 
Watches the stream or swims the pool , — 
Perch'd on his wonted eyrie high, 
Sleep seals the tercelet's wearied eye, 
That all the day had watch'd so well 

* MS. — " And bids our hopes ascend sublime 

Beyond the bounds of Fate and Time " ■■ 

" Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, 
As bursts the morn on night's unfathora'd gloo 
Lured his dim eye to deathless hope sublime, 
Beyond the realms of nature and of time." 

6 The MS. has not thi' conp'«>«. 



>44 - SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto vi 


The cushat dart across the dell. 


Upon the gloomy waUa were h in/j, 


In dubious beam reflected shone 


Or lay in nooks obscurely flung.' 


That lofty cliff of pale gray stone, 


StiU on the sordid board appear 


Beside whoie base the secret cave 


The reUcs of the noontide cheer : 


To rapine late a refuge gave. 


Flagons and emptied flasks were thiire,* 


The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 


And bench o'ertlu-own, and shatter'd chair 


On Greta's breast dark shadows threw ; 


And all around the semblance show'd. 


Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight, 


As when the final revel glow'd, 


With every change of fitful hght ; 


When the red sun was setting fast. 


As hope and fear alternate chase 


And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 


Our course through life's uncertain race. 


" To Rokeby treasm-e-vaults !" they quaflf'<^ 




And shouted loud and wildly laugh' d, 


III. 


Pour'd maddening from the rocky door, 


Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 


And parted — to return no more 1 


A soUtary form was seen 


They foimd in Rokeby vaults their doom — 


To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 


A bloody death, a burmng tomb 1 


Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 




And pauses oft, and cowers dismay'd. 


V. 


At every breath that stirs the shade. 


There his own peasant dress he spies. 


He passes now the ivy bush, — 


Doff 'd to assume that quaint di.sguise ; 


The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 


And, shuddermg, thought upon his glee, 


He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 


When prank'd m garb of minstrelsy. 


He heard the startled raven croak ; 


" 0, be the fatal art accurst," 


Lower and lower he descends, 


He cried, " that moved my folly first ; 


Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends ; 


TiU, bribed by bandits' base applause, 


The otter hears him tread the shore, 


I burst through God's and Nature's laws 1 


And dives, and is beheld no more : 


Three smnmer days are scantly past 


And by the cUff of pale gray stone 


Since I have trod this cavern last, 


The midnight wanderer stands alone. 


A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err — 


Methinks, that by the moon we trace 


But, 0, as yet no murderer 1 


A well-remember'd form and face 1 


Even now I list my comrades' cheer. 


That striphng shape, tliat cheek so pale, 


That general laugh is in mine ear. 


Combine to teU a rueful tale. 


Which raised my pulse and steel'd my heart, 


Of powers misused, of passion's force, 


As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 


Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse 1 


And would that all since then could seem 


"Tis Edmund's eye, at every sound 


The phantom of a fever's dream 1 


That flings that guilty glance around ; 


But fatal Memory notes too well 


'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 


The hoiTors of the dymg yell 


The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 


From my despairmg mates tliat broke. 


And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 


When flash'd the fire and roll'd the smoke ; 


'Tis Edmund's form that meters there. 


When the avengers shouting came. 




And hemm'd us 'twixt the sword and flame 


X » . 


My frantic fhght, — the lifted brand, — 


His flint and steel have sparxled bright, 


That angel's interposmg hand ! 


A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 


If, for my life from slaughter fi-eed. 


Fearful aud quick his eye surveys 


I yet could pay some grateful meed 1 


Each angle of the gloomy maze. 


Perchance this object of my quest 


8ince last he left that stern abode. 


May aid" — he turu'd, nor spoke the rest. 


It seem'd as none its floor had trode ; 




Untoucli'd appear'd the various spoil, 


VI. 


The purchase of hi's comrades' toil ; 


Due northward from the rugged htarth, 


Masks aud disguises grim'd with mud. 


With paces five he metes the earth. 


Arms broken and defiled with blood. 


Then toil'd with mattock to explore 


And all the nameless tools that aid 


The entrails of the cavern floor. 


Night-felons in their lawless trade. 


Nor paused tiU, deep beneath the ground. 


MS. " sally-pori lies bare." 


Still on the cavern floor remain'd. 


MS — " Or on the floors disorder'd flung.'* 


And all the cave that semblance bore, 


MS. — " Seats overthrown and flagons draio'd, 


It show'd when late the revel wore." 



CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 34» 


RiH search a small steel casket foiuuL 


With low and confidential tone ; — 


Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp, 


Me, as I judge, not then he saw. 


Ilia shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 


Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 


He started, and look'd up aghast, 


' List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 


Then sJiriek'd ! — 'Twas Bertram held him fast. 


Have frequent need of what they hate 


" Fear not !" he said ; but who could hear 


Hence, in their favor oft we see 


That deep stern voice, and cease to fear ? 


Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 


*' Fear not ! — By heaven, he shakes as much 


Were I disposed to bid thee live, 


As partridge in the falcon's clutch :"— 


What pledge of faith hast thou to give ! 


He raised him, and unloosed his hold, 




While from the opening casket roll'd 


VIII. 


A. chain and reliquaire of gold.' 


" The ready Fiend, who never yet 


Bertram beheld it with surprise, 


Hath fail'd to sharpen Denzil's wit, 


Gazed on its fashion and device, 


Prompted his lie — ' His only child 


Then, cheering Edmimd as he could. 


Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smiled 


Somewhat he smooth'd his rugged mood : 


And turn'd to me — ' Thou art liis son V 


For still the youth's half-Ufted eye 


I bow'd — om- fetters were undone, 


Quiver'd with terror's agony. 


And we were led to hear apart 


And sidelong glanced, as to explore, 


A dreadful lesson of his art. 


In meditated flight, the door. 


Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son. 


" Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free : 


Had fair Matilda's favor won ; 


Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 


And long since had their miion been. 


Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 


But for her father's bigot spleen. 


I've sought for refuge-place in vain." 


Whose brute and bluidfold party rage 


And tell me now, thou aguish boy. 


Would, force per force, her hand engage 


What makest thou here ? what means this toy ! 


To a base kern of Irish earth, 


Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 


Unknown his lineage and his bfrth, 


What lucky chance unbound your chain ! 


Save that a dying rufBan bore 


I deem'd, long since on Baliol's tower. 


The infant brat to Rokeby door. 


Your heads were war j'd with sun and shower.' 


Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 


Tell me the whole— and, mark ! naught e'er 


Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 


Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear." 


But fair occasion he must find 


Gathering his courage to his aid. 


For such restraint well-meant and kinl, 


But trembling still, the youth obey'd. 


The Kjiight being render'd to his charj?** 


VII. 


But as a prisoner at large. 


*• DenzQ and I two nights pass'd o'er 


IX. 


In fetters on the dungeon floor. 


" He school'd us m a well-forged tale, 


A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 


Of scheme the Castle walls to scale,* 


Our hold dark Oswald WycUffe sought,* 


To which was leagued each CavaUer 


And eyed my comrade long askance, 


That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear ; 


With fix'd and penetrating glance. 


That Rokeby, his parole forgot, 


' Guy Denzil art thou call'd ?'— ' The same.'— 


Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 


' At Court who served wild Buckinghame ; 


Such was the charge, wliich Denzil's seal 


Thence banish'd, won a keeper's place. 


Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 


So Villiers will'd, in Marwood-chase ; 


Proffer' d, as witness, to make good. 


That lost — I need not tell thee why — 


Even though the forfeit were their blood 


Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply. 


I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 


Then fought for Rokeby : — Have I guess'd 


His prisoners' safety WyclifFe swore ; 


My prisoner right V — ' At thy behest.' — • 


And then — alas I what needs there xorel 


He pau'<;4 a vVil », and then went on 


I knew I should not live to say 


MS. carcanetofgold." 


* MS.—" With the third morn that baron old. 




Dark Oswald Wycliffe, sought the hold." 


• The MS. adds :— 


» MS.—" ' And last didst ride in Rokeby's band. 


*' No surer shelter from the foe 


Art thou the man V—' At thy command ' 


Tlian what this cavern can bestow." 


MS.—" He school'd us then to tell a tale 




Of plot the Castle walls to scale, 


MS. " perched in sun and shower." 

44 


To which had sworn each Cavalin 



346 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cak > n 


The proflfer I refused that day ; 


His hand like summer sapling shook. 


Ashamed to live, yet loth to die, 


Terror and guilt were m his look. 


I soil'd me with their infamy !" — 


Denzil he judged, in time of need. 


" Poor youth," said Bertram, " wavering still,' 


Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 


Unfit alike for good or ill ! 


And tnus apart his counsel broke, 


But what feU next «"— " Soon as at large" 


While with a ghastly smile he spoke ; — 


Was Bcroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 




There never yet, on tragic stage, 


XL 


Was seen so well a painted rage 


" ' As in the pageants of the stage, 


As Oswald's show'd ! With loud alarm 


The dead awake in this wild age,* 


He caU'd liis garrisor to arm ; 


Mortham — whom all men deem'd decreed 


From tower to tower, from post to post, 


In his own deadly snare to bleed. 


He hurried as if all were lost : 


Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea, 


Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 


He tram'd to aid in murdering me, — 


Tile good old Knight and all his train ; 


Mortham has 'scaped ! The coward shot 


Warn'd each suspected Cavalier, 


The steed, but harm'd the rider not.' "• 


Within his limits, to appear 


Heie, with an execration fell, 


To-morrow, at the hour of noon, 


Bertram leap'd up, and paced the cell : — 


In the high church of Egliston." — 


" Thine own gray head, or bt)som dark," 




He mutter' d, " may be surer mark !" 


X. 


Then sat, and sign'd to Edmund, pale 


" Ot Egliston ! — Even now I pass'd," 


With terror, to resume his tale. 


Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast , 


" Wychife went on : — ' Mark with what flight* 


Torches and cressets gleara'd around, 


Of wilder'd reverie he writes : — 


1 heard the saw and hammer sound, . 




And I could mark they toQ'd to raise 


E\)t Sletter. 


A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 


" ' Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 


Which the grim headsman's scene display'd, 


Though dead, thy victim lives to thee.' 


Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 


Once had he all that bmds to hfe, 


Some evil deed wUl there be done, 


A lovely child, a loveUer wife ; 


Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 


Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own — 


She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guess'd 


Thou gavest the word, and they are flown.' 


Thai Redmond rules the damsel's breast 


Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 


This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 


He yields his honors and his land,* 


But I may meet, and foil him still ! ' 


One boon premised ; — Restore liis child ! 


How earnest thou to thy freedom ?" — " There 


And, from his native land exiled. 


Lies mystery more dark and rare. 


Mortham no more retm'ns to claim 


[n midst of Wycliffe's woU-feign'd rage, 


His lands, his honors, or his name ; 


A. scioU was offer'd by a page, 


Refuse him this, and from the slain 


Who told, a muffled horseman late 


Thou shalt see Mortham rise again.' — 


Had left it at the Castle-gate. 




He broke the seal — liis cheek show'd change. 


XIL 


Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 


" This billet while the baron i oad. 


Tlie mimic passion of his eye 


His faltering accents show'd his dread ; 


W%s turn'd to actual agony; 


He press'd his forehead with his pahn, 




* " ' Mortham escaped — the coward shot 

The horse — but harm'd the rider not.' 


JIT -^ ^_^-^___— sore Desiau i 

Waverintf alike in good and bad. 


1 MS. " O, when at large 


is truly laughable. How like the denouenu %t it tli« Covei* 


Was seroU'd and sign'd out fatal charge, 


Garden Tragedy ! in which the heiu is supposed to have beo( 


You never yet, on tragic stage, 


killed, but thus accounts for his escape. 


Beheld so well a painted rage." 


' I through the coat was, not the body, run I' " 


• After this line the MS. re.ids : — 


Munthly Rtmttt 


" Although his soldiers snatch'd awayt 


« MS.—" Though dead to all, he lives to th*e." 


When in my very grasp, ray prey. — 


' MS. — " Wealth, fame, and happiness, his own — 


Edmund, how cam'st thou freet" — " there 


Thou gavest the word, and all is flown." 


Lies mystery," Sic. 


8 The MS. adds :— 


MB. — " The dead arise in this wild age, 


" Nay more, ere one day's course had run. 


Mortham — whom righ sous heaven decreed 


He rescued twice from death thy son. 


Canght in hu r «vn fell mare to bleed." 


Mark his demand : — Restore his child '" 

,»' 



UNTO VI. HOKEBY. .94! 


ITien took a scornful tone and calm ; 


An interloper's prying toil 


' Wild as the winds, as billows wUd 1 


The words, but not the sense, I knew 


"What wot I of his spouse or duld ? 


Till fortime gave the guiding clew. 


Hithor he brought a joyous dame, 




Unkiiaw-: her lineage or her name : 


XIV. 


Hei; in some frantic fit he slew ; 


" ' Tliree days since, was that clew revtjal'^ 


The nuise and cluld in fear withdrew. 


In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd,' 


Hearec be my witness ! wist I where 


And heard at full when Rokeb^s Maid 


Tc find this youth, my kinsman's heir,— 


Her uncle's history display'd ; 


Uuguerdon'd, I would give with joy 


And now I can interpret well 


The father's arms to fold liis boy, 


Each syllable the tablets tell. 


And Mortham's lands and towers resign 


Mark, then : Fail Edith was the joy 


To the just hf^irs of Mortham's line.' — 


Of old O'Neale of Claudeboy ; 


Thou know'st thatpscarcelj e'en his fear 


But from her sire and country fled. 


Suppresses Donzil's cynic sneei ; — 


In secret Mortham's Lord to wed. 


* Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 


O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 


He said, ' to ease his patron's heai't ! 


Despatch'd his son to Greta's shore. 


In thine own jailer's watchful care 


Enjoining he should make him known 


Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 


(UntU his farther will were shown) 


Thy generous wish is fully won, — 


To Edith, but to her alone. 


Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.'— 


What of their ill-stair'd meetmg fell, 




Lord Wyclilfe knows, and none so welL 


XIII. 




" Tip starting with a phrensied look, 


XV. 


His clenched hand the Baron shook : 


" ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair. 


' Is HeU at work ? or dost thou rave, 


Robb'd Mortham of his infant hen- ; 


Or darest thou palter with me, slave I 


He bred him in their nurture wild. 


Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 


And call'd him miu"der'd Connel's child. 


Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.' 


Soon died the nurse ; the Clan believed 


Denzil, who well his safety knew, 


W hat fi-om their Chieftain they received. 


Firmly rejoin' d, ' I teU thee true. 


His purpose was, that ne'er again' 


Thy racks could give thee but to know 


The boy should cross the Irish main ; 


The proofs, wliicli I, untortured, show. — 


But, like his moimtain-sires, enjoy 


It chanced upon a winter night. 


The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 


When early snow made Sta.nmore white, 


Then on the land wild troubles came, 


That very night, when first of all 


And stronger Cliieftains urged a claim. 


Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 


And wrested from the old man's hands 


It was my goodly lot to gain 


His native towers, his father's lands. 


A reliquary and a chain, 


Unable then, amid the strife. 


Twisted and chased of massive gold. 


To guard young Redmond's rights or life, 


— Demand not how the prize I hold 1 


Late and reluctant he restores 


It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. — 


The infant to his native shores, 


GUt tablets to the chain were hung. 


With goodly gifts and letters stored, 


With letters in the Irish tongue. 


With many a deep conjuring word, 


I hid my spoil, for there was need 


To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 


That I should leave the land with speed 


Naught knew the clod of Irish earth, 


Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear 


Who was the guide, of Redmond's bu-tb : 


On mine own person gems so rare. 


But deem'd his Chief's commands were 'aid 


Small heed I of the tablets took. 


On both, by both to be obey'd.' 


But since have speU'd them by the book, 


How he was wounded by the way, 


When some sojourn in Erin's land 


I need not, and I list not say.' — 


Of their wild speech had given command. 




But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 


XVL 


A.nd language those of other days. 


" ' A wondrous tale 1 and, grant it true. 


lUvoWed of pmpose, as to foil 


"What," Wycliffe answer'd, ' might I do f 


^8 --" It chanced, three days since, I was laid 


The boy shonld visit Albion's shore.' 


Conceal'd in Thorsgill's bosky shade." 


» The MS. has not this couplet. 



B48 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO Tk 



Heaven knows, a? willingly as now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow, 
Would I my kinsman's paauors fair' 
Restore to Mortham, or his heir ; 
But Mortham is distraught — O'NeaJe 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
Malignant to our rightful cause, 
And train'd in Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart !' — They whisper'd long, 
TiU Denzil's voice grew bold and strong :— 
' My proofs I I never will,' he said, 
'Show mortal man where they are laid- 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose, 
By giving me to feed the crows ; 
For I have mates at large, who know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from band. 
These tablets are at thy command ; 
Nor were it hard to form some train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from tliine the goodly land.' 
— ' I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well ; 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwelL 
Thy son, unless my purpose err. 
May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold shalt thou have, and that good store, 
And freedom, liis commission o'er ; 
But if his faith should chance to fail, 
The gibbet frees thee from the jaiL' — 

XVII. 

" Mesh'd in the net himself had twined. 
What subterfuge could Denzil find ? 
He told me, with reluctant sigh. 
That hidden here the tokens he ;* 
Conjured my swift return and aid. 
By aU he scoff'd and disobey'd ;' 
And look'd as if the noose were tied, 
And I the priest who left his side. 
This scroll for Mortham Wycliife gave. 
Whom I must seek by Greta's wave ; 
Or in tlie hut where chief he hides, 
Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 
(Then chanced it, wandering in the glade, 
Tliut he descried our ambuscade.) 
I wsks dismise'd as evening fell. 
And reach'd but now tliis rockj' celL" — 
" Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read, 
And tore it fiercely shred by shred : — 
* All lies and villany 1 to blind 



MS.—" Wonld I my kinsman's lands resign 

To Mortham's self and Mortliam's line : 
But Mortham raves — and this O'Neale 
Has drawn," iin. 



His noble kinsman's generous mind, 
And train him on from day to day, 
Till he can take his life away. — 
And now, declare thy purpose, youth. 
Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 
If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 
I'll tear the secret from thy heart !' ■— 

XVIII. 

" It needs not. I renounce,' ;j3 said, 

"My tutor in this deadly trade. 

Fix'd was my purpose to declare 

To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ; 

To tell Mm in what risk he stands. 

And yield these tokens to his hands. 

Fix'd was my purpose to atone 

Far as I may, the evil done ; 

And fix'd it rests — if I survive 

This night, and leave this cave ahve." — 

"And Denzil ?"—" Let them ply the rack, 

Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 

If Oswald tear him limb from limb, 

What ruth can Denzil claim from liim, 

Whose thoughtless youth he led astray, 

And damn'd to this unhallow'd way? 

He school'd me faith and vows were vain, 

Now let my master reap his gain." — 

" True," answer'd Bertram, " 'tis his meed ; 

There's retribution in the deed. 

But thou — thou art not for our course. 

Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse : 

And he, with us the gale who braves, 

Must heave such cargo to the waves. 

Or lag with overloaded prore. 

While barks unburden'd reach the shore." 

XIX. 

He paused, and, stretching him at length, 
Seem'd to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind. 
As half he sat, and half reclined. 
One ample hand his forehead press'd. 
And one was dropp'd across his breast 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
His Up of pride a while forbore 
The haughty curve till then it wore ; 
The unalter'd fierceness of his look 
A shade of darken'd sadness took, — * 
For dark and sad a presage press'd 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 



» MS. — " In secret where the tokens ue." 

s MS.—" By ties he scoff'd," &c 

* MS. — " A darken'd sad expression took. 

The unalter'd fierceness ot his look." 



CANTO VI. 



ROKEBY, 



341 



His voice was steady, lo-w, and deep, 


No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 


Like distaJit waves when breezes sleep ; 


"With disk hke battle-target red, 


And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's fear, 


He rushes to his burning bed. 


Jts low unbroken depth to hear. 


Dyes the wide wave with bloody light» 




Then sinka at once — and all is night. — 


XX. 




" Eatuijr. in thy 8.9,d tale I find 


XXIL 


The wo»' that warp d my patron's mind : 


" Now to thy mission, Edmvmd. Flj, 


'Twju wake the foimtains of the eye 


Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 


Tt other men, but mine are dry. 


To Richmond, where his troops are laio. 


Mortham must never see the fool, 


And lead liis force to Redmond's aid. 


That sold liimself base Wycliffe's tool ; 


Say, till he reaches EgUston, 


Yet less from thirst of sordid gain. 


A friend will watch to guard his soil* 


Tlian to avengx supposed disdain. 


Now, fare-thee-well ; for night draws on, 


Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word, 


And I would rest me here alone." 


Till now from Bertram never heard : 


Despite his ill-dissembled foar, 


Say, too, that Mortham's Lord he praya 


Ther,e swam in Ednnmd's eve i *€aj • 


To think but on their former days ; 


A tribute to the courage hign. 


On Quariana's beach and rock. 


Which stoop'd not in extremity, 


On Cayo's bursting battle shock, 


But strove, irregularly great, 


On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 


To triumph o'er approaching fate I 


And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — 


Bertram beheld the dewdrop start. 


Perchance my patron yet may hear 


It almost touch'd his u'on heart : — 


More that may grace his comrade's bier.' 


" I did not think there Uved," he said. 


My soul hath felt a secret weight. 


" One, tvho would tear for Bertram shed." 


A warning of approaching fate : 


He loosen'd then his baldric's hold. 


A priest had said, ' Return, repent !' 


A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 


As well to bid that rock be rent. 


" Of aU the spoil that paid his pains. 


Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 


But this with Risingham remains ; 


My heart may burst, but cannot bend.* 


And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take, 




And wear it long for Bertram's sftke. 


XXI. 


Once more — to Mortham speed amain, 


"The dawning of my youth, with awe 


Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 


And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 




For over Redesdale it came, 


XXIIL 


As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 


The night has yielded to the morn, 


Edmimd, thy years were scarcely mme. 


A nd far the hours of prime are worn. 



When, challenging the Clans of Tyne, 
To bring their best my brand to prove, 
O'er Hexham's altar himg my glove ;' 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town. 
Held champion meet to take it down- 
My noontide, India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
Cliih's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run. 
Mine be the eve^of tropic sun! 
No pale gradations quench his ray. 

• MS. — " Perchance, that Mortham yet may hear 
Something to grace his comrade's bier." 



MS. 



-" ne'er shall beRd.-" 



fce Appendix, Note 3 I. 



Oswald, who, since the dawn of day. 
Had cursed his messenger's delay. 
Impatient question'd now his train, 
" Was Denzil's son return'd again ?" 
It chanced there answer'd of the crew 
A menial, who young Edmund knew : 
" No son of Denzil this," — ^he said ; 
" A peasant boy from Winston glade, 
For song and minstrelsy renown' d. 
And knavish pranks, the hamlets round."-- 
" Not Denzil's son ! — From Winston vale K- 
Then it was false, that specious tale , 
Or, worse — he hath despatched the youth 
To show to Mortham's Lord its truth. 
Fool that I was 1 — but 'tis too late;— 
This is the very turn of fate ! — * 

* MS.—" With him and Fairfax for his friend, 
No risit that Wycliife dares contend. 
Tell him the while, at Egliston 
There will be one to guard his son." 

° MS.—" This is the crisis of my fats." 



i60 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



CANTO VI 



The tale, or true or false, relies 
On Denzil's evidence 1 — He dies 1 — 
Ho ! Provost Marshal 1 instantly- 
Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree 1 
Allow him not a paiting word ; 
Short he the shrift, and sure the cord I 
Then let liis gory head appal 
Marauders from the Castle-wall. 
Jjp.&d fortli thy guard, that fluty done, 
With beat despatcli to Egliston. — 
— Ba^^il, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
Attend me at the Castle-gate." — 

XXIV. 

" Alas !" the old domestic said, 

And shook his venerable head, 

" Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 

May mj young master brook the way I 

The leech has spoke •«ath grave alarm, 

Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 

Of sorrow lurkuig at the heart, 

That mars and lets his heiding art." — 

" Tusii, tell not me ! — Romantic boys 

Pine themselves sick for airy toys. 

I will iind cure for Wilfrid soon ; ' 

Bid iiim for Egliston bo boune. 

And quick 1 — I hear the dull death-drum 

Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." 

He paused with scornful smile, and then 

Resumed his train of thought agen. 

" Now comes my fortune's crisis near 1 

Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 

Naught else, can bend Matilda's pride, 

Or wui her to be Wilfrid's bride. 

But when she sees the scaffold placed, 

With axe and block and headsman graced. 

And when she deems, that to deny 

Dooms Redmond and her sire to die. 

She must give way. — Then, were the line 

Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 

I gain the weatlier-gage of fate 1 

If Mortham come, he comes too late, 

While I, allied thus and prepared, 

Bid him defiance to liis beard. — 

— If slie prove stubborn, shall I dare 

To drop the axe ? — Soft 1 pause we there. 

Mortham still Uves — yon youth may tell 

His ta 3 — and F.'iirfixx loves him well ; — 

1 MS — " Mnrks the dark cloud sweep down tlie Tees." 
> " This siibordiiiale villain thus meeta tlio reward which he 
iMorves. He is altogether one of the minor sketches of the 
poem, but still adils a variety and a life to the fe'roup. He is 
besides absolutely nocessary for the development of the plot; 
»nd iiideeil a peculiar propriety in this respect is observable 
lliron^'hout the story. No iharacter, and, comparatively sj)eak- 
nfr, bnt little description, is introduced that is unessential to 
(he narrative ; it jiroceeds clearly, if not rapidly, throughout ; 
W.d altboujjh the jjlot becomes additionally involved to appear- 
yace »» -t a ••nces, all is satisfactorily explained at the lasf , or 



Else, wherefore should I now delay 

To sweep tliis Redmoml from my way '— 

But she to piety perforce 

Must yield. — Without there t Sound to horea* 

XXV. 
'Twas bustle in the court below, — 
" Mount, and march forward !" — Forth they ga 
Steeds neigh and trample all around. 
Steel rings, epcars glimmer, trumpets sound.— 
Just then was sung liis partmg hymn ; 
And Denzil turn'd his eyeballs dim. 
And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 
J'ollows the horsemen down the Tees ;' 
And, scarcely conscious what he hears, 
The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
O'er the long bridge tliey're sweeping now, 
The van is hid by greenwood bough ; 
But ere the rearward had pass'd o'er, 
Guy Denzil heard and saw no more I' 
Ohe stroke, upon the Castle bell. 
To Oswald rung liis dying knell. 

XXVL 

0, for that pencil, erst profuse , 

Of chivalry's emblazon'd hues. 
That traced of old, hi Woodstock bower, 
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
And bodied forth the tourney high, 
Held for the hand of Emily ! 
Then miglit I paint the tumult broad. 
That to the crowded abbey flow'd. 
And pour'd, as with an ocean's sound, 
Into the church's ample botmd 1 
Then might I show eacli varying mien, 
Exulting, woeful, or serene ; 
Indifference, with his idiot stare. 
And Sympathy, with anxious air. 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarm'd, and sad of cheer ; 
And his proud foe, whose formal eyp 
Claim'd conquest now and mastery ; 
And the brute crowd, whose envious «eal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
And loudc'^t shouts when lowest lie 
Exalteil worth and station high. 
Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
'Tis mine to tell an onward tale.* 

rather explains itself oy gradual unravelment." — Mcr^lklfi H, 
view. 
3 The dnarterly Reviewer, after quoting from 



to 



" 'Tie mine to tell an onward tale," 
" Or snatch a blossom from the bough," 



adds, " Assuredly, if such lines as these had occurred Aori 
frecjuently in Rokeby, it would have extorted our unqualified 
admiration ; and althoufib we lament that numerou* ii^U 
blemishes, which mi^ht easily be removed, have been safTis/a] 



rANTo u. ROKEBY. r5\ 


Hurrying, as best I can, along, 


XXVIII. 


The hearers and the hasty song; — 


But Oswald, guarded by his band. 


Like traveller when approaching home, 


Powerful in evil, waved liis hand, 


Who sees the shades of evening come, 


And bade Sedition's voice be dead. 


And must not now liis course delay, 


On peril of the murmurer's head. 


Or choose the fair, but winding way ; 


Then flrst his glance sought Rokeby's Eiiight ** 


1 Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 


Wlio gazed on the tremendous sight. 


Where o'er his head the wildings bend. 


As calm as if he came a guest 


To bless the oreeze that cools Iiis brow 


To kmdred Baron's feudal feast,* 


Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 


As calm as if that trumpet-caU 




Were sunmions to the banner'd hall , 


XXVII. 


Firm in liis loyalty he stood, 


The reverend pile lay wild and waste, 


And prompt to seal it with liis blood. 


Profaned, dishonor'd, and defaced. 


With downcast look drew Oswiild nign,— 


Thi'ough storied lattices no more 


He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — • 


In soften'd Ught the sunbeams pour. 


And said, with low and faltering breath, 


Gilding the Gotliic sculpture ricli 


" Tliou know'st the terms of life and death," 


Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 


The linight then tiu-n'd, and sternly smiled- 


The Civil fury of the time 


" The maiden is mine only child. 


Made sport of sacrilegious crime ;' 


Yet shall my blessing leave her head, 


For dark Fanaticism rent 


If with a traitor's son she wed." 


Altar, and screen, and ornament, 


Then Redmond spoke : " The life of ono 


And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 


Might thy malignity atone,' 


Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh.* 


On me be flimg a double guilt ! 


And now was seen, unwonted sight, 


Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt !" 


In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 


Wycliff"e had listen'd to liis suit. 


Whore once the priest, of grace divine 


But dread prevail'd, and he was mute. 


Dealt to liis flock the mystic sign ; 




There stood the block display'd, and there 


XXIX. 


The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 


And now he pours his choice of fear 


And for the word of Hope and Faith, 


In secret on Matilda's ear ; 


Resounded loud a doom of death. 


" An union form'd with me and mine. 


Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath waf 


Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 


heard, 


Consent, and all this dread array. 


And eclio'd thrice the herald's word. 


Like morning dream shall pass away ; 


iiooming, for breach of maftial laws. 


Refuse, and, by my duty press'd. 


And treason to the Commons' cause, 


I give the word — thou know'st the rest. ' 


The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 


Matilda, still and motionless, 


To stoop their heads to 'clock and steel 


With terror heard the dread address, 


The trumpets flourish'd liigh and shrill. 


Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 


Then was a silence dead and still ; 


To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 


And silent prayers to heaven were cast, 


Then wrimg her hands in agony. 


And stifled sobs were bursting fast. 


And roimd her cast bewilder'd eye. 


Till from the crowd began to rise 


Now on the scaff'old glanced, and now 


Murmurs of sorrow or surprise. 


On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 


Ar^d fron» the distant aisles there came 


She veil'd her face, and, with a voic« 


Deep-mutter'd threats, with WycMe's 


Scarce audible, — " I make my choice I 


name.' 


Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside, 


Ir remain ; that many of the poetical amamenls, though jnst- 


3 MS.—" Muttering of threats, and WyciiffeS nam*. 


y conceived, are faintly and indistinctly drawn ; and that those 


' MS. — " Then from his victim sought to know 


Jnishin^ touches, which Mr. Scott has the talent of placing 


The working of his tragic show. 


With peculiar taste and"- propriety, are too sparingly scattered ; 


And first his glance," &c. 


we re.-uiily admit that he has told his ' onward tale' with great 




I'igor and animation ; and that he has generally redeemed his 


» MS. — " To some high Baron's feudal feast, 


faults by the richness and variety of his fancy, or by the inter- 


And that loud pealing trumpet-cal 


»6t of Ilia narrative." 


fVa.s summons," &c. 


' The MS. lias not this nor the preceding couplet. 


" MS. — " He durst not meet his scornful eye. ' 


MS.—" And peasants' base-born hands o'erthrew 


' MS. "the blood of one 


The tombs of Lacv and Fitz-Htigh." 


Might this maliirna'it i)iot atone. 



352 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
He once was geuerous 1" — As she spoke, 
Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : — 
" Wilfrid, where loiter'd ye so late ? 
Why upon Basil rest thy weight ? 
Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand ;' 
Thank her with raptures, simple boy 1 
Should tears and trembling speak thy 

joy?"- 

" O hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 
Of mine thou hast refused thme ear ; 
But now the awful hour draws on, 
When truth must speak in loftier tone." 

XXX. 

He took Matilda's hand :" — " Dear maid, 

Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 

" Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 

As blend with him this barbarous scheme ? 

Alas ! my efiforts made in vain, 

Might well have saved this added pain.' 

But now, bear witness earth and heaven, 

That ne'er was hope to mortal given, 

So twisted^ with the strings of life, 

As this — to call Matilda wife ! 

I bid it now for ever part. 

And with the effort bursts my heart I" 

His feeblo frame was worn so low, 

With wounds, with watching, and with woe, 

That nature could no more sustain 

The agony of mental pain. 

He kuetjl'd — his Up her hand had press'd, — * 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 

Lower and lower simk his head, — 

They raised him, — but the life was fled t 

Then, first alarm'd, his sire and train 

Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 

The soul, too soft its ills to bear. 

Had left our mortal hemisphere, 

> In p!ate of this and preceding conplet, the MS. has, 
" Successful was the scheme he plann'd : 
Kneel, Wilfrid ! take her yielded hand I" 
MB.—" He kneel'd, and took her hand." 

• MS. — " To save the complicated pain." 
♦MS.—" Blended." 

Mfi. — " His lips upon her hands were press'd, — 
Just as he felt the stern arrest." 

• " The character of Wilfrid is as extensively drawn, and 

more so, perhaps, than that of Bertram. And amidst 

fine and beautiful moral reflections accompanying it, a 

p insight into the human heart is discernible : — we had 

t roost said an intuition more penetrating than even his, to 

irbom were given these ' golden keys' that ' unlock the gates 

'fjoy' 

' Of horror that and thrilling fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.' " 

British Critit. 

" In delineating the actors of this dramatic tale, we have 
titie hMtation in saying, that Mr Scott haa beea more anc- 



And sought in better world the meed. 
To blameless life by Heaven decreed.* 

XXXL 

The wretched sire beheld, aghast. 

With Wdfrid all his projects past. 

All turn'd and centred on bis son. 

On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 

" And I am childless now," he said , 

" Childless through that relentless maid 1 

A lifetime's arts in vain essay'd, 

Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 

Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 

Comes hated Mortham for his heir, 

Eager to knit in happy band 

With Rokftby's heiress Redmond's hand. 

And shall th^air triumph soar o'er all 

The schemed deep-laid to work their fall< 

No ! — deeds which prudence might not dai^ 

Appal not vengeance and despair. 

The murd'ress weeps upon his bier — 

I'U change to real that feigned tear I 

They all sh.tll share destruction's shock;-— 

Ho ! lead tiie captives to the block 1" 

But ill his 1 'rovost could divine 

His feelings and forebore the sign. 

" Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they. 

Shall face tl .e judgment-seat this day !" 

XXXII. 
The outmost crowd have hea d a sound. 
Like loorse's hoof on harden'd groimd ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, 
The very death's-men paused to hear. 
'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the d^ellhig of the dead I 
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
Retvu^n tlie tramp m varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
When through the Gothic arch there sprimg 

cessfnl than on any former occasion. Wilfrid, a person of tb^ 
first importance in the whoV Management of the plot, exhibta 
an assemblage of qualities not nnfrequently combined in real 
life, but, so far as we can recoUt'ct, never before represented in 
poetry. It is, indeed, a charactej which required to be tonched 
with great art and delicacy. The reader generally expect* (« 
find beauty of form, strength, grace, and agility, united v>itk 
powerful passions, in the prominent figures of romance ; b* 
cause these visible qualities are the most frequent themes rv 
panegyric, and usually the best passports to admiration. Th« 
absence of them is supposed to throw an air of ridicule on the 
pretensions of a candidate for love or glory. An ordinary 
poet, therefore, would have despaired of awakening onr sym- 
pathy in favor of that lofty and generous spirit, and keen sen- 
sibility, which at once animate and consume the frail and 
sickly frame of Wilfrid ; yet Wilfrid is, in fact, extremely in- 
teresting ; and his death, though obviously necessary to the 
condign punishment of Oswald, to the future repose of Matil- 
da, and consequently to the consummation of the poem, leave* 
strong emotions of pity and regret in the mind of the reader ' 
— Q_uarterly Reviev 



oAsro VI. 



ROKEBY. 



368 



A hoiseman arm'd, at headlong speed — 
Sable his cloak, his pliune, his steed.* 
Fire from the flinty floor was spui'n'd. 
The vaults uu-wonted clang return'd ! — 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was his look ! 
His charger witl 'he spurs he strook — 
AU scatter'd backward as he came, 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ;' 
The first has reach'd the central nave, 
The second clear'd the chancel wide, 
The third he was at Wycliffe's side. 
Full levell'd at the Baron's head, 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
And to his long account, and last, 
Without a groan, dark Oswald past 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of Ughtning, or a dream. 

XXXIII 

While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
But flounder'd on the pavement-floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore, 
And, bursting in the headlong sway, 
The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
'Twas while he toil'd him to be freed, 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
Tliat from amazement's iron trance 
A 11 Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 
4 score of pikes, with each a wound, 
Bore down and pinn'd him to the ground ;* 
But still his struggling force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears • 
Thrice from assailants shook him free. 
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee. 

• See Appendix, Note 3 K. 

« MS. — " Three bounds he made, that noble steed ; 

The first tJ.^ \ La""'' ^""'b i h^ freed." 
( chancel 9 bound ) 

• MS.— " Oppress'd and pinn'd him to the ground." 

« 1\'S. — " And when, by odds borne down at length." 
6 MS.— "He bore." 

• M? — " Had more of laugh in it than moan." 
' MS. — " But held their weapons ready let, 

Lest the grim liing should rouie him yet." 

• MS.- " But Basil check'd them with disdain, 

.\nd flung a mantle o'er the slain." 

• " Whether we see him scaling the cliffs in desperate course, 
ind scaring the hawlis and the ravens from their nesta ; or, 
while the Castle is on fire, breaking from the central mass of 
moke ; or. amidst the terrific circumstances of his death, yhon 

ii 

' parting grjan 

Haa more of laughter than .of miian, 
45 



By tenfold odds oppress'd at length,* 
Despite his struggles and bis strength, 
He took" a hundred mortal wounds, 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan !' 
— They gazed, as when a lion dies, 
And himters scarcely trust their eyes, 
But bend their weapons on the slain 
Lest the grim king should rouse agaia T 
Then blow and insult some renewd, 
And from the trunk, the head had hev?^d, 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ;' 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
" Fell as he was in act and mind 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet."* 

XXXIV. 

No more of death and dying pang, 

No more of trump and bugle claltg. 

Though through the sounding woods there oosw 

Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 

Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 

Young Redmond at his utmost need. 

And back'd with such a band of horse. 

As might less ample powers enforce ; 

Possess'd of every proof and sign 

That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 

And yielded to a father's arms 

An image of his Edith's charms, — 

Mortham is come, to hear and see 

Of this strange morn the history. 

What saw he ? — not the chm-ch's floor, 

Cumber'd with dead and stain'd with gore ; 

What heard he ? — not the clamorous crowd. 

That shout their gratulations loud : 

Redmond he saw and heard alone, 

Clasp'd him, and sobb'd, " My son ! my son 1" — " 

we mark his race of terror, with the poet, like the ' eve «f 
tropic sun I' 

' No pale gradations quench his ray, 

No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 

With disk like battle-target red, 

He rushes to his burning bed ; 

Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 

Then sinks at once — and all is night.' " 

British Critic. 
" I hope yon will like Bertram to the end ; he is a Caravaggio 
sketch, which, I may acknowledge to you — but tell it not In 
Gath — I rather pique myself upon ; and he is within ihe keep 
ing of Nature, though critics will say to the contrary. It may 
be difficult to fancy that any one should take a sort c< j Jeasan 
in bringing out such a character, but I suppose it is putly 
owing to bad reading, and ill-directed reading, when . was 
young." — Scott to Miss Baillie. — Life, vol. iv. p. 46. 

i» MS. — Here the author of Rokeby wrote, 

"End of Canto VI." 
Btaur.axzzT., added at the request of the priuter and anoUai 



3r.4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



c-vfth n 



XXXV. 

This chanced uf on a summer morn, 

WTien yellow waved the heavy corn ; 

But when brown August o'er the land 

Call d forth the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the silvan road 

From Egliston to Mortham show'd. 

A while the hardy rustic leaves 

The task to bind and pile the sheaves. 

And maids their sickles fling aside, 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 

AjQd childhood's wondering group draws near 

And from the gleaner's hands the ear 

Drops, while she folds them for a prayer 

Vienn, was accompanied by the following note to Mr. Ballan- 
fnc ■ — 

" Dear James, 

" I send yon this, out of deference to opinions so strongly 
expresspd ; but still retaining my own, that it spoils one effect 
withoui producing another. W. S. " 

1 " Mr. Scott has now confined himself within much narrow- 
er limits, and, by descending to the sober annals of the seven- 
teenth century, has renounced nearly all those ornaments of 
Gotliic pageantry, which, in consequence of the taste with 
which he displayed them, had been tolerated, and even ad- 
mired, by modern readers. He has subjected his style to a 
severer code of criticism. The language of the poet is often 
unconsciously referred to the date of the incidents which he re- 
lates ; so that what is careless or idiomatic escapes censure, as 
a supposed anomaly of antique diction : and it is, perhaps, 
partly owing to this impression, that the phraseology of ' Mai^ 
mion,' and of the ' Lady of the Lake,' has appeared to ns to 
be no less faulty than that of the present poem. 

" Bnt, be this as it may, we confidently persist in thinking, 
that in this last experiment, Mr. Scott's popularity will be still 
farther confirmed ; because we have found by experience, 
that, although during the first hasty inspection of the poem, 
jpd'Srtaken for the gratification of our curiosity, some blemish- 
ek intruded themselves upon our notice, the merits of the story, 
and the minute shades of character displayed in the conduct of 
it, have been sufficient, during many succeeding perusals, to 
awaken our feelings, and to reanimate and sustain our attention. 

"The original fiction from which the poem is derived, ap- 
pears to us to be constructed with considerable ability ; but it 
is on the felicity with which the poet has expanded and dram- 
atized it ; on the diversity of the characters ; on the skill with 
vhich they are unfolded, and on the ingenuity with which 
every incident is rendered subservient to his final purpose, that 
ve chiefly found our preference of this over his former produc- 
jjns. From the first canto to the last, nothing is superfluous. 
The arrival of a nocturnal visitor at Barnard Castle is announ- 
fcei' witl such solemnity, the previons terrors of Oswald, the 
an-.agance and ferocity of Bertriim, his abruptness and discour- 
tM} ol dameanor, nre so pminently delineated, that the picture 
lepms as if it ha(? been introduced ibr the sole purpose of dis- 
[I a''ng the autnor's powers of description ! yet it is from this 
7is''( Lliat all the subsequent incidents naturally, and almost 
jeceesarily flow. Our curiosity is, at the very commencement 
of the poem, most powerfully excited; the principal actors in 
Jie scene exhibit themselves distinctly to our view, the devel- 
tnment of the plot is perfectly continuous, and our attention 
fe never interrupted, or suffered to relax." — Quarterly Re- 
new. 



" This production of Mr. Scott altogether abounds in imagery 
(ml description less than either of its precrusors, in prettjr 



And blessing on the lovely pp'r. 
'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave 
Her plighted troth to Redmond btave ; 
And Teesdale can remembei ytf 
How Fate to Virtue paid hei debt, 
And, for their troubles, bade then: p^'O?' 
A lengthen'd life of peace and love. 



Time and Tide had thus theit sway. 
Yielding, Uke an April day, 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for horn's of sorrow.' 



nearly the same proportion as it contains morj '.f if «matic ie 
cident and character. Yet some of the picto e> s/hich it pr9 
serits are highly wrought and vividly colored ; for example, 
the terribly animated narrative, in the £!'th canto, of tlie battl« 
within the hall, and the conflagration of t'.ie mansion of Rokeby 

" Several defects, of more or less importance, we noticed, oi 
imagined that we noticed, as we read. It appears like pre 
sumption to accuse Mr. Scott of any failure in respect to cos- 
tume — of the manners and character of the times which he 
describes — yet the impression produced on our minds by the 
perusal, has certainly been, that we are thrown back in imag- 
ination to a period considerably antecedent to that which he 
intends to celebrate. The other faults, we remarked, consist 
principally in the too frequent recurrence of those which we 
have so often noticed on former occasions, and which are so 
incorporated with the poet's style, that it is now become a« 
useless as it is painful, to repeat the censures which they have 
occeisioned. 

" We have been informed that ' Rokeby' has hitherto circo 
lated less rapidly than has usually been the case with Mr 
Scott's works. If the fact be so, we are inclined to attribut< 
it solely to accidental circumstances ; being persuaded that the 
defects of the poem are only common to it with all the prouu»> 
tions of its author ; that they are even less numerous than in 
most ; and that its beauties, though of a different stamp, sre 
more profusely scattered, and, upon the whole, of a higher or 
der." — Critical Review. 



" Such is Rokeby ; and our readers must confess that it is a 
very interesting tale. Alone, it would stan.p the author one 
of the most picturesque of English poets. Of the story, we 
need hardly say any thing farther. It is complicated withoui 
being confused, and so artfully suspended in its unravelment, 
as to prodi^e a constantly increasing sensation of curiosity 
Pans, indeed, of the catastrophe may at intervals be foreseen, 
but they are like the partial glimpses that we catch of a nobU 
and well-shaded building, which does not break on us in all iti 
proportion and in all its bennty, unl'i we suddenly arrive ii 
front. Of the characters, we have something to observe, ir. 
addition to our private remarks. Our readers may perhap.< 
have seen that we have frequently applied the term sketch, U 
the several personages of the drama. Now, although thi§ poeir 
possesses more variety of well-sustained character than any 
other of Mr. Scott's pertbrinances — although Wilfrid will l)e a 
favorite with every lover of the soft, the gentle, and the oa- 
thelic, while Edmund offers a fearfu'. warning to misused auil- 
ities — and although Redmond is indeed a man, 3ompared to the 
Cranstoun of The Lay, to the IVilton of Mn.rmion. or to th« 
Malcolm of the Lady of the Lake; yet is Redmond himselt 
but a sketch compared to Bertram. Here is Mr. Scott a tra« 
and favorite hero. He has no ' sreaking kindness' tbi thec« 
barbarians ; — he boldly adopti and ^'i'jwnizps them l^lonjuf 



t'ANTO VI. 



ROKEBY. 



BbL 



nt has humorously been observed) would have been exactly 
what Marmion was, could he have read and written ; Bertram 
IS a happy mixture of both ; — as great a villain, if possible, aa 
Marraion ; and, if possible, as great a scamp as Deloraine. 
Hie character is completed by a dash of the fierceness of Rod- 
erick Dhu. We do not here enter into the question as to the 
good taste of an author who employs his utmost strength of 
description on a compound of bad qualities ; but we must ob- 
•erve, in the way of protest for the present, that something 
anst be wrong where poetici effect and moral approbation are 
uj much a; variance. We leive untouched the general argu- 
aex.'., wnether it makes any difference for poetical purposes, 
Uibt a hero's vices or his virtues should preponderate. Power- 
ful indeed must be the genius of the poet who, out of such 
materials as those above mentioned, can form an interest- 
ing whole. This, however, is the fact ; and Bertram at times 
no cvercomes hatred with admiration, that he (or rather his 
painter) is almost pardonable for his energy alone. There is a 
charm about this spring of mind which bears down all opposi- 
tion. ' and throws a brilliant veil of light over the most hideous 
deformity.' This is the fascination — this is the variety and 
vigor by which Mr. Scott recommends barbarous heroes, un- 
dign'fied occurrences, and, occasionally, the most incorrect lan- 
guage, and the most imperfect versification — 

" Catch but his fire — ' And you forgive him all.' " 

Monthly Review. 



That Rokeby, as a whole, is equally interesting with Mr. 
Scott's former works, we are by no means prepared to assert. 
But if there be, comparatively, a diminution of interest, it is 
evidently owing to no other cause than the time or place of its 
action — the sobriety of the period, and the abated wildness of 
the scenery. With us, t*'e wonder is, that a period so late as 
that of Charles the First -ould have been managed so dex- 
terously, and have been made so happily subservient to poetic 
invention. 

" In the mean time, we have no hesitation in declaring our 
%pinion, that the tale of Rokeby is much better told than those 
of • The Lay,' or of ' Marmion.' Its characters are introduced 
with more ease ; its incidents are more natural ; one event is 
more necessarily generated by another ; the reader's mind is 
kejit more in suspense with respect to the termination of the 
Btory ; and the moral reflections interspersed are of a deeper 
cast. Of the versification, also, we can justly pronounce, that 
it is more polished than in 'Marmion,' or ' The Lay ;' and 
though we have marked some careless lines, yet even in the 
instance of ' bold disorder,' Rokeby can furnish little room for 
animadversion. In fine, if we must compare him with him- 
Belf, we judge Mr. Scott has given us a poem in Rokeby, su- 
perior to ' Marmion,' or ' The liay,' but not equal, perhaps, to 
The Lady of the Lake.' " — British Critic. 



" It will surprise no one to hear that Mr. Morritt assured 
his friend he considered Rokeby as the best of all his poems. 
The admirable, perhaps the unique fidelity of the local de- 
h^riptio'.is, night alone have swayed, for I will not say it pet^ 
ierted the judgment of the lord of that beautiful and thence- 
tirth classical domain ; and, indeed, I must admit that I never 
jnderstood or appreciated half the charm of this poem until I 
had become familiar with its scenery. But Scott himself had 
not designed to rest his strength on these descriptions. He said 
to James Ballantyne, while the work was in progress (Sep- 
tember 2',, ' I hope the thing will do, chiefly because the world 
will not expect from me a poem of which the interest turns 
upon character ;' and in another letter (October 28, 1812), ' 1 
think you will see the same sort of difference taken in all my 
"ormer poems, of which I would say, if it is fair for me to say 
iny thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown on style — in 
Marmion on description, and in the Lady of the Lake, on in- 
(jrlent. ' I suspect some of these distinctions may have been 



matters of aftei^thought ; but as to Rokeby there can op ii< 
mistake. His own original conceptions of some of its princi 
pal characters have been explained in letters already cite^l , 
and I believe no one who compares the poem with his noveli 
will doubt that, had he undertaken their portraiture in ] rose, 
they would have come forth with effect hardly inftrior to anj 
of all the groups he ever created. As it is, I question wheth- 
er, even in his prose, there is any thing more exquisitely wrought 
out as well as fancied, than the whole contrast of the tv-o t 
vals for the love of the heroine in Rokeby ; and that oicraiw 
herself, too, has a very particular interest attached to hn 
Writing to Miss Edgeworth five years after this lime ( (>ti 
March, 1818), he says, ' I have not read one of my poems sine* 
they were printed, excepting last year the Lady of the Lake 
which I liked better than I expected, but not well enough tc 
induce me to go through the rest; so I may truly say wit) 
Macbeth^ 

' I am afraid to think of what I've done — 
Look on't again I dare not.' 

" ' This much of Matilda T recollect (for that is not so casilj 
forgotten), that she was attempted for the existing person of ! 
lady who is now no more, so that I am particularly flatterer* 
with your distinguishing it from the others, which are in jren 
eral mere shadows.' I can have no doubt that the lady he 
here alludes to was the object of his own unfortuMte fir" 
love ; and as little, that in the romantic generosity both of thf 
youthful poet who fails to win her higher favor, and of hij 
chivalrous competitor, we have before us something more thai; 
a mere shadow. 

" In spite of these graceful characters, the inimitable scenerj 
on which they are presented, and the splendid vivacity am. 
thrilling interest of several chapters in the story — such as the 
opening interview of Bertram and WyclifFe— the flight up the 
clifl'on the Greta — the first entrance of the cave at Brignall- 
the firing of Rokeby Castle— and the catastrophe in Eglisto" 
Abbey ; in spite certainly of exquisitely happy lines profuseh 
scattered throughout the whole compcsition, and of some de- 
tached images— that of the setting of the tropical sun, for ex 
ample — which were never surjjassed by any poet ; in spite o 
all these merits, the immediate success of Rokeby was greatli 
inferior to that of the Lady of the Lake ; nor has it ever since 
been so much a favorite with the public at large as any othei 
of his poetical romances. He a.scribes this failure, in his in 
troduction of 1830, partly to the radically unpoetica! cliaractej 
of the Roundheads ; but surely their character has its poetical 
side also, had his prejudices allowed him to enter upon its study 
with impartial sympathy ; .and I doubt not Mr. Morritt suggest- 
ed the difficulty on this score, when the outline of the story was 
as yet undetermined, from the consideration rather of the po- 
et's peculiar feelings, and powers as hitherto exhibited, than 
of the subject absolutely. Partly he blames the satiety of ths 
public ear, which had had so much of his rhythm, not onl) 
from himself, but from dozens of mocking birds, male and f? 
male, all more or less applauded in their day, and now a 
equally forgotten. This circumstance, too, had probably M 
slender effect ; the more that, in defiance of all the hint* o^ hi 
friends, he now, in his narrative, repeated (with more aeg"! 
gence) the uniform octo-syllabic couplets of the Lady if t\n 
Lake, instead of recurring to the more varied cadence of tl» 
Lay or Marraion. It is fair to add that, among the Londoi 
circles at least, some sarcastic flings in Mr. M jore's ' Twopennj 
Post Bag' must have had an unfavorable influence on this oc- 
casion. But the cause of failure which the poet himself placet 
last, was uni|uestionably the main one. The deeper and dark- 
er passior. of Childe Harold, the audacity of its morbid volup 
tuousness, and the melancholy majesty of the numbers in whicl 
it defied the world, had taken the general imagination by storm 
and Rokeby, with many beauties, and some sublimities, wai 
pitched, as a whole, on a key which seemed tame .n tie com 
parison."— LocKHART, IJfe f Scott, vol. iv. pp 53-53. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
v/« Barnard's towers, and Tees'" s stream, ij-c. — P. 296. 

" Barnard Castle," saith old Leland, " standeth stately 
ipoti Tees." It is founded upon a very high bank, and its 
rains impend over the river, including within the area a cir- 
tuit of fix acres and upwards. This once magnificent fortress 
lerives its name from its founder, Barnard Baliol, the ancestor 
of the short and unfortunate dynasty of that name, which suc- 
ceeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Edward I. 
and Edward III. Baliol's Tower, afterwards mentioned in 
the poem, is a round tower of great size, situated at the west- 
ern extremity of the building. It bears marks of great anti- 
ijuity, and was remarkable for the curious construction of its 
vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly injured by the 
Dperationo uf some persons, to whom the tower has been leased 
lor the purpose of making patent shot ! The prospect from 
I he top of Baliol's Tower commands a rich and magnificent 
view of the wooded valley of the Tees. 

Barnard Castle often changed masters during the middle 
ages. Upon the forfeiture of the unfortunate John Baliol, the 
rirst king of Scotland of that family, Edward I. seized this 
fortress among the other English estates of his refractory vas- 
•al. It was afterwards vested in the Beanchamps of War- 
wick, and in the Stafl^ords of Buckingham, and was also 
sometimes in the possession of the Bishops of Durham, and 
-ometimes m that of the crown. Richard III. is said to have 
imlarged and strengthened its fortifications, and to have made 
It for some time his principal residence, for the purpose of 
l)ridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in the north- 
ern counties. From the Stafiords, Barnard Castle passed, 
;)robaljly by marriage, into the possession of the powerful 
Mevilles, Earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to the last 
representative of that family, when he engaged with the Earl 
of Northumberland in the ill-concerted insurrection of the 
twelfth of (iueen Elizabeth. Upon this occasion, however, 
^'^r George Bowes of Sheatlam, who held great possessions in 
'he neighborhood, anticipated the two insurgent earls, by 
.eizing upon and garrisoning Barnard Castle, which he held 
out for ten days against all their forces, and then surrendered 
t upon honorable terms. See Sadler's State Papers, vol. ii. 
p. 33t). In a ballad, contained in Percy's Reliqnes of Ancient 
Poetry, vol. i., the siege is thus commemorated : — 

' Th»n Sir George BoT-es he straight way rose 

After thera some spoyle to make ; 
These noble erles turned back againe, 

And aye they vowed that knight to take. 

' That baron he to his castle fled ; 
To Barnard Castle then fled he ; 
The uttermost walles were eathe to won, 
The erles have won them presentlie. 

"The uttermost walles were lime and brick ; 

But though they v^on them soon anone, 
Long ere they wan t\e innermost wailes, 

For they were cut in rock and stone." 

Ily the suppression of this rebellion, and the consequent tor- 
inure of the Earl of Westmoreland Barnard Castle reverted 



to the crown, and was sold or leased out to Car, Ear! of Soin>r> 
set, the gnilty and unhappy favorite of James I. It wai 
afterwards granted to Sir Henry Vane the elder, and was there- 
fore, in all probability, occupied for the Parliament, whoa* 
interest during the Civil War was so keenly espoused by tb» 
Vanes, It is now, with the other estates of that familv th«i 
property of the Right Honorable Earl of Darlington. 



Note B. 



• no human ear. 



Unsfiarpen'd by revenge and fear. 

Could e'er distinguish horse's clank. — P. 297. 

I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the effect ft 
keen and fervent anxiety in giving acuteness to the organs o1 
sense. My gifted friend. Miss Joanna Baillie, whose drama- 
tic works display such intimate acquaintance with the opera- 
tions of human passion, has not omitted this remarkable cir- 
cnrastance : — 

" De Montfort. (Off his guard.) 'Tis Rezenvelt : I heard 
his well-known foot. 
From the first staircase mounting step by step. 

Freb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound 1 
I heard him not. , 

(Z)e Montford looks embarrassed, and is silent. 



Note C. 



The morion's plumes his visage hide, 

And the buff-coat, in ample fold. 

Mantles his form's gigantic mould. — P. U98. 

The use of complete suits of armor was fallen into disuse 
during the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaders 
of rank and importance. " In the reign of King James I.,' 
says our military antiquary, " no great alterations were made 
in the article of defensive armor, except that the bnff'-coat, 
or jerkin, which was originally worn under the cuirass, now 
became frequently a substitute for it. it having been found 
that a good buff leather would of itself resist the stroke of a 
sword ; this, however, only occasionally took place among the 
light-armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits of armoi 
being still used among the heavy horse. Baff-coats continued 
to be worn by the city trained-bands till within the memory 
of persons now living, so that defensive armor may, in soma 
measure, be said to have terminated in the same materiali 
with which it began, that is, the skins of animals, or fea- 
ther." — Grose's Military Antiquities. Lond. 1801, 4to. 
vol. ii. p. 323. 

Of the bufl^-coats, which were worn over the corslets, seve- 
ral are yet preserved ; and Captain Grose has given an engra- 
ving of one which was used in the time of Charles I. by Sli 
Francis Rhodes, Bart, of Balbrough-Hall, Derbyshire, They 
were usually lined with silk or linen, secured before by but- 
tons, or by a lace, and often richly decorated with gold » 




■'ver embroidery. From tlie following curions account of a 
iispute respecting a buff-coat between an old ronndhead cap- 
tain and a justice of the peace, by wliom his arms were seized 
titer the Restoration, we learn, that the value and importance 
Bf this defensive garment were considerable : — " A party of 
oorse came to my house, commanded by Mr. Peebles ; and he 
lold me he was come for my arms, and that I must deliver 
them. I asked him for his order. He told me he had a better 
order than Oliver used to give ; and, clapping liis hand upon 
tua eword-hilt, he said, that was his order. I told him, if he 
bac none but that, it was not sufficient to take my arms ; 
and then be pulled out his warrant, and 1 read it. It was 

igaed by Wentworth Armilage, a general warrant to search 
■11 persons they suspected, and so left the power to the soldiers 
at their pleasure. They came to us at Coalley-Hall, about 
lunselting ; and I caused a candle to be lighted, and conveyed 
Peeblea inui tne room wnere my arms were. My arms were 
near the kitchen tire ; and there they took away fowling- 
pieces, pistols, muskets, carbines, and such like, better than 
£20. Then Mr. Peebles asked me for my buff-coat ; and I 
told him they had no order to take away my apparel. He 
told me I was not to dispute their orders ; but if 1 would not 
deliver it, be would carry me away prisoner, and had me out 
of doors. Yet he let me alone unto the next morning, that I 
must wait upon Sir John, at Halifax ; and, coming before 
nim, he threatened me, and said, if I did not send the coat, 
for it was too good for me to keep. I told him it was not in 
bis power to demand my apparel ; and he, growing into a fit, 
called nie rebel and traitor, and said, if I did not send the coat 
with all speed, he would send me wliere I did not like well. 
I told him I was no rebel, and he did not well to call me so 
Kefore these soldiers and gentlemen, to make me the mark 
for every one to shoot at. I departed the room ; yet, notwith- 

■ niding all the threatenings, did not send the coat. But the 
kext day he sent Jolin Lyster, the son of Mr. Thomas Lyster, 
of Shipden Hall, for this coat, with a letter, verbatim thus : — 
* Mr. Hodson, I admire you will play the child so with me as 
you have done, in writing such an inconsiderate letter. Let 
me have the buff-ooat sent forthwith, otherwise you shall so 
hear from me as will not very well please you.' I was not at 
home when this messenger came ; but I had ordered my wife 
not to deliver it, but, if they would take it, let them look to 
[t: and he took it away ; and one of Sir John's brethren wore 
it many yeare after. They sent Captain Butt to compound 
with ray wife about it ; but I sent word I would have my own 
again ■. but he advised me to take a price for it, and make no 
more ado. I said it was hard to take my arms and apparel 
too ; I had laid out a great deal of money for them ; I hoped 
they did not mean to destroy me, by tak-mg my goods illegally 
from me. He said he would make up the matter, if I pleased, 
»etwixt ns ; and, it seems, had brought Sir John to a price 
for my coat. I would not have taken £10 for it ; he would 
nave given abon* £4 ; but, wanting my receipt for the money, 
he kept both sides, and I had never satisfaction." — Memoir » 
(,* Captain Hodgson. Edin. 1806, p. 178. 



Note D. 

Cn his dark face a scorching clime. 

And toil, had done the work of time. 

» • * * • 

Death had he seen by sudden blow. 

By wasting plague, by tortures slow. — P. 298. 

In this character, I have attempted to sketch one of those 
•Test Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the seven- 
teenth century, were popularly known by the name of Bnca- 
BJeiB The successes of the English in the predatory mcur- 
•ioM otion Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, 



had never been forgotten ; and, from tha^ period downward 
the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imitated, ujion i 
smaller scale indeed, but with equally aesperale valor, by 
small bands of pirates, gathered from a nations, but chieflj 
French and English. The engrossing ' olicy of the Spaniards 
tended greatly to increase the number of these freebooters, 
from whom their commerce and colonies suffered, in the issue. 
dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, which the Spar, 
iards did not deem worthy their own occupation, bad ! eei 
gradually settled by adventurers of the French an'i Eii^liji 
nations. But Frederic of Toledo, who was despatched ii 
1630, with a powerful fleet, against the Dutch, had orders fW>B 
the Court of Madrid to destroy these colonies, wliose vici)Hi 
at once offended the pride and excited the jealous suspicijrj 
of their Spanish neighbors. This order the Spanish Admira! 
e.xecuted with sufficient rigor; but the only consecjuence 
was, that the planters, being rendered desperate by persecu- 
tion, began, under the well-known name of Bucaniers, to com- 
mence a retaliation so horridly savage, that the perusal makes 
the reader shudder. When trliey carried on their dejiredations 
at sea, they boarded, without respect to disparity of number, 
every Spanish vessel that came in their way ; and, demeaning 
themselves, both in the battle and after the conquest, more 
like demons than human beings, they succeeded in imi)ress- 
ing their enemies with a sort of suijeretitious terror, which 
rendered them incapable of offering effectual resistance. From 
piracy at sea. they advanced to making predatory descenti 
on the Spanish territories ; in which they displayed the sam* 
furious and irresistible valor, the same thirst of spoil, ai 
the same brutal inhumanity to their captives. The larg» 
treasures which they acquired in their adventures, they diss) 
pated by the most unbounded licentiousness in gaming, wo 
men, wine, and debauchery of every species. When the! 
spoils were thus wasted, they entered into some new associa 
tion, and undertook new adventures. For farther particular 
concerning these extraordinary banditti, the reader may consult 
Raynal, or the common and popular book called the Hist* 
of the Bucaniers. 



Note E. 



On Marston heath 



Met, front to front, the ranks of death. — P. 299. 

The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marstoc Moor 
which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of Charles 
commenced under very different auspices. Prince Rupen 
had marched with an army of 20,000 men for the relief o' 
York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairiax, at the head ol 
the Parliamentary army, and the Earl of Leven. "vith the 
Scottish auxiliary forces. In this he so completely succeeded 
that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to Marston Moor 
a large open plain, about eight miles distant from the city 
Thither they were followed by the Prince, who had now 
united to his army the garrison of York, probably not less thai 
ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquis (i\itx 
Earl) of Newcastle. Whitelocke has recorded, with mucii 
impartiality, the following particulars of this eventful day :- 
" The right wing of the Parliament was commanded by Sh 
Thomas Fairfax, and consiste<l of all his horse, and three 
regiments of the Scots horse ; the left wing was commanded 
by the Earl of Manchester and Colonel Cromwell. One bodj 
of their foot was commanded by Lord Fairfax, and consisted 
of his foot, and two brigades of the Scots foot for reserve ; am 
the main body of the rest of the foot was commanded hf 
General Leven. 

" The right wing of the Prince's army was commanded bj 
the Earl of Newcastle : the left wing by the Prince himself 
and the main body by General Goring, Sir Cliarles I.nca's ant 



t58 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Majoi^Geaer.\l Porter. Tliua were colh sides drawn up into 
oatialia. 

*' July Jd, 1644. In this posture both armies faced each 
jther, and aliout seven o'clock in tlie morning the fight began 
Between them. The Prince, with his left wing, fell on the Par- 
liament's right wing, routed them, and pursued them a great 
A-a" ; the like did General Goring, Lucas, and Porter, upon 
Jie Parliament's main body. The three generals, giving all for 
03t, Iristed out of the field, and ir'any of their soldiers fled, and 
Jirew d')wn their arms ; the King's forces too eagerly follow- 
ny Jieic, the victory, now almost achieved by them, was again 
.'atfihef^ out oT theii hands. For Colonel Cromwell, with the 
>rave re^meiit of his countrymen, and Sir Thomas Fairfax, 
uavinj.' rallied some of his horse, fell upon the Prince's right 
wing, where the Earl of Newcastle was, and routed them ; 
»nd th« rest of their companions rallymg, they fell altogether 
upon the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and totally dis- 
persed them, and obtained a complete victory, after three hours' 
fight. 

" From Ibis battle and the pursuit, some reckon were buried 
7000 Englis'imen ; all agree that above 3000 of the Prince's 
men were slain in the battle, besides those in the cha.se, and 
3000 prisoners taken, many of their chief officers, twenty-five 
pieces of ordnance, forty-seven colors, 10,000 arms, two wag- 
ons of carabins and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and all their 
bag and baggage." — Whitelockk's Memoirs, fol. p. 89. 
Lond. 1682. 

Lord Clarendon informs us, that the King, previous to re- 
eeivmg the true account of the battle, bad been informed, by 
in express from Oxford, " that Prince Rupert had not only re- 
ieved York, but totally defeated the Scots, with many partic- 
ilars to confirm it, all which was so much believed there that 
they made public fires of joy for the victory." 



Note F. 



Monckton and Mitton told the news, 

How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, 

Jind mamj a bunny Scot, aghast. 

Spurring his palfrey northward, past. 

Cursing the day when zeal or meed 

First lured their I^e.iley o'er the Tweed. — P. 302. 

ftlonckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, and 
ot very distant from the field of battle. The particulars of 
.ne action were violently disputed at the time ; but the follow- 
ing extract, from the Manuscript History of the Baronial House 
of Sonierville. is decisive as to the fligiit of the Scottish gen- 
eral, the Earl of Leven. The particulars are given by the au- 
•hor of the history on the authority of his father, then the rep- 
resentative of the family. This curious manuscript has been 
published by con.sent of my noble friend, the present Lord Som- 
erviUe. 

"The order of this great battell, wherin both armies was 
o.er of ane efji'-all number, consisting, to the best calculatione, 
MCT to three score thousand men upon both sydes, I shall not 
Ujie aj)on me to discryve ; albeit, from the draughts then taken 
■iI>oi. the place, and information I reccaved from this gentle- 
Man, who being then a volunteer, as having no command, had 
opportunitie and libertie to ryde from the one wing of the armie 
to the other, to view all ther several squadrons of horse and 
battallions cf foot, how formed, and in what manner drawn 
"ip, with every other circumstance relating to the fight, and 
that both as to the King's armies and that of the Parliament's, 
smongsl whom, untill the engadgment, lie went from statione 
to staii'-ne to ob.serve ther order and forme ; but that the de- 
teriptione of this battell, with the various success on both sides 
it the lipginning, with the losi of the royal armie, and the sad 
tfiects ihat followed th.at misfortune as to his Majestie's inte^ 
"1. n:~ Seen so often done already by English authors, little to 



our coramendatione, how justly I shall not dispute, seing tht 
truth is, as our principall general; fled that night neer fourtig 
raylles from the place of the fight, that part of the armie wher« 
he comnfcnded being totallie routed ; but it is as true, that much 
of the victorie is attributed to the good conduct of David Les- 
selie, lievetennent-generall of our horse. Cromwell himself, 
that minione of fortune, but the rod of God's wrath, to punish 
eftirward three rebellious nations, disdained not to take Orders 
from him, albeit then in the same qualitie of command for the 
Parliament, as being lievetennent-general to the Earl of Man- 
chester's horse, whom, with the assistance of the Scots horse, 
haveing routed the Prince's right wing, as he had done thdt o' 
the Parliament's. These two commanders of the horse upon 
that wing wi.sely restrained tlie great bodies of their horse from 
persuing these brocken troups, but, wlieelling to the lelt-hand, 
falls in upon the naked flanks of the Prince's main battallion of 
foot, carying them doune with great violence ; nether metl 
they with any great resistance untill they came to the Marquei 
of Newcastle his battallione of White Coats, who, first pepper- 
ing them soundly with ther shott, when they came to charge, 
stoutly bore them up with their picks that they could not entel 
to break them. Here the Parliament's horse of that wing re- 
ceaved ther greatest losse, and a stop for sometyme putt to thel 
hoped-for victorie ; and that only by the stout resistance of *hii 
gallant battallione, which consisted neer of four thousand foot, 
until at length a Scots regiment of dragouns, commanded Ijj 
Collonell Frizeall, with other two, was brought to open then 
upon some hand, which at length they did, when all the am- 
munitione was spent. Having refused quarters, every man fell 
in the same order and ranke wherein he had foughten. 

" Be this execution was done, the Prince returned from thd 
persuite of the right wing of the Parliament's horse, which he 
had beatten and followed too farre, to the losse of the battell, 
which certanely, in all men's opinions, he might have caryed 
if he had not been too violent upon the pursnite ; which gave 
his enemies upon the left-hand opportunitie to disperse and cat 
doune his infantrie, who, haveing cleared the field of all the 
standing bodies of foot, wer now, with mar.y 
of their oune, standing ready to receave the charge of his all- 
most spent horses, if he should attempt it ; which the Prince 
observeing, and seeing all lost, he retreated to Yorke with two 
thousand horse. Notwithstanding of this, ther was that night 
such a consternatione in the Parliament armies that it's be- 
lieved by most of those that wer there present, that il the Prince, 
haveing so great a body of horse inteire, had made ane onfall 
that night, or the ensueing morning be-tyme, he had carryed 
the victorie out of ther hands ; for it's certane, by the morn- 
ing's light, he had rallyed a body often thousand men, wherof 
ther was neer three thousand gallant horse. These, with the 
assistance of the toune and garri.-ouiie of Yorke, might have 
done much to have recovered the victory, for the loss of thit 
battell in efl^ect lost the King and his interest in the three king- 
domes ; his Majestie never being able eftir this to make head 
in the north, but lost his garrisons every day. 

"As for General! Lesselie. in the beginning of this 1 pht 
haveing that part of the aimy quite brocken, whare ht had 
placed himself, by the valour of the Prince, he imagined, aitd 
wa.s confermed by the opinione of others then upon the i>la(y 
with him, that the bat»ell was irrecoverably lost, seeing ifcjj 
wer fleeing upon all nands ; theirfore they humh'ie intt. aiei 
his excellence to reteir and wait his bettor fortune wbich, 
without farder advyseing, he diii ; and never drew bridle untill 
he came the lentil of Leads, having ridden all that ni"ht with 
a cloak of drop de berrie about him, belonging to this gentle 
man of whom I write, then in his retinue, with many othei 
officers of good qualitie. It was neer twelve the next day be- 
for they had the eertanety who was master of the field, when 
at length ther arryves ane expresse, sent by David Iiesselie, to 
acquaint the General they had obtained a most glorious vic- 
tory, and that the Prince, with his brocken troupes, was fled 
from Yorke. This intelligence was somewhat amazeing t« 
these gentlemen that bad been pve-witnesses to the disorder a 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



35» 



khe armi" ^iOk'' t«tT roteurin^, snd h»d then accompanyed 
tho G«r>ier&! in aii ^i^ht ; wliO, beiik^ h^ach wearyed tliat eve- 
tias ••* t-"^ lwtl»41 -»i.h viTdcriri^ of his ^rtnie, and now qnite 
•Dent wi*h his l->nf jkUi^ey in the eight, hud casten himselfe 
lionne noon a ued tu ivst, when this gentlemtn comeing quy- 
•tly into nis cl'ambe", hei-w»,ke, ar.l hastilv oryesont, " Lieve- 
tenDent-coIlonel', what n-'w;'?' — 'AH is safe, may it please 
fonr EiBellan.ie r the Pai'iacieiit's armie hes obtained a great 
rctffry ,' and (hen delyjetv l>je letter. The Generall, upon 
Ue h(>a:iDg of this, kcoeted u,x)n his breast, and sayes, ' I 
voiiV' ; Gcd I had died upon the place !' and ihen opens the 
'etlei, vhich, i"i a few lines, gave aoe account of the victory, 
ond i» the cljse pressed his speedy returne to the armie, which 
he diu the next day, being accompanv&l some mylles back by 
this gentleman, who then takes his leave of him, and receaved 
at parting many expressions of kyndenesFe, with promises that 
he would never be unmyndful of his care and respect towards 
him ; and in the end he intreats him to present his service to 
all his friends and acquaintances in Scotland. Thereftir the 
Generall sets forward in his journey for the armie, as this gen- 
tleman did for , in order to his 
transportatione for Scotland, where he arryved sex dayes eftir 
the fight of Mestoune Muir, and gave the first true account and 
lescriplione of that great battell, wherein the Covenanters then 
jloryed soe much, that they impiously boasted the Lord had 
•ow signally appeared for his cause and people ; it being ordi- 
-ary for them, dureing the whole time of this warre, to attrib- 
ite the greatness of their success to the goodnes and justice 
>f ther cause, untill Divine Justice trysted them with some 
».rosse dispensatione, and then you might have heard this lan- 
guage from them, ' That it pleases the Lord to give his oune 
the heavyest end of the tree to bear, that the saints and the 
people of God must still be suiierers while they are here away, 
that the malignant party was God's rod to punish them for 
her unthankfulnesse, which in the end he will cast into the 
fire;' with a thousand other expressions and scripture cita- 
tions, prophanely and blasphemously uttered by them, to palli- 
ate ther villainie and rebellion." — Memoires of the Somer- 
iUles. Edin. 1815. 



Note G. 



fyith his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say, 
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day. — P. 



302. 



Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a principal 
(hare in turning the fate of the day at Matston Moor; which 
was equally matte*- of triumph to the Independents, and of 
grief and heart-burning to the Presbyterians and to the Scot- 
tish. Principal Baillie expresses his dissatisfaction as fol- 
lows : — 

' The Independents sent np one quickly to assure that all 
Ihe gl'Ty of that night was theirs ; and they and their Major- 
General Cromwell had done it all there alone ; but Captain 
Btaart afterward showed the vanity and falsehood of their 
Jisgraceful relation. God gave us that victory wonderfully. 
There were three generals on each side, Lesley, Fairfax, and 
Manchester ; Rupert, Newcastle, and King. Within half an 
nour and less, all six took them to their heels ; — this to you 
alone. The disadvantage of the ground, and violence of the 
flower of Prince Rupert's horse, carried all our right wing 
down ; only Eglinton kept ground, to his great loss ; his lieu- 
tenant-crow ner, \ brave man, I fear shall die, and his son Rob- 
»rt be mutilated of an arm. Lindsay had the greatest hazard 
»f any ; but the beginning of the victory was from David Les- 
ly, who before was much suspected of evil designs ; he, with 
Ihe Scots and Cromwell's horse, having the advantage of the 
pound, did dissipate all before them." — Baillib's Letters 
tMd Journals. Edin. 785, 8vo. ii. 36. 



Note H. 

Do not my native dales prolong 

Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 

Train'd forward to his bloody fM, 

By Oirsonfield, that treacherous Hall ?- P. 308. 

In a poem, entitled " The Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel,' 
Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many others pecuhar to th« 
valley of the Reed, is commemorated : — " The partculan oil 
the traditional story of i'arcy Reed of Trougheii* and bA« 
Halls of Gii-sonfield, the author had from . ^es ondant o\ ibt 
family of Reed. From his account, it appears that Peroi»jl 
Reed, Esquire, a keeper of Reedsdale, was betrayed by th« 
Halls (hence denominated the false-hearted Ha's) to a band ol 
moss-troopers of the name of Crosier, who slew him at Bating- 
hope, near the source of the Reed. 

" The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Reed, held in 
such universal abhorrence and contempt by the inhabitants of 
Reedsdale, for their cowardly and treacherous behavior, that 
they were obliged to leave the country." In another passage, 
we are informed that the ghost of the injured Borderer is 
supposed to haunt the banks of a brook called the Pringle. 
These Redes of Troughend were a very ancient family, as may 
be conjectured from their deriving their surname from the 
river on which they had their mansion. An epitaph on one 
of their tombs affirms, that tiie family held their lands of 
Tronghend, which are situated on the Reed, nearly opposite to 
Otterburn, for the incredible space of nine hundred yean 



Note L 



And near the spot that gave me nam*, 
The moated mound of Risingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet JVoodburne' s cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone. — P. 302. 

Rismgham, upon the river Reed, near the beautiful hamlet 
of Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called 
Habitancum. Camden says, that in his time the popular ao- 
count bore, that it had been the abode of a deity, or giant, 
called Magon ; and appeals, in support of this tradition, as 
well as to the etymology of Risingham, or Reisenham, which 
signifies, in German, the habitation of the giants, to two Ro- 
man altars taken out of the river, inscribed, Deo Mooonti 
Cadenorum. About half a mile distant from Risingham, 
upon an eminence covered with scattered birch-trees and frag 
ments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, in alto relievo, 
a remarkable figure, called Robin of Ris iigham, or Robin of 
Reedsdale. It presents a hunter, with I is low raised in one 
hand, and in the other what seems to b' a hare. There is a 
quiver at the back of the figure, and h^ is dressed in a long 
coat, or kirtle, coming down to the knee> and meeting close, 
with a girdle bound round him. Dr. H.jrseley, who saw a\ 
monuments of antiquity with Roman eyes, inclines «o tlf'ni 
this figiire a Roman archer: and certainly '.he bow is raOiel 
of the ancient size tlian of that which was so formidabjo t» 
the hands of the English archers of the middle ages. Bu' th« 
rudeness of the whole figure prevents our founding strongly 
upon mere inaccuracy of proportion. The popular tradition 
is, that it represents a giant, whose brother tesided at Wood- 
burn, and he himself at Risingham. It adds, that they sul*- 
sisted by hunting, and that one of them, finding the game be- 
come too scarce to support them, poisoned his companion, in 
whose memory the monument was engraved. What string* 
and tragic circumstance may be concealed under this legend, 
or whether it is utterly apocryphal, it is now impossible te 
discover. 

The name of Robin of Redesdale was given to one of th 
t 'ofravilles. Lords of Prudhoe and afterwards to one Billiard 



/ 



• friend and follower of the king-making Earl of Warwick. 
This person commanded an army of Northamptonshire and 
korlbern men, who seized on and beheaded the Earl Rivers, 
father to E ward the Fourth's queen, and his son, Sir John 
Woo^iviUe —See Holinshbd, ad annum, 1469. 



Note K 

■ Do thou revere 



The statutes of the Bucanier. — P. 302. 

" »tatntes of the Bncaniers" were, in reality, more eqni- 

than could have been expected from the state of society 

which they had been formed. They chiefly related, as 

mar readily be conjectured, to the distribution and the inherit- 

»nce of their plunder. 

When the expedition was completed, the fund of prize-mon- 
ey acquired was thrown together, each party taking his oath 
that he had retained or concealed no part of the common stock. 
If any one transgressed in this important particular, the pun- 
ishment was, his being set ashore on some desert key or island, 
to shift foi himself as he could. The owners of the vessel had 
then their share assigned for the expenses of the outfit. These 
were generally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St. Do- 
mingo, or some other French or English settlement. The sur- 
geon's and carpenter's salaries, with the price of provisions 
and ammunition, were also defrayed. Then followed the 
compensation due to the maimed and wounded, rated accord- 
ing to the damage they had sustained ; as six hundred pieces 
of eight, or six slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in 
proportion. 

" After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of 
the booty was divided into as many shares as there were Buca- 
niers. The commander could only lay claim to a single share, 
as the rest ; but they complimented him with two or three, in 
proportion as he had acquitted himself to their satisfaction. 
When the vessel was not the property of the whole company, 
the person who had fitted it out, and furnished it with necessary 
arms and ammunition, was entitled to a third of all the prizes. 
Favor had never any influence in the division of the booty, for 
every share was determined by lot. Instances of such rigid 
justice as this are not easily met with, and they extended even 
to the dead. Their share was given to the man who was 
known to be their companion when alive, and therefore their 
heir. If the person who had been killed had no intimate, his 
part was sent to his relations, when they were known. If there 
were no friends nor relations, it was distributed in charity to 
the poor and to churches, which were to pray for the person in 
whose name these b nefactions were given, the fruits of inhu- 
man, but necessary ■ iratical plunders." — Ratnal's fi^j'stor^ 
if European Settle? tents in the East and West Indies, by 
lustamond. Lond. 1776, 8vo. iii. p. 41. 



Note L. 



The course of Tees.— P. 306. 

/he view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and mag- 
nificent valley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to the river, 
the banks are very thickly wooded ; at a little distance they 
are more open and cultivated ; but, being interspersed with 
hedge-rows and with isolated trees of great size and age, they 
itill retain the richness of woodland scenery. The river itself 
flows in a deep trench of solid rock, chiefly limestone and 
marble. The finest view of its romantic course is from a 
jandsome modern-built bridge over the Tees, by the late Mr. 
Morritt of Rokeby. In Leland's time, the marble quarries 
leem to have been of some value. " Hard under the cliff" by 
Bgliston, is f-mna on eche side of Tese very fair marble, wont 
a be taken uo booU^ by auuiLa\er3 of Barnardes Castelle and 



of Egliston, and partly to have been wrought by them, ano 
partly sold onwrought to others." — Itinerary. Oxford, 17ft 
8vo, p. 88 



Note M. 



Egliston' s s^ay ruins. — P. 307. 

The ruins of this abbey, or priory (for Tanner calls it tb>. 
former, and Leland the latter), are beautifully siluated upor. 
the angle, formed by a little dell called Thorsgrtl, at its junc- 
tion with the Tees. A good part of the religioui house is still 
in some degree habitable, but the church is in ruins. Egliston 
was dedicated to St. Mary and St. John the Baptist, and ii 
supposed to have been founded by Ralph de Multon about the 
end of Henry the Second's reign. There were formerly the 
tombs of the families of Rokeby, Bowes, and Fitz-Hugh. 



Note N. 



the mound. 



Raised by that Legion long renowned, ■ 
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame. — P. 307. 

Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, there is a weh 
preserved Roman encampment, surrounded with a triple ditch, 
lying between the river Greta^ and a brook called the Tutta 
The four entrances are easily to be discerned. Very many Ro- 
man altars and monuments have been found in the vicinity. 
most of which are preserved at Rokeby by my friend Mr. Mor 
ritt. Among others is a small votive altar, with the inscrip 
tion, LKG. VI. VIC. P. F. F., which has been rendered, Legio 
Sexta. Victriz. Pia. Fortis. Fidelis. 



Note O. 

Rokeby's turrets high. — P. 307. 

This ancient manor long gave name to a family by whom n 
is said to k^ve been possessed from the Conquest downward 
and who are at difi'erent times distinguished in history. It was 
the Baron of Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrection ol 
the Earl of Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV., of which 
Holinshed gives the following account: — "The King, adver 
tised hereof, Caused a great armie to be assembled, and came 
forward with the same towards his enemies ; but yer the King 
came to Nottingham, Sir Thomas, or (as other copies haue) 
Sir Rafe Rokesbie, Shiriffe of Yorkeshire. assembled the forces 
of the countrie to resist the Earle and his power ; coming to 
Grimbautbrigs, beside Knaresborough, thei-e to stop them the 
passage ; but they returning aside, got to Weatherbie, and so 
to Tadcaster, and finally came forward unto Bramham-moor, 
near to Haizlewood, where they chose their ground meet tc 
fight upon. The Shirift'e was as readie to giue 1 atiell as th< 
Erie to receiue it ; and so with a standard of S. Geor-;e spread 
set fiercelie vpon the Earle, who, vnder a standard of his own* 
armes, encountered his aduersaries with great manhood. Then 
was a sore incounter and cruell conflict betwixt the jiarties, b» 
in the end the victorie fell to thi Shiriffe. The Lord Bai.loHt 
was taken, but sore wounded, so that he shortlie after died ol 
the hurts. As for the Earle of Northumberland, he waif slain 
outright ; so that now the prophecy was fulfilled, whi^i gan* 
an inkling of this his heauy hap long before, namelie, 

' Stirps Persitina periet confusa rnina,' 

For this Earle was the stocke and maine roote of all that wer« 
left aliue, called by the name of Persie ; and of manie more b» 
diners slaughters dispatched. For whose misfortune the pM 

\ 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



3»i 



*Ie were not a little sorrie, making report of the gentleman'B 
valiantnesse, renowne, and honour, and applieing vnto him 
(flrteiue lamentable verses out of Lucaine, saieng, 

< Sed nos nee sanguis, nee tantum vnlnera nostri 
Aifecere senis : quantnm gestata per urbem 
Ora dncis, qnse transfixo deformia pile 
/idimaa.' 

Fw hia head, fnll of silner horie haires, being put upon a stake, 
Waa cipenlie carried through London, and set vpon the bridge 
•ftfae same citie : in like manner was the Lord Bardolfes." — 
Holinshed's Chronicles. Lond. 1808, 4to, iii. 45. The 
Rokeby, or Rokesby family, continued to be distingnished un- 
til the great Civil War, when, having embraced the cause of 
Charles L, they suffered severely by fines and confiscations. 
The estate then passed from its ancient possessors to the family 
pf the Robinsons, from whom it was purchased by the father 
of my valued friend, the present proprietor. 



Note P. 



./? stern and lone, yet lovely road, 

As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode. — P. 308. 

What follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, or 
rather ravine, through which the Greta finds a passage between 
Eokeby and Mortham ; the former situated upon the left bank 
cf Greta, the latter on the right bank, about half a mile nearer 
U) its junction with the Tees. The river runs with very great 
rapidity over a bed of solid rock, broken by many shelving de- 
scents, down which the stream dashes with great noise and 
impetuosity, vindicating its etymology, which has been derived 
from the Gothic, Oridan, to clamor. The banks partake of 
the same wild and romantic character, being chiefly lofty cliffs 
of limestone rock, whose gray color contrasts admirably with 
the various trees and shrubs which find root among their crev- 
ices, as well as with the hue of the ivy, which clings around 
them in profusion, and hangs down from their projections in 
long sweeping tendrils. At other points the rocks give place to 
precipitous banks of earth, bearing large trees intermixed with 
copsewood. In one spot the dell, which is elsewhere very 
narrow, widens for a space to leave room for a dark grove of 
yew-trees, intermixed here and there witlj aged pines of un- 
common size. Directly opposite to this sombre thicket, the 
cliffs on the other side of the Greta are tall, white, and fringed 
with all kinds of deciduous shrubs. The whole scenery of this 
spot is so much adapted to the ideas of superstition, that it has 
acquired the name of Blockula, from the place where the 
Swedish witches were supposed to hold their Sabbath. The 
dell, however, has superstitions of its own growth, for it is 
supposed to be haunted by a female spectre, called the Dobie 
of Mortham. The cause assigned for her appearance is a la- 
dy's having been whilom murdered in the wood, in evidence 
af n hich, her blood is shown upon the stairs of the old tower 
»l Mortham. But whether she was slain by a jealous husband, 
or by savage banditti, or by an uncle who coveted her estate, 
M by a rejected lover, are points upon which the traditions of 
Rokeby do not enable us to decide. 



Note Q. 

stow whistle rash bids tempests roar. — P. 309. 

That this is a general superstition, is well known to all who 
have been on ship-board, or who have conversed with sea- 
men. The most formidable whistler that I remember to have 
mot with was the apparition of a certain Mrs. Leakey, who, 
tbont 1636, resided, we are told, at Mynehead, in Somerset, 

•here bet only son drove a considerable trade between that 
46 



port and Waterford, and was owner of several vessels. Ths 
old gentlewoman was of a social disposition, and so acceptabU 
to her friends, that they used to say to her and to each other, 
it were pity such an excellent good-natured old lady should 
die ; to which she was wont to reply, that wl.aiever p.easnri 
they might find in her company just now, they would not 
greatly like to see or converse with her after death, which nev- 
ertheless she was apt to think might happen. Accordingly, 
after her death and funeral, she began to appear to various 
persons by night and by noonday, in her own house, in the 
town and fields, at sea and upon shore. So far had she de> 
parted from her former urbanity, that she is recorded to have 
kicked a doctor of medicine for his impolite negligence, in 
omitting to hand her over a stile. It was also her humor to 
appear upon the quay, and call for a boat. But especially so 
soon as any of her son's ships approached the harbor, " this 
ghcst would appear in the same garb and likeness as when she 
was alive, and, standing at the mainmast, would blow with a 
whistle, and though it were never so great a calm, yet immediate 
ly there would arise a most dreadful storm, that would breeik 
wreck, and drown ship and goods." When she had thus pro- 
ceeded until her son had neither credit to freight a vessel, noi 
could have procured men to sail in it, she began to attack the 
persons of nis family, and actually strangled their only child in 
the cradle. The rest of her story, showing how the spectre 
looked over the shoulder of her daughteHn-law while dressing 
her hair at a looking-glass, and how Mrs. Leakey the youngei 
took courage to address her, and how the beldam dispatched 
her to ^n Irish prelate, famous for his crimes and misfortunes, 
to exhort him to repentance, and to apprize him that otherwise 
he would be hanged, and how the bishop was satisfied with 
replying, that if he was born to be hanged, he should not be 
drowned ; — aU these, with many more particulars, may be 
found at the end of one of John Dunton's publications, called 
Athenianism, London, 1710, where the tale is engrossed uadaf 
the title of The Apparition Evidence. 



Note R. 



Of Erich's cap and Elmo's light.— P. 309. 

" This Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held secoiM 
to none in the magical art ; and he was so familiar with tlia 
evil spirits, which he exceedingly adored, that which way 
soever he turned his cap, the wind would presently blow that 
way. From this occasion he was called Windy Cap ; and 
many men believed that Regnerus, King of Denmark, by th« 
conduct of this Ericus, who was his nephew, did happily 
extend his piracy into the most remote parts of the earth, and 
conquered many countries and fenced cities by his cunning, 
and at last was his coadjutor; that by the consent of tlin 
nobles, he should be chosen King of Sweden, which continner' 
a long time with him very happily, until he died of old age 
— Olacs, ut supra, p. 45. 



Note S. 



The Demon Frigate.— V. 309- 

This is an allusion to a well-known nautical snperstitio» 
concerning a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Fiyinj 
Dutchman, and supposed to be seen about the latitude of the 
Cape of Good Hope. She is distinguished from earthly vesseli 
by bearing a press of sail when all others are unable, from 
stress of weather, to show an inch of canvas. The cause oi 
her wandering is not altogether certain ; but the general ac- 
count is, that she was originally a vessel loaded with great 
wealth, on board of which some horrid act of murder and 
piracy had been committed ; that the plague broke out among 
be wicked crew who had perpetrated the ^rime, and that thoy 



S62 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



lailed it vain Irwn port to port, ofTering, as the price of shelter, 
the whole of their ill-gotten wealth ; that they were excluded 
from every harbor, for fear of the contagion which was devour- 
ing them ; and that, as a punisl^ient of their crimes, the appa- 
rition of the ship still continues to haunt those seas in which 
llie catastrophe took place, and is considered by the mariners 
M the worst of all possible omens. 

My late lamented friend. Dr. John Leyden, has introduced 
litis phenomenon into his Scenes of Infancy, imputing, with 
^>elical ingenuity, the dreadful judgment to the first ship 
''hich commenced the slave trade : — 

Stout was the ship, from Benin's palmy shore 
That first the weight of barter'd captives bore ; 
Bedimm'd with blood, the sun with shrinking beams 
Beheld her bounding o'er the ocean streams ; 
But, ere the moon her silver horns had rear'd, 
Amid the crew the speckled plague appear'd. 
Faint and despairing, on their watery bier, 
To every friendly shore the sailors steer ; 
Repell'd from port to port, they sue in vain. 
And track with slow, unsteady sail the main. 
Where ne'er the bright and buoyant wave is seen 
To streak with wandering foam the sea-weeds green, 
Towers the tall mast, a lone and leafless tree, 
Till self-impell'd amid the waveless sea " 
Where summer breezes ne'er were heara to sing. 
Nor hovering snow-birds spread the downy wing, 
Fi.x'd as a rock amid the boundless plain. 
The yellow stream pollutes the stagnant main, 
Till far through night the funeral flames aspire, 
As the red lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

" Still doom'd by fate on weltering billows roU'd, 
Along the deep their restless course to hold, 
Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
The prow with sails opposed to wind and tide ; 
The Spectre Ship, in livid glimpsing light, 
Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
Unblest of God and man ! — Till time shall end. 
Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend." 



Note T. 



-By some desert isle or key. — P. 309. 



What contributed much to the security of the Bncaniers 
bout the Windward Islands, was the great number of little 
.slets. called in that country keys. These are »»nall sandy 
patches, appearing just above the surface of the ocean, covered 
only with a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes affording 
springs of water, and, in general, much frequented by turtle. 
Such little uninhabited spots afforded the pirates good harbors, 
either for refitting or for the purpose of ambush ; they were 
wcasionally the hiding-i)lace of their treasure, and often af- 
forded a shelter to themselves. As many of the atrocities 
which they practised on their prisoners were committed iu 
euch spots, there are some of these keys which even now have 
an indifferent reputation amon;,' seamen, and where they are 
with ditficulty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, on ac- 
count of the visionary terrors incident to places which have 
fteen thus contaminated. 



Note U. 

Before the gate of Mortham stood.— V. 310. 

The castle of Mortham, which Leland terms " Mr. Rokes- 
»y's Place, in ripn citer, scant a quarter of a mile from Greta 
Bridge, and not a quarter of a mile beneath into Tees," is a 
"icturesque tower, surronnded bv juildings of different ages. 



now converted into a farm-house and offices. The battlement! 
of the tower itself are singulariy elegant, the architect having 
broken them at regular intervals into different heights ; while 
those at the corners of the tower project into octangular tur- 
rets. They are also from space to space covered with stonei 
laid across them, as in modern embrasures, the whole forming 
an uncommon and beautiful effect. The surrounding build 
ings are of a less happy form, being pointed into high and steep 
roofs. A wall, with embrasures, encloses the southern fiont, 
where a low portal eirch affords an entry to what was the cas- 
tle-court. At some distance is most happily placed, between 
the stems of two magnificent elms, the monument alluded tc 
in the text. It is said to have been brought from the ruins ol 
Egliston Priory, and, from the armory with which it is richlj 
carved, appears to have been a tomb of the Fitz-Hughs. 

The situation of Mortham is eminently beautiful, occupying 
a high bank, at the bottom of which the Greta winds out oJ 
the dark, narrow, and romantic dell, which the text has at- 
tempted to describe, and flows onward through a more open 
valley to meet the Tees about a quarter of a mile from the 
castle. Mortham is surrounded by old trees, happily aad 
widely grouped with Mr. Morritt's new plantations. 



Note V. 



There dig; and tomb your precious heap, 
And bid the dead your treasure keep. — P. 311. 

If time did not permit the Bucaniers to lavish away thei» 
plunder in their usual debaucherie* they were wont to hide 
it, with many superstitious solemnities, in the desert island! 
and keys which they frequented, and where much treasure, 
whose lawless owners perished without reclaiming it, is still 
supposed to be concealed. The most cruel of mankind are 
often the most superstitious ; and these pir-" es are said to 
have had recourse to a horrid ritual, in ordei to secure an 
unearthly guardian to their treasures. Tliey Killed a negro 
or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, believing thai 
his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify away all intruders. 
I cannot produce any other authority on which this custom ii 
ascribed to them than that of maritime tradition, which ia, 
however, amply sufficient for the purpose" of poetry. 



Note W. 



The power 



That unsubdued and lurking lies 
To take the felon by surprise, 
And force him, as by magic spell. 
In his despite his guilt to tell. — P. 311. 

All who jre conversant with the administration of crimina 
justice, must remember many occasions in which malefactoft 
appear to have conducted themselves with a species of n 
fatuation, either by making unnecessary confidences respecting 
their guilt, or by sudden and involuntary allusions U. circam- 
stances by which it could not fail to be exposed. A cemarkn- 
ble instance occurred in the celebrated case of Eugere Aram 
A skeleton being fo;'nd near Knaresborongh, was supposed 
by the persons who gathered around the spot, to be the re 
mains of one Clarke who had disappeared some years before 
under circumstances leading to a suspicion of his having beer 
murdered. One Houseman, who had mingled in the crowd, 
suddenly said, while looking at the skeleton, and hearing fh« 
opinion which was buzzed around, "That is no more Dan 
Clarke's bone than it is mine !" — a sentiment expressed se 
positively, and with such peculiarity of manner, as to lead all 
who heard him to infer that he must necessarily know whert 
the real body had been iniefTed. Accordingly beinf appn 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



36? 



kended, he confessed having assisted Eugene Aram to murder 
Clarliei and to hide his body in Saint Robert's Cave. It hap- 
pened te 'he antKor himself, while conversing with a person 
accused of an atrocious crime, for the purpose of rendering 
him professional assistance upon his trial, to liear the prisoner, 
after the most solemn and reiterated protestations that he was 
gjiit Bss, suddenly, and, as it were, involuntarily, in the course 
•i' i 1 communications, make such an admission as was alto- 
{etbei incompatible with innocence. 



Note X. 



Brackenbury' s dismal tower. — P. 314. 

This tower has been already mentioned, ft is situated near 
the northeastern extremity of the wall which encloses Bar- 
nard Cdstle, and is traditionally said to have been the prison. 
By an odd coincidence, it bears a name which we naturally 
connect with imijrisonment, from its being that of Sir Robert 
Brackenbury, lieutenant of the Tower of London under Ed- 
ward IV. and Richard III. There is, indeed, some reason to 
conclude, th.it the tower may actually have derived the name 
from that family, for Sir Robert Brackenbury himself possessed 
considerable property not far from Barnard Castle. 



Note Y. 



JVobles and knights, so proud of late, 
Must Jine for freedom and estate. 

Might heavy shall his ransom be, 

Unless that maid compound with thee I — P. 314. 

After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle 
retired beyond sea in disgust, and many of his followers laid 
down their arms, and made the best composition they could 
with the Committees of Parliament. Fines were imposed 
upon them in proportion to their estates and degrees of delin- 
quency, and these fines were often bestowed upon such per- 
sons as had deserved well of the Commons. In some circum- 
itances it happened, that the oppressed cavaliers were fain to 
fbrm family alliances with some powerful person among the 
tr-imphant party. The whole of Sir Robert Howard's excel- 
(enl come '" if The Committee turns upon the plot of Mr. and 
Mrs. Day to enrich their family, by compelling Arabella, 
whose estate was under sequestration, to marry their son 
Abel, as the fiice by which she was to compound with Par- 
iameiii for delinquency ; that is, for attachment to the royal 
cause. 



Note Z. 



The Indian, prowling for his prey. 

Who hears the settlers track his way. — P. 315. 

The patience, aostinence, and ingenuity, exerted by the 
Korth American Indians, when in pursuit of plunder or ven- 
jednce, is the most distinguished feature in their character ; 
and ,he activity and address which they display in their re- 
treat is equally surprising. Adair, whose absurd hypothesis 
•nd turgid style do not affect the general authenticity of his 
anecdotew, has recorded an instance which seems incredible. 

" When the Chickasah nation was engaged in a former war 
with the iMuskohge, one of their young warriors set off against 

them to revenge the blood of a near relation He 

went through the most unfrequented and thick parts of the 
woods, as such a dangerous enterprise required, till he arrived 
•PDOsite to tlie great and old beloved town of refuge, Koo- 
Bh, « nich stattds nigh on the eastern side of a bold river, about 



250 yards broad, that runs by the late dangerous Albehama> 
Fort, down to the black poisoning Mobile, and so intft th« 
Gulf of Mexico. There he concealed himself under cover ol 
the top of a fallen pine-tree, in view of the ford of the old 
trading-path, where the enemy now and then pass the river in 
their light poplar canoes. All his war-store of provisions con- 
sisted of three stands of barbicned venison, till he had au op- 
portunity to revenge blood, and return home. He waited with 
watchfulness and patience almost three days, when a young 
man, a woman, and a girl, passed a little wide of hun an Uoo 
before sunset. The former he shot down, tomahawked th 
other two, and scalped each of them in a trice, in full view • 
the town. By way of bravado, he sliaked the scalps befors 
them, sounding the awful death-whoop, and set ; If along the 
trading-path, trusting to his heels, while a great many of the 
enemy ran to their arms and gave chase. Seven miles from 
thence he entered the great blue ridge of the Apalache Moun- 
tains. About an hour before day he had run over seventy 
miles of that mountainous tract ; then, after sleeping two 
hours in a sitting posture, leaning his back against a tree, ha 
set off again with fresfc speed. As he threw away the venison 
when he found himself pursued by the enemy, he was obliged 
to support nature with such herbs, roots, and nuts, as his sharp 
eyes, with a running glance, directed him to snatch up in hii I 
course. Though I often have rode that wai^path alone, when 
delay might have proved dangerous, and with as fine and 
strong horses as any in America, it took me five days to ride 
from the aforesaid Koosah to this sprightly warrior's place in 
the Chickasah country, the distance of 300 computed miles ; 
yet he ran it, and got home safe and well at about eleven 
o'clock of the third day, which was only one day and a hal/ 
and two nights." — Adair's History of the American In- 
dians. Lond. 1775, 4to. p. 395. 



Note 2 A. 



In Redesdale his youth had hean 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswair hign. 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry. — P. 315. 

" What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit these 
valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scoteha 
man himself, and Bishop of Ross, will inform you. They 
sally out of their own borders in the night, in troops, through 
unfrequented by-ways and many intricate windings. All the 
day-time they refresh themselves and their horses in lurking 
holes they had pitched upon before, till they arrive in the dark 
in the»e places they have a design upon. As soon as they 
have seized upon the booty, they, in like manner, return home 
in the night, through blind ways, and fetching many a com- 
pass. The more skilful any captain is to pass through those 
wild deserts, crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the 
thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, and he is lookeu 
upon as a man of an '•xcellent head. And they are so very 
cunning, that they seldom have their booty taken from them, 
unless sometimes when, by the help of bloodhounds foUowiUf 
them exactly upon the tract, they may chance to fall into tiH 
hands of their adversaries. When being taken, they have to 
much persuasive eloquence, and so many smooth insinuatine 
words at command, that if they do not move their judges, nay, 
and even their adversaries (notwithstanding the severity of theif 
natures) to have mercy, yet they incite them to admiration 
and compassion." — Camden's Britannia. 

The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, in 
ancient times, so inordinately addicted to these depredations, 
that in 1564, the Incorporated Merchant-adventurers of New 
castle made a law that none bom in these districts should Im 
admitted apprentice. The inhabitants are stated to be u 
genoral'y adi'icted to rapine, fhat tio faith should be reposea 
in those proceeding from " such lewde and wicked profeRl 



364 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



u>r9." This regalation continned to stand nnrepealed nntil 
1771. A beggar, in an old play, describes himself as " born 
In ReJesdale, in North uraberland, and come of a wight-riding 
•nmame, called the Robsons, good honest men and true, 
laving a little shifting for their living, Ood help them I" — 
a description which would have applied to most Borderers on 
both sides. 

Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives name [see 
Bonier Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p 15], is on the very edge of the 
Carter-fell, which divides England from Scotland. The Roo- 
<en IS a place upon Reedwater. Bertram, being described as 
a CR .ivc of these dales, where the habits of hostile depreda- 
tion long survived the union of the crowns, may have been, 
ts some degree, prepared by education for the exercise of a 
■imilar trade in the wars of the Bucaniers. 



Note 2 B. 



Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy A/e. — P. 315. 

After one of the recent battles, in which the Irish rebels 
"vere defeated, one of their most active leaders was found in a 
bog, in which he was immersed np to the shoulders, while his 
head was concealed by an impending ledge of turf. Bemg de- 
tected and seized, notwithstanding his precaution, he became 
tolicitous to know how his retreat had been discovered. " I 
caught," answered the Sutherland Highlander, by whom he 
was taken, " the sparkle of youreye." Those who are accus- 
tomed to mark hares upon their form, nsnally discover them by 
the same circumstance.' 



Note 2 0. 



i/ere stood a wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge! — P. 317. 

It is agreed by all the writers upon magic and witchcraft, 
that revenge was the most common motive for the pretended 
compact between Satan and his vassals. The ingenuity of 
Reginald Scot has very happily stated how such an opinion 
came to root itself, not only in the minds of the public and of 
the judges, but even in that of the poor wretches themselves 
who were accused of sorcery, and were often firm believers in 
their own power and their own guilt. 

" One sort of such as are said to be witches, are women 
which be commonly old, lame, bleai^eyed, pale, foul, and full 
of wrinkles ; poor, sullen, superstitious, or papists, or such as 
know no religion ; in whose drowsie minds the devil hath got- 
ten a fine seat ; so as what mischief, mischance, calamity, or 
•laughter is brought to pass, they are easily perswaded the 
lame is done by themselves, imprinting in their minds an ear- 
nest and const<int imagination tliereof These go from 

house to house, and from door to door, for a pot of milk, yest, 
drink, pottage, or some such relief, without the which they 
conld hardly live ; neither obtaining for their service or pains, 
not yet by their art, nor yet at the devil's hands (wilh whom 
(hey are said to make a perfect and visible ba/gam), either 
beanty, money, promotion, wealth, pleasure, Honour, knowl- 
idge, learning, ot any other benefit whatsoever. 

" It falleth out many a time, that neither their necessities 
nor their expectation is answered or served in those places 
where they beg or borrow, but rather their lewdness is by their 
neighboure reproved. And farther, in tract of time the witch 
waxeth odious and tedious to her neighbours, and they again 
■re despised and despited of her ; so as sometimes she curseth 
•ne, and sometimes another, and that from the master of the 
hoose, his wife, children, cattle, &c.,tothe httle pig that lieth 

1 Sii 'Walter Scott continued to he fond of coursing hares lone after he 
ul laid wide all otber field-aporti.. and h* naed to aay jocularly, that ha 



in the stie. Thus, in process of time, they have all uispleasot 
her, and she hath wished evil luck unto them all ; perhapk 
with curses and imprecations made in form. Doubtless (al 
length) some of her neighbours die or fall sick, or some of theii 
children are visited with diseases that vex them strangely, ai 
apoplexies, epilep.sies, convulsions, hot fevers, worms, &c., 
which, by ignorant parents, are supposed to be the vengeano* 

of witches 

" The witch, on the other side, expecting her neighbonn' 
mischances, and seeing things sometimes come to pass accord- 
ing to her wishes, curses, and incantations (for Bodin hims«U 
confesses, that not above two in a hundred of their witchini:! 
or wishings take effect), being called before a justice, by id 
examination of the circumstances, is driven to see her impre- 
cations and desires, and her neighbours' harms and losses, t« 
concur, and, as it were, to take effect ; and so confesseth that 
she (as a goddess) hath brought such things to pass. Where- 
in not only she, but the accuser, and also the justice, are fonllv 
deceived and abused, as being, through her confession, and 
other circumstances, perswaded (to the injury of God's glory) 
that she hath done, or can do, that which is proper only tc 
God himself." — Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft. Lond 
1655, fol. p. 4, 5. 



Note 2 D. 



Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs. — P. 317. 

The troops of the King, when they first took the field, wer« 
as well disciplined as could be expected from circumstances 
But as the circumstances of Charles became less favorable 
and his funds for regularly paying his forces decreased, habita 
of military license prevailed among them i» greater excess, 
Lacy, the player, who served his master during the Civil War 
brought out, after the Restoration, a piece called The Old 
Troop, in which he seems to have commemoraie<t some rea' 
incidents which occurred in his military career Tne namet 
of the officers of the Troop sufficiently express their habits. 
We have Flea-flint Plunder-Master-General, Captain Ferret- 
farm, and Cluartei^Master Burn-drop. The officers of the 
Troop are in league with these worthies, and connive at theii 
plundering the country for a suitable share in the booty. Al! 
this was undoubtedly drawn from the life, which Lacy had an 
opportunity to study. The moral of the whole is compre- 
hended in a rebuke given to the lieutenant, whose disorders ii 
the country are said to prejudice the King's cause more thar 
his courage in the field could recompense. The piece is by nt 
means void of farcical numor. 



Note 2 E. 



BrignalV s woods, and Scarg^i wave. 

E'en now, o'er many a sister cawe. — P. 318. 

The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge, abound 
in seams of grayish slate, which are wrought in some olaces w 
a very great depth under ground, thus forming artificial cav- 
erns, which, when the seam has been exhausted, are ^{radually 
hidden by the underwood which grows in profusion npon thu 
romantic banks of the river. In times of public confusion, 
they might be well adapted to the purposes of banditii. 



Note 2 if. 

When Spain waged warfare with our land. — P. 320 

There was a short war with f=pain in 1625-6, which will Ui 
found to agree pretty well with the chronology of the poem 

had more pleasure m bein^ tonsiaered an exoelleut ^ndtr^ than ia all hll 
reputation aa a tTouv9ur, £p. 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



36& 



Bl t probably Bertram held an opinion very common among 
>i.e maritime heroes of the age, that " there was no peace be- 
yond the Line." The Spanish guarda-costas were constantly 
»mployed in aggressions upon the trade and settlements of the 
English and French ; and, by their own severities, gave room 
for the system of bucaniering, at first adopted in self-defence 
and retaliation, and afterwards persevered in from habit and 
thirst of plunder. 



Note 2 G. 



Our comrade's strife. — P. 321. 

The laws of the Bucaniers, and their successors the Pirates, 
however severe and eqnitable, were, like other laws, often set 
aside by the stronger party. Their quarrels about the division 
,if the spoil fill their history, and they as frequently arose out 
of mere frolic, or the tyrannical humor of theit chiefs. An 
anecdote of Teach (called Blackbeard) shows that their ha- 
bitual inditference for human life extended to their compan- 

Ons, as well as their enemies and captives. 

" One night, drinking in his cabin with Hands, the pilot, 
and another man, Blackbeard, without any provocation, pri- 
vately draws out a small pair of pistols, and cocks them under 
the table, which, being perceived by the man, he withdrew 
upon deck, leaving Hands, the pilot, and the captain together. 
When the pistols were ready, he blew out the candles, and, 
crossing his hands, discharged them at his company. Hands, 
the master, was shot through the knee, and lamed for life ; the 
jthiT pistol did no execution." — Johnson's History of Pi- 
rates. Lond. 1724, 8vo. vol. i. p. 38. 

Anotiier anecdote of this worthy may be also mentioned. 
" The hero of whom we are writing was thoroughly accom- 
plished this way, and some of his frolics of wickedness were 
lO extravagant, as if he aimed at making his men beheve he 
was a devil incarnate ; for, being one day at sea, and a little 
Unshed with drink, ' Come,' says he, ' let us make a hell of 

•ur own, and try how long we can bear it.' Accordingly, he, 
rtfith two or three others, went down into the hold, and, clo- 
sing up all the hatches, filled several pots full of brimstone and 
c>ther combustible matter, and set it on fire, and so continued 
till they were almost suffocated, when some of the men cried 
out for air. At length he opened the hatches, not a little 
pleased that he held out the longest." — Ibid. p. 90. 



N*TE 2 H. 



my rangers go 

Even now to track a milk-white doe. — P. 321. 

Immediately after supper, the huntsman should go to his 
master's chamber, and if he serve a king, then let him go to 
the master of the game's chamber, to know in what quarter 
te determineth to hunt the day following, that he may know 
Ma own quarter ; that done, he may go to bed, to the end that 
he may rise the earlier in the morning, according to the time and 
•eason, and according to the place where he must hunt : then 
when he is up and ready, let him drinke a good draught, and 
fetch his hound, to make him breake his fast a little ; and let 
him not forget to fill his bottel with good wine : that done, let 
him take a little vinegar into the palme of his hand, and pnt 
U in the nostrils of his hound, for to make him snuffe, to the 
•nd his scent may be ~the perfecter, then let him go to the 

(VOvd When the huntsman perceiveth that it is 

time to begin to beat, let him put his hound before him, and 
beat the outsides of springs or thickets ; and if he find an hart 
*r deer tbat likes him, let him mark well whether it be fresh 
tt not, which he may know as well by the maner of his hounds 

Irawmg, as also by tho eye When he hath well 

Mnnidered what manei of hart it may be, and hath marked 



every thing to judge by, then let him draw till he come to the 
couert where he is gone to ; and let him haroour him if h 
can, still marking all his tokens, as well by the slot as by tha 
entries, foyles, or such-like. That done, let him plash or brust 
down small twigges, some aloft and some 'jclow, an the art 
requireth, and therewithal!, whiles', his hound is bote, let him 
beat the outsides, and make his ring-walkes, twice or tfarict 
about the wood." — The J^oUe Art of Fenerie, or Hunting 
Lond. 1611, 4to. p. 76, 77. 



Note 2 I. 
■ Adieu for evermore. — P. 332 



Song 

The last verse of this song is taken from the fragment of at 
old Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two versa 
when the first edition of Rokeby was published. Mr. ThomA 
Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beaa 
tiful song, which seems to express the fortunes of SMae io) 
lower of the Stuart family : — 

" It was a' for our rightful king 
That we left fair Scotland's strand, 
It was a' for our rightful king 
That we e'er saw Irish land, 
My dear, 
That we e'er saw Irish land. 

" Now all is done that man can do, 
And all is done in vain I 
My love ! my native land, adieo I 
For I must cross the main. 

My dear. 
For I must cross the main. 

' He tum'd him round and right abov' 
All on the Irish shore. 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake 
With, Adieu for evermore. 

My dear I 
Adieu for evermore I 

" The soldiSr frae the war returns, 
And the merchant frae the main. 
But I hae parted wi' my love, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

" When day is gone and night is come 
And a' are bonn' to sleep, 
I think on them that's far awa 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 
My dear. 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 



Note 2 K 



Rere-crosi on Stanmore. — P. 323. 

This is a fragment of an old cross, with its pe(^'«Bent aim 
rounded by an intrenchment, upon the very (uixaiit of tb« 
waste ridge of Stanmore, near a small house of entertainment 
called the Spittal It is called Rere-cross, or Ree-cross, of 
which Holinshed gives ns the following explanation : — 

" At length a peace was concluded betwixt the two kingi 
vnder these conditions, that Malcolme should enjoy that pari 
of Northumberland which lieth betwixt Tweed, Cumberland, 
and Stainmore, and doo homage to the Kinge of England foi 
the same. In the midst of Stainmore there shall be a < 



366 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



let up, with the Kinge of England's image on the one ride, uid 
the Kinge of Scotland's on the other, to signifie that one ia 
march to England, and the other to Scotland. This crosse was 
called the Roi-crosse, that is, the crosse of the King." — HouN- 
BHKD. Lorid. 1808, 4to. v. 280. 

Jlolinshert's sole authority seems to have been Boethins. 
Bnt it is not improbable that hie account may be the true one, 
although the circumstance does not occur in Wintoun's Chro- 
oiole. The situation of the cross, and the pains taken to defend 

3eem to idicate tha it was intended for a land-mark of 
■ipoitttnce 



Note 2 L. 

Hoit thou lodged our deer ? — P. 323. 

The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first to lodge or har- 
I or the deer • i. e. to discover his retreat, as described at 
engtli in note, 2 H, and then to make his report to his prince, 
•r niastei : — 

' Before the King I come report to make, 
Then husht and peace for noble Tristrame'g sake . . . 
My liege, I went this morning on my quest. 
My hound did stick, and seem'd to vent some beast. 
1 held him short, and drawing sfter him, 
I might behold the hart was feeding trym ; 
His head wa.s high, and large in each degree, 
Well paulmed eke, and seem'd full sound to be. 
Of colour browne, he beareth eight and tenne, 
Of stately height, and long he seemed then. 
His beam seem'd great, in good proportion led. 
Well barred and round, well pearled neare his head. 
He seemed fayre tweene blacke and benie brounde 
He seemes well fed by all the signes I found. 
For when I had well marked him with eye, 
I stej't aside, to watch where he would lye. 
And when I had so wayted full an houre. 
That he might be at layre and in his bonre, 
I cast about to harbour him full sure ; 
My hound by sent did me thereof assure . . . 
" Then if he ask what slot or view I found, 
I say the slot or view was long on ground ; 
The toes were great, the joynt bones round and short, 
The shinne bones large, the dew-claws close in port : 
Short loynted was he, hollow-footed eke, 
Vn hart to hunt as any man can seeke." 

The Jlrt of Venerie, ut supra, p. 97. 



Note 2 M. 



WJien Denmark's raven soared on high. 
Triumphant through JVorthunibrian sky, 
Till, hovering near, hrr fatal croak 
Biidi KegaV i F ",4;7i» dread the yoke. — P. 323. 

A A^ai -i '/Mi; of God 866, the Danes, under their cele- 
>i<te<l leaders Inguar (more properly Agnar) and Hubba, sons, 
t ii ■aid, of the still more celelirated Regnar Lodbrog, invaded 
tJorthumliorland, bringing with them the magical standard, eo 
iften mentioned in poetry, called Reafbn, or Rumfan, from 
Is bearing the tigare of a raven : — 

Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king, 

Of furious ivar in a midnight hour : 

While the sick moon, at their enchanted song 

Wrapt in pale empest, labor'd through the clouda 

The demons of iestrnction then, they say, 

Were all abroai , tind nusing with the woof 



Their baleful power : The sisters ever sang, 

' Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes.' " 

Thomson and Mallbt's Mfrei. 

The Danes renewed and extended their incursions, and begac 
to colonize, establishing a kind of capital at York, from whic^ 
they spread their conquests and incursions in every direotioB 
Stanmore, which divides the mountains of Westmoreland and 
Cumberland, was probably the boundary of the Danish king- 
dom in that direction. The district to the west, known in aa 
cient British history by the name of Reged, had never beet 
conquered by the Saxons, and continued to maintain a pren^ 
rious independence until it was ceded to Malcolm, King ft 
Scots, by William the Conqueror, probably on account ot it> 
similarity in language and manners to the neighboring firitici 
kingdom of Strath-Clyde. 

Upon the extent and duration of the Danish sovereignty ii 
Northumberland, the curious may consult the various authori 
ties quoted in the Qesta et Vestigia lianorum extra Daniam 
torn. ii. p. 40. The most powerful of their Northumbrian 
leaders seems to have been Ivar, called, from the extent of hu 
conquests, Widfam, that is. The Strider, 



Note 2 N. 



Beneath the shade the J^orthmen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name. — P. 323. 

The heathen Danes have left several traces of their religios 
in the upper [)ait of Teesdale. Baldei^garth, which derives iti 
name from the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste 
land on the very ridge of Stanmore ; and a brook, which falls 
into the Tees near Barnard Castle, is named after the same 
deity. A field upon the banks of the Tees is also termed 
Woden-Croft, from the supreme deity of the Edda. ThorsgiU, 
of which a description is attempted in stanza ii., is a beautiful 
little brook and dell, running up behind the ruins of Egliston 
Abbey. Thor was the Hercules of the Scandinavian mytho- 
logy, a dreadful giant-quel.er, and in that capacity the cham 
pion of the gods, and the defender of Asgard, the northern 
Olympus, against the frequent attacks of the inhabitants of 
Jotwnhem. There is an old poem in the Edda of Scemund, 
called the Song of Tnrym, which turns upon the loss and re- 
covery »f the Mace, or Hammer, which was Thor's principal 
weapon, and on which much of his power seems to have de- 
pended. !t may be read to great advantage in a version 
equally spiritsd and literal, among the Miscellaneous Transla- 
tions and Poen^s of the Honorable William Herbert. 



Note 2 0. 

Who has nor ,.eard how brave O'JVeale 

In English blood imbrued his steel? — P. 325. 

The O'Neale here meant, for more than one succeeded tl 
the chieftainship during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh, th« 
grandson of Con O'Neale, called Con liacco, or the Latne. 
His father, Matthew O'Kelly, was illegitimate, and, being the 
son of a blacksmith's wife, was usually called Matthew the 
Blacksmith. His father, nevertheless, destined his succes- 
sion to him; and he was created, hy Elizabeth, Baron oJ 
Dungannon. Upon the death of Con Bacco, this Matthew 
was slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the same 
fate, and was protected by the English. Shane O'Neale, hit 
uncle, called Shane Dymas, was succeeded by Turiongh 
Lynogh O'Neale ; after whose death, Hugh, having a.ssura^ 
the chieftainship, became nearly as formidable to the English 
as any by whom it had been possessed. He rebelled repeat- 
edly, and as often made submissions, of which it was usuall} 
a condiiion that he should not any longer assume the title o> 



O'Neale ; in lien of which he was created Earl of Tyrone. 
Bn^ this condition he never observed longer than until the 
pre«!nie of superior force was withdrawn. His baffling the 
gal'i^nt Earl of Essex in the field, and averreaching him in a 
treaty, was die induction to that nobleman's tragedy. Lord 
Mountjoy succeeded in finally subjugating O'Neale ; but it was 
not till the succession of James, to whom he made personal 
iobmission, and was received with civility at court. Yet, ac- 
cording to Morrison, " no respect to him could containe many 
weoiuer. in those parts, who had lost husbands and children in 
tbt Irish warres. from flinging durt and stones at the earle as 
ho rassed, and from reuiling him with bitter words ; yea, when 
cPe earle had been at court, and there obtaining his majestie'8 
direction for his pardon and performance of all conditions pro- 
mis.!d him by the Lord Mountjoy, was about September tc 'e- 
turne, he durst not pass by those parts without direction to the 
thirffes, to convey him with troops of horse from place to 
olauR, till he was safely imbarked and put to sea for Ireland." 
-l:inerary, p. 296. 



Note 2 P. 



But chief arose his victor pride, 

fVhen that brave Marshal fought and died.— -P. 325. 

The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the English 
v.as in a battle fought near Blackwater, while he besieged a 
fort garrisoned by the English, which commanded the passes 
into his country. 

" This captain and his few warders did with no less courage 
suffer hunger, and, having eaten the few horses they had, lived 
vpon hearbes growing in the ditches and wals, suffering all ex- 
tremities, till the lord-lieutenant, in the month of August, sent 
Sir Henry Bagnal, marshall of Ireland, with the most choice 
companies of foot and horse-troopes of the English army to 
victual this fort, and to raise the rebels siege. When the Eng- 
lish entered the place and thicke woods beyond Armagh, on 
the east side, Tyrone (with all the rebels assembled to him) 
pric'ked forward with rage, enuy, and settled rancour against 
the marshall, assayled the English, and turning his full force 
against the marshall's person, had the successe to kill him, 
valiantly fighting among the thickest of the rebels. Where- 
upon the English being dismayed with his death, the rebels 
obtained a great victory against them. I terme it great, since 
the English, from their first arriual in that kingdorae, neuer had 
received so great an ouenhrow as this, commonly called the 
Defeat of Blackewater ; thirteene valiant captaines and 1500 
common souldiers (whereof many were of the old companies 
which had serued in Brittany vnder General Norreys) were 
elair in the field. The yielding ol the fort of Blackewater 
followed this disaster, when the assaulted guard saw no hope 
of relief; but especially vpon messages sent to Captain Wil- 
liairs fr im our broken forces, retired to Armagh, professing 
ji.ii j'' their safety depended vpon nis yieldmg the fort into 
je haniii of Tyrone, without which danger Captaine Williams 
<!py-"»sec' that no want or miserie should have induced him 
8i»»?eunlj>. " — Ftnes Moryson's Itinerary. London, 1617, 
frl. part ii p. 24. 

Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal animosity 
agiUEst the knight-marshal, Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he ac- 
ensed of detaining the letters which he sent to Q,neen Eli^a- 
betn, ei >lanatory of his conduct, and offering terms of sub- 
mission. The river, called by thH English, Blackwater, is 
lermed in Irish, Avon-Duft', which lias the same signification. 
Both names are mentioned by Spenser in his " Marriage of the 
Thames and the Medway." But I understand that his verses 
telale net to the Blackwater of Ulster, but to a river of the 
tune name in the south of Ireland : — 

' Swift Avon-Duff, which of the Englishmen 
U ca/'*d Blackwater" 



Note 2 Q. 
The Tanist he to g^ iai O' JVcile.—V . 325. 

" Eudox. What is that which you call Tanist and Tanistry 1 
These be names and terms never heard of nor known to ns. 

" Iren. It is a custom amongst all the Irish, that presentlj 
after the death of one of their chiefe lords or captaines, thej 
doe presently assemble themselves to a place generally appoint 
ed and knowne unto them, to choose anothei in his stead, 
where they do nominate and elect, for the most part not tijt 
eldest Sonne, nor any of the children of tlie lord deceased, b« 
the next to him in blood, that is, the eldest and worthiest, ai 
commonly the next brother unto him, if he have any, or tl:» 
next cousin, or so forth, as any is elder in that kindred or sept; 
and then next to them doe they choose the next of the blood 
to be Tanist, who shall next succeed him in the said captainry, 
if he live thereunto. 

" Eudox. Do they not use ar.y ceremony in this election, 
for all barbarous nations are commonly great observers of cere 
monies and superstitious rites ? 

" Ircn. They used to place him tnat shall be their captaint 
npon a stone, always reserved to that purpose, and placet 
commonly upon a hill. In some of which 1 have seen formed 
and engraven a foot, which they say was the measure of theii 
first captaine's foot ; whereon hee standing, receives an oatli 
to preserve all the ancient former customes of the countrej 
inviolable, and to deliver up the succession peaceably to hi> 
Tanist, and then hath a wand delivered unto him by some 
whose proper office that is ; after which, descending from thf 
stone, he tumeth himself round, thrice forwards and thrict 
backwards. 

" Eudox. But how is the Tanist chosen 1 

" Iren. They say he setteth but one foot upon the stone 
and receiveth the like oath that the captaine did." — Sfen 
skr's View of the State of Ireland, apud Works, London 
1805, 8vo. vol. viii. p. 306. 

The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the heir^apparent ol 
his power. This kind of succession appears also to have regu- 
lated, in very remotfe times, the succession to the crown ol 
Scotland. It would have been imprudent, if not impossible, 
to have asserted a minor's right of succession in those stormv 
days, when the principles of policy were summed up in U" 
friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines : — 



" the good old rule 

Sufficeth them ; the simple plan, 

That they should take who have the power, 
And they should keep who can." 



Note 3 R. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread, i-c. — P. 325. 

There is here an attempt to deserfbe the ancient Irish dn 
of which a poet of Queen Elizabetb'a day i.as giveo i» 
following particulars : — 

" I marvailde in ray mynde 

and thereupon did muse, 
To see a bride of heavenUe hewa 

an ouglie fere to chuse. 
This bride it is the soile, 

the bridegroome is the kame. 
With writhed glibbes, like wicked spiita, 

with visage rough and stearne ; 
With seniles upon their poalles, 

instead of civill cappes ; 
With speares in hand, and swordes be«r<l* 

to beare off after clappes ; 
With jackettes 1 tng and large 

which shroud umDUOitia. 



?8e 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though spitfoU darts which they do 

importe iniqnitie. 
Their sliirtes be very strange, 

not reaching past the thie ; 
With pleates on pleates thei pleated are 

as thick as pleates may lye. 
Whose sleaves hang traillug doane 

alPiOst unto the shoe ; 
And with a mantell commonlie 

the Irish karne do goe. 
Now some amongst the reste 

doe use another weede ; 
A coate I meane, of strange devise 

which fancy first did breads. 
His skirts be very shorte, 

with pleates set thick aboot, 
And Irish tronzes moe to put 

their strange protactmrs out.' 
Derrick's Image of Ireland, apud SoMBRs' Tracts, 

Edin. 1800 4to. vol. i. p. 585. 

3orae curious wooden engravings accompany this poem, from 
4rhich it would seem that the ancient Irish dress was (the bon- 
let excepted) very similar to that of the Scottish Highlanders. 
The want of a covering on the head was supplied by the mode 

plaiting and arranging the hair, which was called the glibbe. 
nese glibbes, according to Spenser, were fit marks for a thief, 
■nee, when he wished to disguise himself, he conid either cut 
It off entirely, or so pull it over his eyes as to render it very 
hafd to recognize him. This, however, is nothing to the rep- 
robation with which the same poet regards that favorite part 
of tlie Irish dress, the mantle. 

" It is a fit house for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, and 
an apt cloke for a thief. First, the outlaw being for his many 
crimes and villanyes banished from the townes and houses of 
honest men, and wandring in waste places far from danger of 
aw, raaketh his mantle his house, and under it covereth him- 
lelf from the wrath of heaven, from the offence of the earth, 
and from the sight of men. When it raineth, it is his pent- 
house ; when it bloweth, it is his tent ; when it freezeth, it is 
his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose, in winter he 
can wrap it close ; at all times he can use it ; never heavy, 
never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable ; 
for in his warre that he maketh (if at least it deserve the name 
of warre), when he still flyeth from his foe, and lurketh in the 
thicke woods and straite passages, waiting for advantages, it 
is his bed, yea, and almost his household stuff. For the wood 
IS his house against all weathers, and his mantle is his couch 
to sleep in. Therein he wrappeth himself round, and couch- 
eth himself strongly against the gnats, which in that country 
doe more annoy the naked rebels while they kea^j the woods, 
and doe more sharply wound them, than all their enemies 
«words or speares, which can seldom come nigh them: yea, 
and oftentimes their mantle serveth them when they are neere 
driven, being wrapped about their left arme, instead of a tar- 
eet, for it is hard to cut thorough with a sword ; besides, it is 
light to beare, light to throw I'.vav, and being (as they com- 
monly are) naked, it is to theii ail in all. Lastly, for a thiefe 
it is so hanUsome as it may seem it was first invented for him ; 
for under it he may cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometh 
handsionifly in his way, and when he goeth abroad in the 
night in freebooling, it is his best and surest friend ; for, lying, 
as they often do, two or three nights together abroad to watch 
for their booty, with that they can prettily shroud themselves 
under a bush or bankside till they may conveniently do their 
errand ; and when all is over, he can in his mantle passe 
ihrough any town or company, being close hooded over his 
head, as he nseth, from knowledge of any to whom he is in- 
dangered. Besides this, he or any man els that is disposed to 
mischief or villany, may, under his mantle, goe privily armed 
ivphout suspicion of any, carry his head-piece, his skean, or 
•utol, it he pleaie, to be always ia readiness," — SpiNSBa'a 



View of the State of Ireland, apod Works, nt lapra, vih 
367. 

The javelins, or darts, of the Irish, which they threw wit* 
great dexterity, appear, from one of the prints already men- 
tioned, to have been about four feet long, with a strong stM. 
head and thick knotted shaft. 



Note 2 S. 

With wild majestic port and tone. 

Like envoy of some barbarous throne. — P. 326 

The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and 
with each other, were wont to assume the language and styU 
of independent royalty. Morrison has preserved a snmmoni 
from Tyrone to a neighboring chieftain, which runs in the fol- 
lowing terms : — 

" O'Neale commendeth him unto you, Morish Fitz-Thoma» ; 
O'Neale requesteth you, in God fe name, to take part with him, 
and fight for your conscience and right ; and in so doinj, 
O'Neale will spend to see you righted in all your affaires, aod 
will help you. And if you come not at O'Neale betwixt Oiii 
and to-morrow at twelve of the clocke, and take his pari, 
O'Neale is not beholding to you, and will doe to the uttermost 
of his power to overthrow you, if yon come not to him at for" 
thest by Satturday at noone. From Knocke Dumayne ia 
Calrie, the fourth of February, 1599. 

"O'Neale requesteth you to come speake with him, and 
doth giue you his word that you shall receive no harme neithef 
in comming nor going from him, whether yon be friend or no», 
and bring with yon to O'Neale Gerat Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed) " O'Nealb." 

Nor did the royalty of O'Neale consist in words alone. Sit 
John Harrington paid him a visit at the time of his truce with 
Essex, and, after mentioning his "fern table, and fern forms, 
spread under the stately canopy of heaven," he notices what 
constitutes the real power of every monarch, the love, namely, 
and allegiance of his subjects. " His guards, for the moat 
part, were beardless boys without shirts ; who in the frost 
wade as familiarly through rivers as water-spaniels. With 
what charm such a master makes them love him, I kno^t 
not ; but if he bid come, they come ; if go, they do go ; if he 
say do this, they do it." — J^ugoe Antiqu<B. Lond. 1784, 8vo. 
vol. i. p. 251. 



Note 2 T. 
His foster-father was his guide. — P. 326 

There was no tie more sacred among the Irish than that 
which connected the foster-father, as well as the nnise herself 
with the child they brought up. 

" Foster-fathers spend much more time, money, and affeo< 
tion on their foster-children than their own ; and in return take 
from them clothes, money for their several professions, and 
arms, and, even for any vicious purposes, fortunes and cattle, 
not so much by a claim of right as by extortion ; and they will 
even carry those things off as plunder. All who have been 
nursed by the same person preserve a greater mutual affection 
and confidence in each other than if they were natural broth- 
ers, whom they will even hate for the sake of these. When 
chid by their parents, they fly to their foster-fathers, wno fre- 
quently encourage them to make open war on their parents, 
train them up to every excess of wickedness, and make them 
most abandoned miscreants ; as, on the other hand, the nnrsea 
make the young women, wnom they bring up for every ex 
cess. If a fostei^child is sick, it is incredible how soon the 
nurses hear of it, however distant, ana with what solicitada 
they attend it by day and night." — Oiraldus Cambrensit 
quoted by Camden, iv 368. 

This ooatom, like many ouier Irish usages, prevailed till of 



J 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



3Gy 



ale in the Scottish Hi?hlanda and was cherished by the chiefs 
v8 an easy mode of extending their influence aii>- connection ; 
»nd even in the Lowlands, daring the last century, the con- 
nection between the nurse and fostei^child was seldom dis- 
wlv^d but by he death of one party. 



Note 2 IT. 



Oreat J\rial of the Pledges JVine.— P. 327. 

Keal Naighvallach, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said to have 
«en Monarch of all Ireland, during tlie end of the fourth or 
Deginning of the fifth century. He exercised a predatory war- 
fare on the coast of England and of Bretagne, or Armorica ; 
nnd from the latter country brought off the celebrated Saint 
fa'rick a youth of sixteen, among other captives, whom he 
transported to Ireland. Neal derived his epithet from nine 
iii^ons, or tribes, whom he held under his subjection, and 
hom whom he took hostages. From one of Neal's sons were 
Jerived the Kinel-eoguin, or Race of Tyrone, which afibrded 
Qionarchs both to Ireland and to Ulster. Neal (according to 
0"FWl.erty's Ogygia) was killed by a poisoned arrow, iu one 
♦ lii iescert 'i the coast of Bretagne. 



Note 2 V. 



Shane-Dymas wild. — 327. 

This Shano-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title and 
power of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, 
Bgainst whom he rebelled repeatedly. 

" This chieftain is handed down to ns as the most prond 
and proriigate man on earth. He was immoderately addicted 
to women and wine. He is said to have had 200 tuns of wine 
at once in his cellar at Dandrara, but usquebaugh was his 
favorite liquor. He spared neither age nor condition of the 
fair sex. Altho' so illiterate that he could not write, he waa 
lot destitute of address ; his understanding was strong, and 
his couiage daring. He had 600 men for his gnard ; 400(<|foot, 
1000 horse for the field. He claimed superiority over all the 
ords of Ulster, and called himself king thereof. When com- 
missioners were sent to treat with him, he said, ' That, tho' 
tiie Q,ueen were his sovereign lady, he never made peace with 
lier but at her lodging ; that she had made a wise Earl of 
Macartymore, but that he kept as good a man as he ; that 
be cared not for so mean a title as Earl ; that his blood and 
power were better than the best ; that his ancestors were Kings 
of Ulster; and that he would give place to none.' His kins- 
man, the Earl of Kiidare, haWng persuaded him of the folly 
of contending with the crown cT England, he resolved to at- 
.end the Q.ueen, but in a style suited to his princely dignity. 
He appeared In London wit!i a magnificent train of Irish Gal- 
ioglasses, arrayed in t^.e richest habiliments of their country, 
their heads bare, their hair flowing on their shoulders, with 
their long and open sleeves dyed with saffron. Thus dressed, 
and surcharged with military harness, and armed with battle- 
dies, they afforded an astonishing spectacle to the citizens, who 
regarded them as the intruders of some very distant part of 
the globe. But at Court his versatility now prevailed ; his 
title to the sovereignty of Tyrone was pleaded from English 
laws and Irish institutions, and his allegations were so specious, 
that the (iueen dismissed him with presents and assurances of 
favor. In Englant' this transaction was looked on as tlie hu- 
miliation of a repenting rebel ; in Tyrone it was considered as a 
treaty of peace between two potentates." — Camden's £r2- 
tannia, by Gough. Lond. 1806, fol. vol. iv. p. 442. 

When reduced to extremity by the English, and forsaken 
by his allies, ihis Shane-Dj mas fled to Clandeboy then occu- 
pied by \ colony a f Scottish Highlanders of the family of Mac- 
nnnpll. He was tt ^t coarteoD»Iy received ; but by de- 



grees they began to quarrel about the slaughter of some ot' 
their friends whom Shane-Dymas had put to death, and ad- 
vancing from words to deeds, fell upon him with tlieit 
broadswords, and cut him to pieces. After his death a law 
was made that none should presume to take the name and 
I tiile of O'Neale. 



Note 2 W. 



Geraldine.—F. 327. 



The O'Neales were closely allied with this powerful and 
warlike family; for Henry Owen O'Keale married the 
daughter of Thomas Earl of Kildare, and their son Con- 
More married his cousin-german, a daughter of Gerald E!,»i 
of Kildare. This Con-More cursed any of his posterity who 
should learn the English language, sow corn, or build 
houses, so as to invite the English to settle in their countiy. 
Others ascribe this anathema to his son Con-Bacco. Fear- 
flatha O'Gnivc, bard to the O'Aeales of Clannaboy, com- 
plains in the same spirit of the towers and ramparts with 
which the strangers had disjigured the fair sporting fields of 
Erin.— See Walkek's Irish Bards, p. UO. ' 



Note 2 X. 



Be chose that honored flag to bear. — P. 328. 

Lacy informs us, in the old play already quoted, how the 
cavalry raised by the country gentlemen for Charles's ser- 
vice were usually officered. " You, cornet, have a name 
that's proper for all cornets to be called by, for they are all 
beardless boys in our army. The most part of our horse 
were raised thus: — The honest country gentleman raises 
the troop at his ow- n charge ; then he gets a Low-country 
lieutenant to fight his troop safely; then he sends for his son 
from school to be his cornet : and then he puts off his child's 
coat to put on a bufl" coat : and this is the constitution of our 
army." 



Note 2 Y. 

his page, the next degree 

In tluit old time to chivalry.— P. 328. 

Originally, the order of chivalry emoraced three ranks : — 
1. The Page; 2. The Squire; 3. The Knight; —a gradation 
which seems to have been imitated in the mystery of free- 
masonry. But, before the reign of Charles I., the custom of 
serving as a squire had fallen into disuse, though tho order 
of the page was still, to a certain degree, in observance. 
This state of servitude was so far from inferring any thing 
degrading, that it was considered as the regular school for 
acquiring every quality necessary for future distinction. 
The proper nature, and the decay of the institution, are 
pointed out by old Ben Jonson, with hi own forcible moral 
coloring. The dialogue occurs betwc^ii Lovell, "a com- 
pleat gentleman, a soldier, and a scholar, known to have 
been page to the old Lord Beaufort, and so to have followed 
him in the French wars, after compauli.'0 of his studies, and 
left guardian to his son," and the fac-ifous Goodstock, host 
of the Light Heart. Lovell had off<. .6' I to take Goodstock's 
son tor his page, which the latter, in reference to the recent 
abuse of the establishment decla.es a« " a desperate course 
of life:" — 

" Lovell. Call you that aesperate, which by a line 
Of institution, from our ai,.estor9 
Hath lipen derived down to ' s, and received 
In a succession, for the noblest way 
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms. 



Fair n ier, discourses, civil exercise, 
An«j all the blazon of a g'^ntleman ? 
Where can he learn to vault, to 'ide, to fence, 
To move his body gracefully ; to speak 
IJis langLige purer ; or to tune his mind, 
i>T manners, more to the harmony of nature. 
Than in the nurseries of nobility 1 

" Host. Ay, that was when the nursery's self was noble, 
And only virtue made it, not the market, 
Tliat titles were not vented at the drum. 
Or common outcry. Goodness gave the greatness, 
An; greatness worship ■. every house became 
An academy of honor ; and those parts 
We see departed, in the practice, now, 
Q,uile from the institution. 

" hovell. Why do you say so ? 
Or think so enviously ? Do they not still 
Learn there the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace 
To ride ? or, Pollux' mystery, to fence t 
The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dp-nce and spring 
n armor, t/) be active in the wars ? 
To study figures, numbers, and proportions. 
May yield them great in counsels, and the arts 
Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised t 
To make their English sweet upon their tongae, 
As reverend Chaucer says ? 

" Host. Sir, you mistake ; 
To play Sir Pandarus, my copy hath it, 
And carry messages to Vs.As.me Cressida ; 
Instead of backing the brave steeds o' mornings. 
To court thf chambermaid ; and for a leap 
O' the r 'ulting horse, to ply the vaulting house ; 
For exercise of arms, a bale of dice. 
Or two or three packs of cards to show the cheat, 
And nimbleness of hand ; mistake a cloak 
Upon my lord's back, and pawn it ; ease his pocket 
Of a superfluous watch ; or geld a jewel 
Of an odd stone or so ; twinge two or three bxittonB 
From off my lady's gown : These are the arts 
Or seven liberal deadly sciences 
Of pagery, or rather paganism, 
As the tides run ; to which if he apply him, 
He may perhaps take a degree at Tyburn 
A year the earlier ; come to take a lecture 
Upon Aquinas at St. Thomas a Watering's . 

And so go forth a laureat in hemp circle !" 

Ben Jonson's JVezo Inn, Act I. Scene III. 



Note 2 Z. 



Seem^ d half abandon' d to decay. — P. 332. 

The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of 
the present mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. 
It i? snrrounded by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in 
•riiich it stands is adorned by the junction of the Greta and of 
Ihe Tees. The title of Baron Rokeby of Armagh was, in 1777, 
eot.'erred on the Right Reverend Richard Robinson, Primate 
•f Ireland descended >f the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, 
in Yorkshire 



Note 3 A. 



Rokeby' s lor is of martial fame, 

I can count iem name by name. — P. 334 

Tb« following brief pedigree of this very ancient and onc« 

4 

I.i!>l". S Temp. Edw. 2di. S Temp. Edw. 8til. 

Temp. Henr 'mi, and f'om turn is tfa> bouse of Skyers, of s fonitk 
■«Uier. 



powerful family, was kindly supplied to the Mthor by Mi 
Rokeby of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient Baro»M 
of Rokeby : — 

" Pedigree of the House of Rokeby. 

1. Sir Alex. Rokeby, Knt. marrie'V to Sir Hump. LiftleV 

daughter. 

2. Ralpli Rokeby, Esq. to Tho. Lumley's daughter. 

3. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Tho. Hubborn's daughter 

4. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Biggot'" daujh 

ter. 

5. Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir John de Melsass' daugh 

ter of Bennet-hall, in Holderness. 

6. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to Sir Brian Stapleton's danghta 

of WeighiU. 

7. Sir Thos. Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Ury's daughter.' 

8. Ralph Rokeby, Esq. to daughter of Mansfield, heir ot 

Morton.3 

9. Sir Tho. Rokeby, Knt. to Stroode's daughter and heir. 

10. Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. to Sir James Strangwayen 

daughter. 

11. Sir Thos. Rokeby. Knt. to Sir John Hotham's daughter 

12. Ralph Rokeby Esq. to Danby of YafTorth's danghtei 

and heir.'' 

13. Tho. Rokeby, Esq. to Rob. Constable's daughter of 

Cliff, serjt. at law. 

14. Christopher Rokeby, Esq. to Lasscells of Brackenbnrgh'i 

daughter.5 

15. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Thweng. 

16. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Knt. to Sir Ralph Lawson's daugh- 

ter of Brough. 

17. Frans. Rokeby, Esq, to Fancett's daughter, citizen n( 

London. 

18. Thos. Rokeby, Esq. to the daughter of Wickliffd of 

Gales. 

High Sherifs of Torkthire. 
1337. 11 Edw. 3. Ralph HaUingp and Thos. de Rokeby. 
1343. 17 Edw. 3. Thos. de Rokeby, pro sept, annis. 
1358. 25 Edw. 3. Sir Thomas Rokeby, Justiciary jf Ire- 
land for six years , died at t(ie castle of 
Kilka. 
1407. 8 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles. defeat->d and slew 
the Duke of Northumberland at the 
battle of Bramhara Moor 
1411. 12 Hen. 4. Thos. Rokeby Miles. 

1486 Thomas Rokeby, Esq. 

1539 Robert Holgate, Bish. of LandafT, afler- 

wards P. of York, Ld. President of the 
Council for the Preservation of Peace 
in the North. 
1564 6 Eliz. Thomas Yonnge, Archbishop of Yorke 
Ld. President. 
30 Hen. 8 Tho. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council 
Jn. Rokeby, LL.D. one of the Council 
1572. 15 Eliz. Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, U 
President. 
Jo. Rokeby, Esr one of the Connoil. 
Jo. Rokeby, LL.D. ditto. 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq. one of the Secrets 
ries. 
1574. 17 Eliz. Jo. Rokehy, l ikjentor of York. 

7 Will. 3. Sir J. Rokeby, Knt. one of the Justices o' 
the Kin« 's Ben^h. 
The family of De Rokeby came ov, - w;»h the Conqueror 
The old motto belonging to the fai -'^ '» lit Rivio Dextra 
The arms, argent, chevron sable, bei%'een three rooki 
proper. 

5 From Um Is the home of Hotham, and of tlK f«A. >4 l>N4h< r that hai 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



37 



There is somewhat p.ore to be feund in ot family in the 
Scottish history abor . 'iie affaire of Dun-Bretton town, but 
*»hat it is, and m w' a» cime, I know not, nor can have con- 
venient leisure U, r^aj a But Parson Blackwood, the Scot- 
lish chapla'u ;o '.w ^< .i of Shrewsbury, recited to me once a 
piece of a :^,o' si" sf.ng, wherein was mentioned, that Wil- 
liam Wp.iii', ' -e ,re.t deliverer of the Scots from the English 
l>onda^« el '••'j, it Dun-Bretton, have been brought up under 
J Puk'-l«- , dp'^in then of the place ; and as he walked on a 
rftf, el o' .1 thrust him on a sudden into the sea, and tnereby 
bjv g it'll that ho'd, which, I think, was about the 33d of 
Pjv. J. or before Thus, leaving our ancestors of record, we 
HjiBt also with them leave the Chronicle of Malmesbury Ab- 
bey, called Eulogium Historiarum, out of which Mr. Leland 
reporteth this history, and coppy down unwritten story, the 
which have yet the testimony of later times, and the fresh 
memory of men yet alive, for their warrant and creditt, of 
whom I have leained it, that in K. Henry the 7th's reign, one 
Ralph Rokeby, Esq., was owner of Morton, and I guess that 
kills was he tliat deceived the fryars of Richmond with his 
felon swine, on which a jargon was made." 

The above is a quotation from a manuscript written by Ralph 
Rokeby ; when he lived is uncertain. 

To what metrical Scottish tradition Parson Blackwood al- 
luded, it would be now in vain to inquire. But in Blind Har- 
y's History of bir William Wallace, we find a legend of one 
Rukbie, whom he makes keeper of Stirling Castle nnder the 
English usurpation, and whom Wallace slays with his own 
b^nd : — 

" Tn the great press Wallace and Rukbie met, 
With his good sword a stroke upon him set ; 
Derfly to death the old Rukbie he drave, 
But his two sons escaped among the lave." 

These sons, according to the romantic Minstrel, surrendered 
the castle on conditions, and went back to England, but re- 
turned to Scotland in the days of Bruce, when one of them 
became again keeper of Stirling Castle. Immediately after 
this achievement follows another engagement, between Wal- 
lace and those Western Highlanders who embraced the English 
hiterest, at a pass in Glendonchart, where many were precipi- 
tated into the lake over a precipice. These circumstances may 
have been confused in the narrative of Parson Blackwood, or 
in the recollection of Mr. Rokeby. 

In the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is mentioned, among 
Ihe English warriors, " Sir Raff the ryche Rugbe," which may 
»pply to Sir Ralph Rok'^by, the tenth baron in the pedigree. 
The more modern copy of the ballad runs thus : 

" Good Sir Bilpi" Raby ther was slain, 
Whose prowess did surmount." 

This would rather seem to relate to one of the Nevilles of 
Raby. But, as the v>noIe ballad is romantic, accuracy is aot 
be looked for. 



Note 3 B. 
The Felon Sow.—V. 334. 



the ancient minstrels had a ccnic as well as a serions strain 
»f romance ; and although the examples of the latter are by 
^ the most numerous, they ire, perhaps, the less valuable. 
The comic romance was a sor' of parody upon the usual sub- 
jects of minstrel poetry. If th« latter described deeds of he- 
ID!C achievement, and the events of the battle, the tourney, 

» Both the MS. and Mr. Whitaker's copy read ancettort, evidently a 
^rmptio* (.( aunUrtf 4dTenture8, aa corrected by Mr. Kvans. — 3 Sow, 
Ii:r5)tviui|i k6 pr^«iaci«l pioDunciAtioD. — S So : Yorkshire dialect.**^ Fele, 



and the chase, the former, as in the Tournament of Totten 
ham, introduced a set of clowns debating in the field, with a., 
the assumed circumstances of chivalry ; or, as in the Huntinj 
of the Hare (see Weber's Metrical Romances, vol. iii.), 
persons of the same description following the chase, with a''< 
the grievous mistakes and blundere incident to such un])rao- 
tised sportsmen. The idea, therefore, of Don duixote'i 
phrensy, although inimitably embodied and brought out, wal 
not, perhaps, in the abstract, altogether original. One of -Mi 
very best of these mock romances, and which has no sai»_ 
portion of comic humor, is the Hunting of the Felon Sow «f 
Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond. Ralph Rokeb' who 
(for the jest's sake apparently) bestowed this intracta.. e xtH- 
mal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourisned 
in the time of Henry VII., which, since we know not th« 
date of Friar Theobald's wardenship, to which the poem re- 
fers us, may indicate that of the composition itself. Morton, 
'he Mortham of the text, is mentioned as being this facetious 
baron's place of residence ; accordingly, Leland notices, that 
" Mr. Rokeby hath a place called Mortham, a little beneath 
Grentey-bridge, almost on the mouth of Grentey." That no 
infoimatio-a may be lacking which is in my power to supply, I 
have to notice, that the Mistress Rokeby of the romance, who 
so charitably refreshed the sow after she had discomfited 
Friar lliddleton and his aa.xiliaries, was, as appears from the 
pedigree of the Rokeby family, daughter and heir of Danb* 
of Yafforth. 

This curious poem was first published in Mr. Whitaker's 
History of Craven, but, from an inaccurate manuscript, not 
corrected very happily. It was transferred by Mr. Evans to 
the new edition of his Ballads, with some well-judged conjec- 
tural improvements. I have been induced to give a more au- 
thentic and full, though still an imperfect, edition of t.'tis 
hnmorsome composition, from being furnished with a copj 
from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Rokeby, to whom 

I have acknowledged my obligations in the last Note. It has 
three or four stanzas more than that of Mr. Whitaker, and tJia 
language seems, where they differ, to have the more ancient 
and genuine readings. 

The Felon Sow of Rokeby and the Friars of Rie\moiid 

Ye men that will of auntersi winne. 
That late within this land hath beene. 

Of one I will you tell ; 
And of a sew2 that was sea' Strang, 
Alas ! that ever she lived sae laiig, 

For fell* folk did she whell.6 

She was mares than other three. 
The grisliest beast that ere might oe. 

Her head was great and gray : 
She was bred in Rokeby wood, 
There were few that thither goed,^ 

That came on live^ away. 

Her walk was endlong^ Greta side ; 

There war no bren'o that durst her bide t 

That was i >e" heaven to hell ; 
Nor never mat that had that might 
That ever durst come in her sight. 

Her force it was so fell. 

Ralph of Rokeby, with good will. 
The Fryers of Richmond gave her till,'* 

Full well to garreis them fare 
Fryar Middleton by his name. 
He was sent to fetch her hame, 

That rude him sine'^ full sare. 

many Sax. — 6 A corruption of queU, to kill. — More, greater. — 7 ^ «bt 
— 8 Alive. — 9 Along the side of 6reta. — 10 Barn, child, mas in geii*r»U-- 

II From.— 12 To.— 13 Make.— 14 Since. 



872 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



With him tooke he wicht m<ja two, 
Peter Dale was one of thoe. 

That ever was brim as beare ;' 
And well durst strike with sword and knif« 
And fight full manly for his life, 

What time as mister ware.» 

Tliese three men went at God's will. 
This wickt-^ sew while they came till, 

Liggan' under a tree ; 
Rngg and rusty was her haire ; 
She raise up with a felon fare,* 

To fight against the three. 

She was so grisely for to meete, 
^he rave the earth up with her feete, 

Anu bark came fro the tree ; 
When Fryar JVIiddleton her saugh,* 
Weet ye well he might not laugh. 

Full earnestly look't hee. 

These men of anntera that was so wight,* 
They bound tnem bauldly' for to fight, 

And strike at her full sure : 
Until a kiln they garred her flee, 
Wold God send them the victory, 

The wold ask him noa mare. 

The sew was in the kiln hole down, 
As they were on the balke aboon,8 

For' hurting of their feet ; 
They were so sanlted'o with this sew. 
That among them was a stalworth stew, 

The kiln began to reeke. 

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand, 
But put a rape" down with his wand, 

And haltered her full meete ; 
They hurled her forth against her will, 
Whiles they came into a hill 

A little fro the street.'* 

And there she made them such a fray, 
II they should live to Doomes-day, 

They tharrow'^ it ne'er forgett ; 
She braded'i upon every side. 
And ran on them gaping full wide, 

For nothing would she lett.'* 

She gave such bradesi^ at the band 
That Peter Dale had in his hand, 

He misht not hold his feet. 
She chafed them to and fro. 
The wight men was never soe woe 

Their meajure was not so meete. 

She bound her boldly to abide ; 
To Peter Dale she came a^ide, 
W'.th many a hideoas yell ; 



I F erc« M A bear. Mr. Wbitaker*s copy reads, perhapi In conBe- 
^e«o« of niiatHkin^ the MS., " T'other waa Bryaa of Bear." — t Need 
were. Mr. Whitaker reads mustert. — 3 Lying. — 1 A fierce couote- 
lauce or manner. — 5 Saw. — 8 Wiijht, bmve. The Rokeby MS. reads 
i^omin'.tr; and Mr. Whitaker, auncetlort. — 7 Boldly. — 8 On the beam 
Hjove, — 9 To prevent. — 10 Assanlttid. — 11 Rope. — 12 Watlin^ Street. See 
ihe sequel. — 13 Dare. — 14 Rushed.— 1» Leave it.— 18 Pulls. — 1' This line 
* wanting in Mr. Whituker's copy, whence it has been conjectured that 
■ometbing is wanting after this stanza, which now there is no occasion to 
luppnee. — 18 Evil device. — 19 Blessed. Fr.^20 Lost his color.^21 Sheltered 
himself.— sa Fierce.— » The MS. reads, to labour Keere. The text 
«*ecis to mean, that all their hibor to obtain their intended meat was 
■"> ose to tbem. Mr. Whitaker reads. 



She gaped soe wide and cried ioe hee. 
The Fryar eeid, " I conjure thee," 
Thou art a feind of hell. 

" Thon art come hither for some traine,** 
I conjure thee to go againe 

Where thou wast wont to dwell." 
He saynedi" hinc with crosse and creedey 
Took forth a book, began to reade 

In St. John his gospell. 

The sew she would not Latin heare. 
But rudely rushed at the Frear, 

That blinked all his blee ;20 
And when she would have taken her hold 
The Fryar leaped as Jesus wold, 

And healed him'^' with a tree. 

She was as brim** as any beare. 
For all theu- meete to labour there,*' 

To them it was no boote : 
Upon trees and bushes that by her stood, 
She ranged as she was wood,*i 

And rave them up by roote. 

He sayd, " Alas, that I was Frear I 
And I shall be rugged*^ in sunder here. 

Hard is my destinie I 
Wist*s my brethren in this houre. 
That I was sett in such a stoure,*! 

They would pray for me." 

This wicked beast that wrought this WOB 
Tooke that rape from the other two. 

And then they fledd all three ; 
They fledd away by Watling-street, 
They had no succour but their feet, 

It was the more pity 

The feild it was both lost and wonne ;* 
The sew went hame, and that full soon* 

To Morton on the Greene ; 
When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,* 
He wist^i that there had been debate, 

Whereat the sew had beene. 

He bade them stand out of her way, 
For she had had a sudden fray, — 

" I saw never so keene ; 
Some new things shall we heare 
Of her and Middleton the Freai, 

Some battell hath there beene." 

But all that served him for nought, 
Had they not better succour sought. 

They were served therefore Ioe. 
Then Mistress Rokeby came anon. 
And for her brought shee meate full sjon* 

The sew came her unto. 



** She was brim as any boar. 
And gave a grisly hideous roar, 
To them it was no l>oot." 

Besides the want of connection between the last line and the tvo tocnw^ 
the second hAs a very modem sound, and the reading of lbs Rokeby ftlSh 
with the slight alteration in the text, is much better, 

M Mad.— » Tom, polled.— M Knew.— »I Combat, peiilous flgkt.— 
9 This stanza, with the two following, and the fragment of a fourth, an 
not in Mr. Whitiiker's edition.—* The rope about the sow's iwck.-< 
80 Knew. 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



3Tfc 



She gave her meate npon the flower, 


Bands bound with seales brade," 


• « • • • 1 


As deedes of armes should be. 


[Hiatus valde dejlendus.'] 






These men of armes that weere so wigh 


When Fryar Middleton came home, 


With armour and with biandes bright 


His brethren was full fain ilkone,' 


They went this sew to see ; 


And thanked God of his life ; 


She made on them slike a rerd,i5 


He told thera all unto the end, 


That for her they were sare afer'd, 


How he had foughten with a fiend. 


And almost bound to flee. 


And lived through mickle strife. 






She came roveing them againe ; 


" We gave her battel] half a day, 


That saw the bastard son of Spaine, 


And sithin^ was fain to fly away, 


He braded"" out his brand ; 


For saving of our life ;» 


Full spiteously at her he strake. 


And Pater Dale would never blinn,^ 


For all the fence that he could make. 


But as fast as he could ryn.o 


She gat sword out of hand ; 


Till he came to his wife." 


And rave in sunder half his shielde. 




And bare him backward in the feilde, 


The warden said, " I am fnll of woe. 


He might not her gainstand. 


That ever ye should be torment so, 




But wee with you had beene ! 


She would have riven his privich geara 


Had wee been there your brethren all, 


But Gilbert with his sword of werre. 


Wee should have garred the warle' fall. 


He strake at her full strong. 


That wrought you all this teyne."* 


On her shoulder till she held the swefd ! 




Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd. 


Fryar Middleton said soon, " Nay, 


When the blade brake in throng." 


In faith you would have fled away. 




When most mister^ had beene ; 


Since in his hands he hath her tane. 


You will all speake words at hame. 


She tooke him by the shoulder bane,** « 


A man would dingW you every ilk ane, 


And held her hold full fast ; 


And if it be as I weine." 


She strave so stiffly in that stower,** 




That through all his rich armour 


He look't so griesly all that night, 


The blood came at the last. 


The warden said, " Yon man will fight 




If you say ought but good ; 


Then Gilbert grieved was sae sare. 


Yon guesti' hath grieved him so sare. 


That he rave off" both hide and haire, 


Hold your tongues and speake noe mare 


The flesh came fro the bone ; 


He looks as he were woode." 


And with all force he felled her there, 




And wann her worthily in werr-i, 


The warden waged's on the morne, 


And band her him alone. 


Two boldest men that ever were borne. 




I weine, or ever shall be ; 


AhA lift her on a horse sae bee. 


1 he one was Gibbert Griffin's son. 


Into two paniers well-made of a tre 


Full mickle worship lias he wonne, 


And to Richmond they did hay :*> 


Both by land and sea. 


When they saw her come, 




They sang merrily Te Deum, 


1 ne other was a bastard son of Spain, 


Tiie Fryers on that day.^i 


Many a Sarazin hath he slain, 




His dint' 3 hath gart them die. 


They thanked God and St. Franoia 


These two men the battle undertooke. 


As they had won the best of pris,''" 


Against the sew, as says the booke. 


And never a man was slaine : 


And sealed security. 


There did never a man more manly 




Knight iVIarcus, nor yett Sir Gui, 


"IJiattney should boldly bide and fight 


Nor Loth of Louthyane.^'^ 


And skomfit her in maine and might 




Or therefore should they die. 


If ye will any more of this, , 


The warden sealed to them againe, 


In the Fryers of Richmond 'tis 


■ And said, " In feild if ye be slain, 


In parchment good and fine ; 


This condition make I : 


And how Fryar Middleton that was so k«na ** 




At Greta Bridge conjured a feind 


" W« shall for you pray, sing, and read 


In likeness of a swine. 


fill doomesday with hearty speede 




With all our progeny." 


It is well known to many a man. 


Then the letters well was made, 


That Fryar Theobald was wardeL U.tn, 


i ^"Tu* "«e is almost illegible. — 2 Each one. — 3 Since then, after that. 


Ac- 12 Hired, a Yorkshire phrase.- 13 Blow.— 14 Br;x.d, large.— iidn* 


'-^ I..* mdov* linej are wanting in Mr. Whitaker's copj . — 5 Ceaau, stop. 


Ifee a roar. — 16 Drew out. — n In the combat.- -IS BoLe. — 19 .Meeting, but 


.-< Rv^.- 7 Warlock, or wizard.— 8 Harm.— 9 Need.— 10 Beat. The copy 


tie.— 20 Hie, hasten.- 21 The MS. reads, m.itakenly, ecti-y dar.- 23 Proe 


|l Mr. Whitaker's History ofCravtn reads, perhaps better, — 


—23 The father of Sir Gawain, in the roj.iance of .■Vrthar uid Merlii 


** The fiend would ding you down ilk one." 


The MS. i*thug corrupted— 


" Yon guest," may be yon gest, i. e., that adventure ; or it may mean 


More loth of Louth Ryme. 


*0& fVxMt, or apparition, which in old poems is applied st metimes to what 




nveriaturally hideous. The printed copy reads, — " The beast hath," 


14 Well known, or perhaps kind, well d'aposed. 



B74 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And this fell in his time ; 
\nd Christ them hless both farre and neare, 
All that for solace list this to heare, 

And him that made the rhime. 

fcalph Rokeby with full good will, 
The Fryers of Richmond he gave her till, 

This sew to mend their fare ; 
Fryar Middleton by his name, 
Would needs bring the fat sew hame, 

That rued him since fall sare. 



Note 3 C. 

The Pdea of O'^Teale was he.—V. 334. 

1 ho Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, was the pro|)er bard, or, as 
ihe name literally implies, poet. Each chieftain of distinction 
had one or more in his service, whose office wa.s usually hered- 
itary. The late ingenious Mr. Cooper Walker has assembled 
a curious collection of particulars concerning this order of men, 
in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. There were itin- 
erant bards of less elevated rank, but all were held in the high- 
est veneration. The English, who considered them as cliief 
rupporten. of the spirit of national independence, were much 
lis))Osed to uroscribe this race of poets, as Edward I. is said to 
nave done in Wales. Spenser, while he admits the merit of 
their wild poeti /, as " savoring ol sweet wit and good inven- 
tion, and sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural 
device," set rigoiously condemns the whole application of their 
poetry, as abased to "the gracing of wickedness and vice." 
The household miistrel was admitted even to the feast of the 
pnnce whom he serv'ed, and sat at the same table. It was 
one of the customs of which Sir Richard Sewry, to whose 
charge Richard II. committed the instruction of four Irish 
monarchs in the civilization of the period, found it most diffi- 
cult to break his royal disciples, thougli lie had also much ado 
to subject them to other English rules, and particularly to rec- 
oncile them to wear breeches. " The kyng, my souerevigne 
lord's entent was, that in maner, countenaunce, and apparel of 
clothyng, they sholde use according to the maner of Englande, 
for the kynge thought to make them all four knyghtes : they 
had a fayre house to lodge in, in Dnvelyn, and 1 was charged 
to abyde styll with them, and not to departe ; and so two or 
three dayes I suliered them to do as they list, and sayde noth- 
yng to them, but folowed their owne appetytes : they woltle 
«itte at the table, and make countenances nother good nor 
fayre. Than I thought I shulde cause them to chaunge that 
maner; th«y wolde cause their mynstrells, their seruantes, and 
variettes, to sytte with thtm, and to eate in their owne dyssche, 
and to drinke of their cuppes ; and they shewed me that the 
usage of their cuntre was good, for they sayd in all thyngs 
(except their beddes) they were and lyved as comen. So the 
fourthe day I ordayned other tables to be couered in the hall, 
after the usage of Englande, and I made these four knyghtes 
to sytte at the hyglie table, and there mynstrcls at another horde, 
ind their "leruauiites and variettes at another byneth them, 
wherof bj semynge they were displeased, and beheld each 
Mlier, ind wolde nut eate, and sayde, how 1 wolde take fro 
them their good usage, wherein they liad been norished. Then 
I answered them, smylyng, to apeace them, that it was not 
honourable for their estates to do as they dyde before, and that 
they must leave it, and use the custom of Englande, and that 
It W£is the kynge's pleasure they shulde so do, and how he was 
charged so to order them. When they harde that, they sulier- 
ed it, bycause they had putle themselfe under the obesyance 
l»f the Kynge of England, and parceuered in the same as long 
M I was with them ; yet they had one use which I knew was 
well used in their cuntre, and that was, they dyde were no 
taeches ; I caused breches of lynen clothe to be made for them. 
fVhjle I waa viUh them I otused them to leaue many rude 



thynges, as well in clothyng as in other causes. Mocl.e ado 
had at the fyrst to cause them to weare gownes of syJke, fu» 
red with myneuere and gray ; for before these kynges though/ 
themselfe well apparelled whan they had on a mantell. Thej 
rode alwayes without saddles and styropes, and with greal 
payne I made them to ride after our usage." — Lord Berners' 
Froissart. Lond. 1812, 4to vol. ii. p. 621. 

The influence of these bards upon their jBtrons, and theu 
admitted title to interfere in matters of the weightiest concern, 
may be also proved from the behavior of one of them at an in' 
terview between Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl of Kil 
dare, then about to renounce the English allegiance, aid 'It 
Lord Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and goodly orat OB 
to dissuade him from his purpose. The young lord had com< 
to the council " armed and weaponed," and attended by seven 
score horsemen in their shirts of mail ; and we are assured that 
the chancellor, having set forth his oration " with such a la- 
mentable action as his cheekes were all beblubbered with teares. 
the horsemen, namelie, such as understood not English, began 
to diuine what the lord-chancellor meant with all this long cir- 
cumstance ; some of them reporting that he was preaching a 
sermon, others said that he stood making of some heroicall 
poetry in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus as every 
idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chancellor his discourse 
who in efl'ect had nought else but drop jiretious stones before 
hogs, one Bard de Nelan, an Irish rithmour, and a rotten sheepe 
to infect a whole flocke, was chatting of Irish verses, as though 
his toong had run on pattens, in commendation of the Lord 
Thomas, investing him with the title of Ir-'ilken Thomas, bicaui 
his horsemens jacks were gorgeously imbroidered with silke ; 
and in the end he told him that he lingered there oner long , 
whereat the Lord Thomas being quickened,"' as Holinshed 
expresses it, bid defiance to the cliancellor, threw down con 
temptuously the sword of office, which, in his father's absence 
he held as deputy, and rushed forth to engage in open iusnr 
rection. 



Note 3 D. 

^h, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
' Ulieve-Donard's oak shall light no more. — P. 335. 

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by tha 
sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve-Donard, a romantic mountain 
in the same province. Tlie clan was ruined after Tyrone'i 
great rebellion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The 
ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not 
yield even to their descendants in practising the most free and 
extended hospitality ; and doubtless the bards mourned th« 
decay of the mansion of their chiefs in strains similar to lh« 
verses of the British Llywarch Hen on a similar occasi«n, 
which are afiecting, even through the discouraging medium a 
a literal translation — 

" Silent-breathing gale, long wilt thou be heard I 
There is scarcely another deserving praise 
Since Urien is no more. 

Many a dog that scented well the prey, and aSrial hawk, 
Have been train'd on this floor 
Before Erlleoa became polluted . . . 

This hearth, ah, will it not be covered with nettles I 

Whilst its defender lived. 

More congenial to it was the foot of the needy petitionai 

This hearth, will it not be covered with green sod t 

In the lifetime of Owain and Elphin, 

Its ample caldron boiled tlie prey taken from the foe. 

1 Holliiuhed. Lond. 1S08. 4to. vol. vi. D. iS>t- 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



378 



This hearth, will It not ^e 'overed with toad-stools I 
Aronnd the vianrf it prepaied, more cheering was 
The clattering sword of the fierce uauntleas warrior. 

This Learth, will it not be overgrown with spreading 

brambles ! 
Till now, logs of burning wood lay on it, 
Accuslom'd to prepare the gifts of Reged I 

This hearth, will it not be covered with thorns I 

More cougeuial on it would have been the mixed gronp 

Of Ov/aic's social friends united in harmony. 

T« s hearth, will it not be covered with ants ! 

More a lapted to it would have been the bright torches 

And harmless festivities 1 

This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves I 

More congenial on its floor would have been 

The mead, and the talking of wine-cheer'd warriors. 

This hearth, will it not be turned up by the swine ! 
More congenial to it would have been the clamor of men, 
'^.nd the tircling horns of the banquet." 

Heroic Elegies of Llywarc Hen, by OwBN. 
Lond. 1792, 8vo. p. 41. 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without bed — 
I must weep a while, and then be silent! 

Tlie hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 

Without fire, without candle — 

Except God doth, who will endue me with patience I 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without being lighted — 
Be tliou encircled with spreading silence ! 

The hall of Cynddylan, gloomy seems its roof 
Since tlie sweet smile of humanity is no more — 
Woe to him that saw it, if he neglects to do good I 

The hall of Cynddylan, art thou not bereft of thy appear- 
ance ? 
Thy shield is in the grave ; 
Whilst he lived there was no broken roof ! 

Th i hall of Cynddylan is without love this night, 

6inco he that own'd it is no more — 

Ah, death : it will be but a short time he will leave me 1 

The hall of (Cynddylan is not easy this night, 
On the top of the rock of Hydwyth, 

Without its lord, without companv, without the circling 
feasts ! 

T^8 hall of Cynddylan b gloomy this night, 
Without fire, without songs — 
Tears afflict the chejks ) 

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night. 
Without fire, without family — 
M) overflowing tears gush out I 

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it, 
Without a covering, without fire — 
My general dead, and I alive myself! 

The hall of Cynddylan is the seat of chill grief this night, 

Afte. the respect I experienced ; 

Without tli« men without the women, who reside there! 



The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night. 

After losing its master — 

The great merciful God, what shall I do t" 



Ibia. p. T7 



Note 3 E. 

JIf' Curtin's Aarp.— P. 330. 

" MacCurtin, hereditary OUamh of North Mnnater, MM 
Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of MoB' 
ster. This nobleman was< amongst those who were prevailed 
upon to join Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it was known thnt 
he had basely abandoned the interests of his country, Mac- 
Curtin presented an adulatory poem to MacCarthy, chief of 
South Munster, and of the Eugenian line, who, with O'Neil, 
O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were deeply engaged in jirctect 
ing their violated country. In this poem he dwelt with rA\y 
ture on the courage and patriotism of MacCarthy ; but the 
verse that should (according to an established law of the order 
of the bards) be introduced in the praise of O'Brien, he turns 
into severe satire : — ' How am I afflicted (says he) that the 
descendant of the great Brion Boironih cannot furnish me 
with a theme worthy the honor and glory of his exalted race !' 
Lord Thomond, hearing this, vowed vengeance on the spirited 
bard, who fled for refuge to the county of Cork. One day, 
observing the exasperated nobleman and his equipage at a small 
distance, he thought it was in vain to fly, ami pretended to b< 
suddenly seized with the pangs of death ; directing his wife to 
lament over him, and tell his lordship, that the sight of him, 
by awakening the sense of his ingratitude, had so much aflfected 
him that he could not support it ; and desired her at the same 
time to tell his lordship, that he entreated, as a dying request, 
his forgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond arrived, the feigned 
tale was related to him. That nobleman was moved to com- 
passion, and not only declared that he most heartily forgave 
him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with 
some pieces to inter him. This instance of his lordship's pity 
and generosity gave courage to the trembling bard ; who, sud- 
denly springing up, recited an extemporaneous ode in jiraise of 
Donough, and, re-entering into his service, became once mor* 
his favorite." — Walker's Memoes of the Irish Bardt. 
Lond. 1786, 4to. p. 141. 



Note 8 F. 



The ancient English minstrel's dress. — P. 336. 

Among the entertainments presented to Elizabeth at Kenil 
worth Castle, was the introduction of a person designed to 
represent a travelling minstrel, who entertained her ivith a 
solemn story out of the Acts of King Artiiur. Of this person '» 
dress and appearance Mr. Laneham has given us a very accu- 
rate account, transferred by Bishop Percy to the preliminary 
Dissertation on Minstrels, prefixed to bis Reliques of Anciral 
Poetry, vol. i. 



Note 3 Q-. 
LitOecotr Hall.— P. 340. 

The tradition from which the ballad is founded was supplied 
by a friend (the late Lord Webb Seymour), wliose account I 
will not do the injustice to abridge, as it contains an admirable 
picture of an old English hall ; — 

" Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely situation. 
On three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads ovei 
the adjoining hill ; on the fourth, by meadows which are wa 
tered bv the river B'annet. Close on one side of the linuse is n 



thick grove of lofty trees, along the verge of which runs one 
of the princii)al avenues to it through the park. It is an 
bregular bu'JUing of great antiquity, and was probably erected 
about the time of the termination of feudal warfare, when 
defenct came no longer to be an object in a country mansion. 
Many circumstances, however, in the interior of the house, 
ie<"in appropriate to feudal times. The hall is very spacious, 
floored with stones, and lighted by large transom windows, 
.1 at are clothed with casements. Its walls are hung with old 
jr.'iitary accoutrements, that have long been left a prey to rust. 
4 '. one end of the hall b a range of coats of mail and helmets, 
Uui there is on every side abundance of old-fashioned pistols 
•a.) ^uns, many of them with raatdh-locks. Immediately be- 
low the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made in the 
form of a shirt, supposed to nave been worn as armor by the 
vti.ssals. A large oak table, reaching nearly from one end of 
the room to the other, mignt have feasted the whole neighbor- 
hood, and an appendage to one end of it made it answer at 
otlier tinjes lor the old game of shulHeboard. The rest of the 
furniture is in a suitable style, particularly an arm-chair of 
cumbrous workmanship, constructed of wood, curiously turned, 
with a high back and triangular seat, said to have been used 
by Judge Popham in the reign of Elizabeth. The entrance 
into the hall is at one end, by a low door, communicating with 
a passage that leads from the outer door in the front of the 
'lOuse to a quadranglei within ; at the other, it opens upon a 
gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the first floor, and. 
passing the doors of some bedchambers, enter a narrow gallery, 
which extends along the back front of the house from one end 
to the other of it, and looks upon an old garden. This gallery 
s hung with portraits, chiefly in the Sjianish dresses of the 
sixteenth century. In one of the bedchambers, which you 
pass in going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue fur- 
niture, which time has now made dingy and threadbare, and 
in the bottom of one of the bed-curtains you are shown a place 
where a small piece has been cut out and sewn in again, — a 
circumstance which serves to identify the scene of the follow- 
ing story : — 

" It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November, 
that an old midwife sat musing by her cottage fire-side, when 
on a sudden she was startled by a loud knocking at the door. 
On opening it she found a horseman, who told her that her 
assistance was required immediately by a person of rank, and 
that she should be handsomely rewarded ; but that there were 
reasons for keeping ths afl'air a strict secret, and, therefore, she 
must submit to be blindfolded, and to be conducted in that 
fondition to the bedchamber of the lady. With some hesita- 
tion the midwife consented ; the horseman bound her eyes, 
and placed her on a pillion behind him. After proceeding in 
lilence for many miles through rough and dirty lanes, they 
•topped, and the midwife was led into a house, which, from 
the length of her walk through the apartments, as well as the 
(ounds about her, she discovered to be the seat of wealth and 
power. When the bandage was removed from her eyes, she 
!oniid herself in a bedchamber, in which were the lady on 
wiiose account she had been sent for, and a man of a haughty 
ant. ferocious aspect. The lady was delivered of a fine boy. 
Immediately the man commanded the midwife to give him the 
child, and, catching it from her, he hurried across tire room 
and threw it on the back of the fire, that was blazing in the 
chimney. The child, nowever, was strong, and, by its strug- 
gles, rolled itself upon the hearth, when the ruffian again seized 
it with fury, and, in spite of the intercession of the midwife, 
and the more piteous entreaties of the mother, thrust it under 
the grate, and, raking the live coals upon it, soon put an end 
to its life. The midwife, after spending some time in aflbrding 
all the relief in her iiower 'o the wretched mother, was told 
that she must be gone. Hei former conductor appeared, who 
»gain bound her eyes, and conveyed her behind him to her 
»'cn home : he then paid her handsomely, and departed. The 

^ J think there U a chapel on one ti*** *if it, but am not quite sure. 



midwife was strongly agitated by the horrors of the prec^dinji 
night ; and she immediately made a deposition of the tactt 
before a magistrate. Two circumstances afl'orded hopes oi 
detecting the house in which the crime had been committed , 
one was, that the midwife, as she sat by the bedside, had, with 
a view to discover the place, cut out a piece of the bed-curtain, 
and sewn it in again ; the other was, that as she had descended 
the staircase she had counted the steps. Some suspicions fell 
upon one Darrell, at that time the pro,)rietor of Littlecotf 
House, and the domain around it. The house was eiantinei: 
and identified by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at Salis- 
bury for the murder. By corrupting his judge, he escaped Uif 
sentence of the law ; but broke his neck by a fall from h>.i 
horse in hunting, in a few months after. The place where this 
happened is still known by the name of Darrell's Style,— i 
spot to be dreaded by the peasant whom the shades of evening 
have overtaken on his way. 

" Littlecote House is two miles from Hungerford, in Berk 
shire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred 
in the reign of Elizabeth. All the important circumstances I 
have given exactly as they are told in the country ; some trifles 
only are added, either to render the whole connected, or to 
increase the impression." 

To Lord Webb's edition of this singular story, the anthoi 
can now add the following account, extracted from Aubiey's 
Correspondence. It occurs among other particulars respec'in" 
Sir John Popham : — 

" Sir * * * Dayrell, of Littlecote, in Corn. WiltJ, .i*v 
ing gott his lady's waiting-woman with child, when her travel: 
came, sent a servant with a horee for a midwife, whom hf 
was to bring hood-winked. She was brought, and layd thf 
woman, but as soon as the child was born, she ?awe the kniglii 
take the child and murther it, and bum it i\ »he fire in the 
chamber. She having done her businesse, wat i-itraordinarih 
rewarded for her paines, and sent blindfoldei, a^'ay. Thi- 
horrid action did' much run in her mind, and she had a desire 
to discover it, but knew not where 'twas. She considered' 
with herself the time that she was riding, and how many miltr 
she might have rode at that rate in that time, and that i' 
must be some great person's house, for the roome was 12 foo- 
high ; and she should know the chamber if she sawe it. She 
went to a Justice ot Peace, and search wag made. The verj 
chamber found. The Knight was brought to his tiyall ; and, 
to be short, this judge had this noble house, parke ana manner, 
and (I thinke) more, for a bribe to save his life. 

" Sir John Popham gave sentence according to lawe, bul 
being a great person and a favourite, he procured a noli 
prnseqni.^' 

With this tale of terror the author has combined some cir 
cumstances of a similar legend, which was current at Edir 
burgh during his childhood. 

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, \\»ii?,» ths 
large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secludei 
hotels, like those of the French noblesse, which they posses.scc 
in Edinburgh, were sometimes the scenes of strange and my? 
terious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was called u) 
at midnight to pray with a perso-- Ki the point of death. Th' 
was no unusual summons ; bui -^ at followed was alaruic* 
He was put into a sedan-chair, and after he had been tran» 
ported to a remote part of the town, the bearers insisted UfKii 
his being blindfolded. The request was enforced by a coctie<' 
pistol, and submitted to ; but in the course of the discussion 
he conjectured, from the phrases employed by the chairmer 
and from some part of their dress, not completely concealcjd b» 
their cloaks, that they were greatly above the menial statioi' 
they had assumed. After many turns and windings, the cha> 
was carried up stairs into a lodging, where his eyes were un 
covered, and he was introduced into a bedroom, where W« 
found a lady, newly delivered of an infant. He was com 
manded by his attendants to say such prayers by her bedsids 
as were fitting for a person not expected to survive a moita 
disorder. He ventured to remonstrate, and observe lh*l h» 



APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 



37. 



lafe delivery warranted better hopes. But he was sternly 
toinmanded to obey the orders first given, and with difficulty 
recollected himself snfBciently to acquit himself of the task 
Imposed on him. He was then again hurried into the chair ; 
but as they conducted hira down stairs, he heard the report of 
a pistol. He was safely conducted home ; a purse of gold was 
forced upon hira ; but he was warned, at the same time, that 
the least allusion to this dark transaction would cost him his 
life. He betook liimself to rest, iind, after long and broken 
m using, fell into a deep sleep. Ft im this he was awakened 
*? WB seivant, with *he dismal news that a fire of uncommon 
f s.y had broke.i out m the house of * * * *^ near the head 
»f the Canongate, and that it was totally consumed ; with the 
shocking addition, that the daughter of the proprietor, a young 
lady eminent for beauty and accomplishments, had perished in 
the flames. The clergyman had his suspicions, but to have 
miAs them public would have availed nothing. He was timid ; 
the family was of the first distinction ; above all, the deed was 
done, and could not be amended. Time wore away, however, 
aod with it his terrors. He became unhappy at being the soli- 
lar'j depositary of this fearlul mystery, and mentioned it to 
some of his brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired a 
aort of pu'iUcity. The divine, however, had been long dead, 
and the story in some degree forgotten, when a fire broke out 
again on the very same spot where the house of * * * * had 
formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of 
an inferior description. When the flames were at their height, 
the tumult, which usually attends such a scene, was suddenly 
•aspended by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful female, 
in a night-dress, extremely rich, but at least half a century old, 
api>eared in the verv midst of the fire, and uttered these tre- 
mendous words in her vernacular idiom : " jines burned, ticice 
burned ; the third time I'll scare you all !" The belief in this 
itory was formerly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and 
teeming to approach the fatal spot, there was a good deal of 
anxiety testified, lest the apparition should make good her de- 
ODciation. 



Note 3 H. 



Jls thick a smoke these hearths have given 
j3t Hallow-tide or Christmas-even. — P. 341. 

Such an exhortation was, in similar circumstances, actnally 
given to hit followers by a Welsh chieftain : — 

" Enmity did continue betweene Howell ap Rys ap Howell 
Vaughan and the sonnes of John ap Meredith. After the 
death of Evan ap Rebert, Griffith ap Gronw (cosen-german to 
John ap Meredith's sonnes of Gvvynfryn, who had long served 
in France, and had charge there) comeing home* to live in the 
conAtrey, it happened that a servant of his, comeing to fish in 
Sivmllyn, his fish was taken away, and the fellow beaten by' 
Ho'.vell ap Rys and his servants, and by his commandment. 
Griffith ap John ap Gronw took the matter in such dudgeon 
tnat he challenged Howell ap Rys to the field, which he re- 
fusing, assembling his cosins John ap Meredith's sonnes and 
his friends together, assaulted Howell in his own house, after 
Uie ikkMr he had seene in the French warres, and consumed 
■vith £■"-• his barnes and his out-houses. Whilst he was thus 
assaulting the hall, which Howell ap Rys and many other 
people kept, being a very strong house, he was shot, out of a 
crevice of the house, through the sight of his beaver into the 
nead, ari alayne outright, being otherwise armed at all points. 
K .twiths-'aai'ng his de«ith, the assault of the house was con- 
tii.i»d with great vehemence, the doores fired with great bur- 
theni of straw ; besides this, the smoake of the out-houses and 
sames not farre distant annoyed greatly the defendants, for that 
most of thpm lay under boordes and benches upon the floore, in 
the hall, the better to avoyd the smoake. During this scene 
of canlusion onely the old man, Howell ap Rys, never stooped, 
Wut atood valiantly in the midst of the floore, armed with a 



gleve in his hand, and called unto them, and bid ' them arist 
like men, for shame, for he had knowne there as great a smoakt 
in that hall upon Christmas-even.' In the end, seeing the lions* 
could noe longer defend them, being overlayed with a multi- 
tude, upon parley betweene them, Howell ap Rys was con 
tent to yeald himself prisoner to Morris ap John ap Meredith 
John ap Meredith's eldest sonne, soe as he would swear unt( 
him to bring him safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide the trial 
of the law for the death of Graff' ap John ap Gioiiw, wht 
was cosen-german removed to the said Howell ap Rjs, and o( 
the very same house he was of. Which Morns ap John af 
Meredith undertaking, did put a guard about the sain Howel'. 
of his trustiest friends and servants, who kept and defeiiiled 
him from the rage of his kindred, and especially of Owen ap 
John ap Meredith, his brother, who was very eager agains' 
him. They passed by leisure thence like a camjie to Carnai 
von: the whole oounlrie being assembled, Howell his friendi 
posted a horseback from one place or other by the way, who 
brought word that he was come thither safe, for they were in 
great fear lest he should be murthered, and that Monis ap John 
ap Meredith could not be able to defend him, neither onrsi 
any of Howell's friends be there, for fear of the kindred. It 
the end, being delivered by Mon'is ap John ap Meredith to tht 
Constable of Carnarvon Castle, and there kept safely in wan 
nnti!i (he assises, it fell out by law, that the burning of How 
ell's houses, and assaulting him in his owne house, was a more 
haynous offence in Morris ap John ap Meredith and the rest, 
than the death of Graff' ap John ap Gronw in Howell, who 
did it in his own defence ; whereupon Morris aj) John ap Mere- 
dith, with thirty-five more, were indicted of felony, as appear 
eth by the copie of the indictment, which I had from the ree- 
ords." — Sir John Wynne's History of the Oi'-yudir Famiit 
Loud. 1770, 8vo, p. 116. 



Note 8 « 

O'er Hexham's altar hung my giuve.—^. 34» 

This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers It 
mentioned in the interesting Life of Barnard Gilpin, where 
some account is given of these wild districts, which It wap the 
custom of that excellent man regularly to visit. 

" This custom (of duels) still prevailed on ;he Borden 
where Saxon barbarism he'd its latest possession. These wilt- 
Northumbrians, indeed, went beyond the ferocity of their an 
cestors. They were not content with a duel : each contending 
party used to muster what adherents he could, and commenct 
a kind of petty war. So that a private grudge would often 
occasion much bloodshed. 

" It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot whet 
Mr. Gilpin was at Rothbury, in those parts During the tw< 
or three first days of his preaching, the contending parties ob- 
served some decorum, and never appeared at church togethei 
At length, however, they met. One party had been early a' 
church, and jnst as Mr. Gilpin began his sermon, the othei 
entered. They stood not long silent. Inflamed at the sight ol 
each other, they began to clash their weapons, for they wer» 
all armed with javelins and swords, and mutually approached 
Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumult ir 
some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin proceeded : when again tht 
combatants began to brandish their weapons and draw to- 
wards each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin stepped 
from the pulpit, went between them, and addressed the leader? 
put an end to the quarrel for the present, but could not efTec' 
an entire reconciliation. They promised him, however, that 
till the sermon was over they would make no more disturbance 
He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest o' ine 
time in endeavoring to make them ashamed of what they haJ 
done. His behavior and discourse affected them so much 
that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acti 
of hostility while be continued in th' '' A nd so m; ok 



878 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



iMpected was ne among them, that whoever was in fear of hij 
SDemy u^ecl to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his pres 
•nee tlie best protection. 

"One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts, 
before the p80[)le were assembled, he observed a glove hang- 
ing up, and was informed by the sexton, that it was meant as 
a challenge to any one who should take it down. Mr. Gilpin 
ordered tlie se.vtoii to reach it to him ; but upon his utterly 
refusing to loueh it, he took it down himself, and put it into 
his breast. When the peojde were assembled, he went into 
tlie pulpit, and, before he concluded his sermon, took occasion 
to rebuke them severely for these inhuman challenges. ' 1 
tear,' saith he, ' that one among yon hath hanged up a glove, 
even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who 
taketh it down : see, I have taken it down ;' and, pulling out 
the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed 
them how unsuitable such savage practices were to the pro- 
fession of Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love 
&8 ne thought would most affect them." — Life of Barnard 
Oiipin. Lond 1753, 8vo. p. 177. 



Note 8 K 



j3 Horseman arm'd, at headlong speed. — P. 353. 

This, and what follows, is taken from a real achievement of 
Major Robert Philijjson, called, from his desperate and adven- 
turous courage, Robin the Devil ; which, as being very inac- 
inrately noticed in this note upon the first edition, shall be 
now given in a more authentic form. *The chief place of his 
retreat was not Lord's Island, in Derwentwater, but Cnrwen'g 
Island, in the Lake of Windermere : — 

" This island formerly belonged to the Philipsons, a family 
of note in Westmoreland. During the Civil Wars^two of tliem, 
an elder and a younger brother, served the King. The former, 
who was the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment ; the lat- 
ter was a major. 

" The major, whose name was Robert, was a man of great 
"oirit and enterprise ; and for his many feats of personal bra- 
very had obtained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the 
»ppellalion of Rot in the Devil. 

' After the war had subsided, and the direful effects of pnb- 
te o^limtioa bad ceased, reveng ; and malice loof ker «li^e 



the animosity of individuals. Colonel Brigftt % siet jy fr«Ml 
to usurpation, resided at this time at Kenil^.^ a:.d, under the 
double character of a leading magistrate (for he was a Juatio» 
of-Peace) and an active commander, held the country in awo. 
This person having heard that Major Philipson was at hn 
brother's house on the island in Windermere, resolved, if po»^ 
sible, to seize and punish a man who had made himself so 
particularly obnoxious. How it was conducted, my author- 
ity! does not inform us — whether he got together the naviga- 
tion of the lake, and blockaded the place by sea, or whether 
he landed and carried on his approaches in form. Neither do 
we learn the strength of the garrison within, nor of the works 
without. All we learn is, that Major Philipson endured t 
siege of eight months with great gallantry, till his brother, the 
Colonel, raised a party and relieved him. 

" It was now tlie Major's turn to make reprisals He pu 
himself, therefore, at the head of a little troop of horse, anJ 
rode to Kendal. Here, being informed that Colonel Biiggl 
was at prayers (for it was on a Sunday morning), he sta 
tioned his men properly in the avenues, and himself armed, 
rode directly into the church. It probably was not a regnlai 
church, but some large place of meeting. It is said he in- 
tended to seize the Colonel and carry him off; but as thii 
seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather probabk 
that his intention was to kill him on the spot, and in the midsi 
of the confusion to escape. Whatever his intention was,, it 
was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be elsewhere. 

" The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into 
great confu.sion on seeing an armed man on horseback makt 
his appearance among them ; and the Major, taking advantag* 
of their astonishment, turned his horse round and rode quietly 
out. But having given an alarm, he was piesently assaulted 
as he left the assembly, and being seized, his girths were cut, 
and he was unliorsed. 

" At this instant his party made a furious attack on the as- 
sailants, and the Major killed with his own hand the man whp 
had seized him, clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upoc 
his horse, and, vaulting into it, rode full speed t'lru-igk tha 
streets of Kendal, calling his men to follow him ; and, witli 
his whole party, made a safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. 
The action marked the man. Many knew him : anc they wh« 
did not, knew as well from the exploit that it could I e t)0 lOilj 
bat Robin the Devil." 

• Or. BuTD'a Hittor; of Wsftmoidaiid. 



®l)e Briial of Srtermain; 



OR, 



^{}t bait of Si. loljn. 



A LOVER'S TALE. 



PPEFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.' 

li ^be Edinbuegh Annual Register for the year 
L809, Three Fragments were inserted, written in 
imitation of Living Poets. It must have been ap- 
parent, that, by these prolusions, nothing burlesque, 
or disreupectful to the authors was intended, but 
that they were offered to the public as serious, 
though certainly very imperfect, imitations of that 
style of composition, by which each of the writers 
is supposed to be distinguished. As these exer- 
cises attracted a greater degree of attention than 
the author anticipated, he has been induced to 
complete one of them, and present it as a separate 
pubKcation.' 

It is not in this place that an examination of the 
works of the master whom he has here adopted as 
his model, can, with propriety, be introduced ; since 
his general acquiescence in the favorable suffrage 
of the public must necessarily be inferred from the 
attempt he has now made. He is induced, by the 
nature of his subject, to offer a few remarks on 
what has boen called romantic poetry ; — the pop- 
ularity of V ^ich lias been revived in the present 
day, under the auspices, and by the unparalleled 
success, of oae individual. 

The origii.al purpose of poetry is either religious 
or historical, jr, as must frequently happen, a mix- 
ure of botl To modern readers, the poems of 
Homer have many of the features of pure romance ; 
but in the estimation of liis contemporaries, they 
probably derived their chief value from their sup- 
pooed historical authenticity. The same may be 
^•3nerallj said of the poetry of all early ages. The 
Carvels and miracles which the poet blends with 
his song, do not exceed in number or extravagance 
the figments of the historians of the same period 

' Published in March, ^1813, by John Ballantyne and Co. 
12nno. 7s. 6d. 

3 Sir Walter Scott, m his Introduction to the Lord of the 
Isles, says, — " Being much urged by my intimate friend, now 
nnhappily no more, William Erskine, I agreed to write the 
little rcxarJo tale called the ' Bridal of Triermain ;' but it 
was on the condition, that he should make no serious effort to 
4]sow* lite compositior if report ^ lould lay it at his door. 



ot society; and, indeed, the diflference betwixl 
poetry and prose, as the vehicles of historical truth, 
is always of late introduction. Poets, under vari- 
ous denominations of Bards, Scalds, Chroniclers, 
and 80 forth, are the first historians of all nations. 
Their intention is to relate the events they have 
witnessed, or the traditions that have reached 
them; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, 
merely as the means of rendering it more solemn 
in the narrative, or more easily committed to mem- 
ory. But as the poetical historian improves in the 
art of conveying information, the authenticity oi 
his narrative unavoidably declines. He is tempted 
to dilate and dwell upon the events that are in 
teresting to his imagination, and, conscious how in 
different his audience is to the naked truth of his 
poem, his history gi-adually becomes a romance. 

It is in this situation that those epics are found, 
which have been generally regarded the standards 
of poet/y ; and it has happened somewhat strange 
ly, that the modems have pointed out as the char 
acteristics and peculiar excellencies of narrative 
poetry, the very circumstances which the authors 
themselves adopted, only because their art involved 
the duties of the historian as well as the poet. It 
cannot be believed, for example, that Homer se- 
lected the siege of Troy as the most appropriate 
subject for poetry ; his purpose was to write the 
early history of Ws country ; the event he haw 
chosen, though not very fruitful in varied incident, 
nor perfectly well adapted for poetry, was nevoid 
theless combined with traditionary and genealo 
gical anecdotes extremely interesting to those whc 
were to listen to him; and this he has adorned by 
the exertions of a genius, which, if it has leen 
equalled, has certainly been never surpassea. £i 
was not till comparatively a late period that the 

As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I 
took care, in several places, to mix something which might re- 
semble (as far as was in my power) my friend's feeling and 
manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions wer« 
sold. A third being called for, Lord Kinedder became unwill- 
ing to aid any longer a deception which was going further 
thc.i he expected or des'red, and the real author's «iame vral 
given." 



B80 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



general accuracy of his narrative, or his purpose in 
composing it. waa brought into question. Aoxtl 
wpSTOS lb Ava^aydpas] (jeaQd (priai i^aSopivoi cv navToSair^ 
'IvTopla) rrji/ 'Out'ipy irolvaiv avoipfivaoQai elvai vcpi ipcTrje 
Kai SiKatoavvns-^ But "whatever theories might be 
framed by speculative men, his work was of an 
historical, not of an allegorical nature. EvatrAXtro 
pLtra rj Mivren), Kal 3ir» exdaTuTe ai^iKotTo, ndvra ra eiri- 
Xi»p:a iupuraro, Kai iaTopiiav envvddvcTo' chd; Si piv fvxal 
iivt]i.iv(rvya irdiiToiv ypdiptaQai} Instead of recommend- 
ing tlie choice of a subject similar to that of Ho- 
mer, it was to be expected that critics should have 
exliorted the poets of these latter days to adopt 
or invent a narrative in itself more susceptible of 
poetical ornament, and to avail themselves of that 
advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, 

1 Diogenes Laertins, lib. ii. Anaxag. Segm. 11. 

2 Horaeri Vita, in Herod. Henr. Steph. 1570, p. 356. 

S A RECEIPT TO MAKE AN EPIC POEM. 
FOR THE FABLE. 

Take out of any old poem, history book, romance, or le- 
gend (for instance, Geoffry of Monmouth, or Don Belianis of 
Greece), those parts of story which aftord most scope for long 
descriptions. Put these pieces together, and throw all the ad- 
ventures you fancy into one tale. Then take a hero whom 
yon may choose for the sound of his name, and put him into 
the midst of these adventures. There let him work for twelve 
books ; at the end of which you may take him out ready pre- 
pared to conquer or marry, it being necessary that the conclu- 
sion of an epic poem be fortunate." 

To make an Episode. — " Take any remaining adventure of 
your former collection, in which you could no way involve 
your hero, or any unfortunate accident that was too good to be 
thrown a\TOy, and it will be of use, applied to any other f/er- 
Bon, who may be lost and evaporate in the course of the work, 
Whout the least damage to the composition." 

For the Moral and Allegory. — "These you may extract 
out of the fable afterwards at your leisure. Be sure you strain 
tliem BufiSciently." 

FOR THE MANNERS. 

" For those of the hero, take all the best qualities you can 
find in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity ; if they will not 
be reduced to a consistency, lay them all on a heap upon him. 
Be sure they are qualities which your patron would be thought 
to have: and, to prevent any mistake which the world may 
be subject to, select from the alphabet those capital letters that 
compose his name, and set them at the head of a dedication 
before your poem. However, do not absolutely observe the 
Mac*, u aantity of these virtues, it not being determined whether 
w no 't be necessary for the hero of a poem to be an honest 
es\n. I'or the under characters, sather them from Homer and 
VsTgil, ami jnange th<» -vames as occasion serves." 

FOR THB MACHINES. 

T*Re of deitiei, male and female, as many as yon can use. 
Separate them into equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. 
IjBt Juno put him in a ferment, and Venns mollify him. Re- 
Biember on all vicasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If 
rou have need of devils, draw them out of Milton's Paradise, 
»nd extract your spirits from Tasso. The use of these ma- 
thines is evident, for since no epic poem can possibly subsist 
without them, the wisest way is to reserve them for yourgre.it- 
(st neces.'^ities. When you cannot extricate your hero by any 
knman means, or yontself by your own wits, seek relief from 
Uw^cc , and the gods will do your business very readily. Tliia 



the inferiority of genius. The coEtrary course hai 
been inculcated by almoot all the writers upon th*, 
Epopceia ; with what success, the fate of Homer's 
numerous imitators may best show. The ultimum 
supplicium of criticism was uiflicted on tie author 
if he did not choose a subject which at one*" de- 
prived him of all claim to originahty, and placed 
him, if not in actual contest, at least in friLnl com 
parison, with those giants in the land, whom it wae 
most his interest to avoid. The celebrated receipt 
for writing an epic poem, which appeared in Til 
Guardian,* was the first instance in which common 
sense was applied to this department of ptietry : 
and, indeed, if the question be considered on its 
own merits, we must be satisfied that narrative 
poetry, if strictly confined to the great occurrencet 

is according to the direct prescription of Horace in his Art oi 
Poetry : 

Nee Dens intersit. nisi dignns vindice nodus 
Incident.' — Verse 191. 

• Never presume to make a god appear 
But for a business worthy of a god.' — Roscommoh. 

That is to say, a poet shoald never call upon the gods for thei 
assistance, but when he is in great perplexity." 

FOR THE DESCRIPTIONS. 

For a Tempest. — " Take Eurus, Zephyr, Auster, and Bore- 
as, and cast them together into one verse. Add to these, oi 
rain, lightning, and of thunder (the loudest you can), quantum 
sufficit. Mix your clouds and billows well together until they 
foam, and thicken your description here and there with a 
quicksand. Brew your tempest well in your head before yon 
set it a-blowing." 

For a Battle. — " Pick a large quantity of ira-iges and de 
scriptions from Homer's Iliad, with a spice or ;v o of Virgil ; 
and if there remain any overplus, you may lay them by for a 
skirmish. Season it well with similo«, and it will make an ex- 
cellent battle." 

For a Burning- Town. — " If such a description be nece.osary 
because it is certain there is one in Virgil, Old Ti«>y is ready 
burnt to your hands. But if you fear that would be thought 
borrowed, a chapter or two of the Theory of Conflagration,! 
well circumstanced, and done into verse, will be a good sue 
cedaneum." 

As for similes and metaphors, " tliey may be found alt 
over the creation. The most ignorant may gather them, but 
the danger is in applying them. For this, advise with youf 
bookseller." ■ 

FOR THE LANOUAOB. 

(I mean the diction.) " Here it will do well to be an imita- 
tor of Milton ; for you will find it easier to imitate him in this 
than any thing else. Hebraisms and Grecisms are to be found 
in him without the trouble of learning the languages. I knew 
a painter, who (I'ke our poet) had no genius, make his daub- 
ings to be thought originals, by setting them in the smoke 
You may, in the same manner, give the venerable air of an- 
tiquity to your piece, by darkening u\t and down like Old Eny 
lish. With this you may be easily furnished U|>on any occa- 
sion, by the Dictionary commonly printed at the end of Chaa- 
cer." 

1 From Lib. iii. De ConflaBrstione Mundi, or Tellnrii Theori* 8aci» 
published in 4to, 168». By Dr. Thoma* Bumet, mmter of lit* Ch»rler 
HouM. 



THE BlUDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



38j 



:'f Jii^i'^rj. w'ould be deprived of the individual in- 
ttrest whii n it is so Tvell calculated to excite. 

Moutrn poets may therefore be pardoned in 
Keek^.g simpler subjects of verse, more interesting 
in proportion to their simplicity. Two or three 
Sgurt's, well grouped, suit the artist better than 
i cro'vd, for whatever purpose assembled. For 
llie same reason, a scene inmiediately presented 
•o the imagination, and directly brought home to 
he feeiiiigs, though involving the fate of but one 
or two persons, is more favorable for poetry than 
the political struggles and convulsions wliich in- 
fluence the fate of kingdoms. The former are 
within the reach and comf)rehension of all, and. 
if depicted with vigor, seldom fail to fix atten- 
tion : The other, if more sublime, are more vague 
and distant, less capable of being distinctly im- 
derstood, and infinitely less capable of exciting 
those sentiments which it is the very purpose of 
poetry to inspire. To generahze is always to 
destroy effect. "We would, for example, be more 
interested in the fate of an individual soldier in 
combat, than m the grand event of a general 
action ; with the happiness of two lovers raised 
from misery and anxiety to peace and union, than 
with the successful exertions of a whole nation. 
From what causes this may originate, is a sep- 
arate and obviously an immaterial consideration. 
Before ascribing this pecuUarity to causes de- 
cidedly and odiously selfish, it is proper to recol- 
lect, that while men see only a Umited space, and 
while their affections and conduct are regulated, 
not by aspiring to an universal good, but by 
exerting their power of making themselves and 
others happy within the limited scale allotted to 
each individual, so long will individual history 
and individual virtue be the readier and more 
accessible road to general interest and attention ; 

" I must not conclude without cautioning all writers without 
genius in one material point, which is, never to be afraid of 
having too muoh tira in their worlts. I should advise rather 
to take their warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon 
.japer ; for they are observed to cool before they are read." — 
Pf'PE. The Ouardia-n, No. 78. 

' *' In all this we cheerfully acquiesce, without abating any 
Ui'ng of our former hostility to the modern Romnunt style, 
jvhich is Ibunded on very different principles. Nothing is, in 
jur opinion, so dangerous to the very existence of poetry as 
the extreme laxity of rule and consequent facility of compo- 
Bition, which are its principal characteristics. Our very ad- 
mission in favor of that license of plot and conduct which is 
claimed by the Romance writers, ought to render us so much 
the more guarded in extending the privilege to the minor 
poets of composition and versification. The removal of all 
technical bars and impediments sets wide open the gates of 
Parnassus ; and so much the better. We dislike mystery 
|nite as much in matters of taste, as of politics and religion. 

ut let US not, in opening the door, pull down the wall, and 
•Tel the very fouadation of the edifice." — Critical Review, 
.813. 



and, perhaps, we may add, that it ia the more 
useful, as well as the more accessible, inasmuch 
as it affords an example capable of being easily 
imitated. 

According to the author's idea of Romantic 
Poetry, as distinguished from Epic, tlie former 
comprehends a fictitious narrative, framed and 
combined at the pleasiu-e of the writer ; begin- 
ning and ending as he may judge best : wliiv 
neither exacts nor refuses the use of supernatural 
machinery ; which is free from the teclmical rules 
of the -Epee ; and is subject only to those which 
good sense, good taste, and good morals, apply 
to every species of poetry without exception. 
The date may be in a remote age, or in the 
present ; the story may detail the adventures ol 
a prince or of a peasant. In a word, the author 
is absolute master of his country and its inhabi 
tants, and every thing is permitted to him, except 
ing to be heavy or prosaic, for wliich, free ana 
unembarrassed as he is, he has no manner ol 
apology. Those, it is probable, will be found the 
peculiarities of this species of composition ; and, 
before joining the outcry against the vitiated taste 
that fosters and encourages it, the justice and 
grounds of it ought to be made perfectly ap 
parent. If the want of sieges, and battles, and 
great military evolutions, in our poetry, is com 
plained of, let us reflect, that the campaigns and 
heroes of our days are perpetuated in a record 
that neither requires nor admits of the aid of fic- 
tion ; and if the complaint refers to the inferiority 
of our bards, let us pay a just t.iou'? to their 
modesty, limiting them, as it does, to subjects 
which, however indifferently treated, nave still 
the mterest and charm of novelty, and ,rliich thus 
prevents them from adding insipiditv to their 
other more insuperable defects.' 

" [n the same letter in which "Villiam Erskine acknowl- 
edges the receipt of the first four pages of F.okeby, he ad- 
verts also to the Bridal of Triermain as being already m rapid 
progress. The fragments of this second poem, inserted in the 
Register of the preceding year, had attracted consider;*!''* 
notice; the secret of their authorship had been well kent; 
and by some means, even in the shrewdest circles of Edin- 
burgh, the belief had become prevalent that they proceied«<i 
not from Scott, but from Erskine. Scott had no sooner coin- 
pleted his bargain as to the copyright of the unwritten Rokeby, 
than he resolved to pause from time to time in its compos- 
tion, and weave those fragments into a shorter and lightet 
romance, executed in a different metre, and to be published 
anonymously, in a small pocket volume, as nearl" as possible 
on the same day with the avowed quarto. He exi)ecled 
great amusement from the comparisons which the critio 
would no doubt indulge themselves in drawing between him- 
self and this humble candidate ; and Erskine good-humoredl» 
entered into the scheme, undertaking to do nothing whicf 
should effectually suppress the notion of his having set him 
self up as a modest rival to his friend " — Life of Scou vn. 
iv. p. 13. 



S:i)c Bribal of Sricrmatn. 



INTRODUCTION 



Come, Lucy I while 'tis morning hour, 

The woodland brook we needs must pass ; 
So, ere the sun assume his power, 
We shelter in our poplar bower, 
Where dew lies long upon the flower. 

Though vanish'd from the velvet grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony ridge 
May serve us for a silvan bridge ; 

For here, compell'd to disimite, 

Round petty isles the runnels glide, 
And chafing off their puny spite. 
The shallow murmurers waste their might, 

Yielding to footstep free and light 
A dry-shod pass from side to side. 

II 

Nay, why this hesitating pause ? 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws. 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim ? 

Titania's foot without a slip, 
Like thine, though timid, liglit, and slim, 

From stone to stone might safely trip, 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper's silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover's strength : nor fear 

Tliat this same stalwart arm of mine. 
Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprear, 
Shall shripk beneath the burden dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine- 
So, — now, the danger dared at last, 
L(K)k back, and smile at perils past 1 

ITL 

And now we reacli the favorite glade. 

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and stone, 
V^ here never harsner soimds invade. 

To break affection's whispering tone, 
Tlian tlie deep breeze that waves the shade, 

Than the small brooklet's feeble moan. 
Oome 1 rest thee on thy wonted seat ; 

Moss'd is the stone, the turf is green, 

» MS.—" Hanghty eve." 



A place where lovers best may meet, 

Who would not that their love be seen. 
The boughs, that dim the aummer sky, 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy, 

That fain would spread the invidious tale^ 
How Lucy of the lofty eye,' 
Noble in birth, in fortunes high, 
She for whom lords and barons sigh, 
Meets her poor Ai'thur in the dale. 

IV. 

How deep that blush ! — how deep that sigl 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its color from some secret cause. 
Some hidden movement of the breast. 
She would not that her Arthur guess'd ? 
1 quicker far is lovers' ken 
Than the dull glance of common men,' 
And, by strange sympathy, can spell 
The thoughts the loved one wiU not tell ! 
And mine, in Lucy's blush, saw met 
The hues of pleasure and regret ; 

Pride mingled in th« sigh her voice. 

And shared with Love the crimson glow 

Well pleased that thou art Arthiur's choice 
Yet shamed tliine own is placed so low: 

Thou turn'st thy self-confessing cheek, 
As if to meet the breeze's cooling ; 

Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak. 
For Love, too, has his hours of schooling 



V. 
Too oft my anxious eye has spied 
That secret grief thou fain wouldst hide. 
The passing pang of humbled pride ; 

Too oft, when through tlie splendid hall. 

The load-star of each heart and eye. 
My fair one leads the glittering ball, 
WiU her stol'n glance on Arthur fall. 
With such a blush and such a sigh I 
Thou wouldst not yield, for wealth 
rank, 
The heart thy worth and beauty won, 



or 



• " with winss as swift 



As meditation or the thoughts of love." — flaviUt. 



PANTO I. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



S8) 



Nor leave me on this mossy bank, 

To meet a rival on a throne : 
Why, then, should vain repinings rise, 
That cO tliy lover fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A Baron's birth, a menial train, 
Since Heaven assign'd him, for his part, 
A lyre, a falchion, and a heart 1 

VI. 

My sword ^its master must be dumb ; 

But, whon a soldier names my name, 

Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come, 
Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. 

My heart — 'mid all yon courtly crew, 
Of lordly rank and lofty line, 

Is there to love and honor true. 

That boasts a pulse so warm as mine ?' 
fhey praised thy diamonds' lustre rare — 

Match'd with thine eyes, I thought it faded ; 
Fhey praised the pearls that bound thy hair — 

I only saw the locks they braided ; 
I'hey talk'd of wealthy dower and land. 

And titles of high bu'th the token — 
. thought of Lucy's heart and hand, 

Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. 
And yet, if rauk'd in Fortune's roU, 

I might have learn'd their choice imwise, 
Wbo rate the dower above the soul, 

And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes.* 

VIL 

My lyre — it is an idle toy, 

That borrows accents not its own. 

Like warbler of Colombian sky. 
That sings but in a mimic tone.* 

Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. 

Nor boasts it aught of Border spell ; 

' MS. — " That boasts so warm a heart as mine." 

' MS. — " And Lucy's gems before her eyes." 

3 Thf Mocking Bird. 

* MS. — " Perchance, because it sung their praise." 

5 See Appendix, Note A. 

s " The Introduction, though by no means destitute of bp«n- 
l « is decidedly inferior to tlie Poem : its plan, or conception, 
if cefiU-T very ingenious nor very striking. The best passages 
Ere hose in which the author adheres most strictly to his ori- 
ginal : in those which are composed without having his eyes 
faed on his model, there is a sort of affectation and straining 
kt humor, that will probably excite some feeling of disappoint- 
ment, either because the effort is not altogether successful, or 
because it does not perfectly harmonize with the tone and col- 
erir-j of the whole piece. 

" The ' Bridal' itself is purely a tale of chivalry ; a tale of 
Britain's isle, and Arthur's days, when midnight fairies 
Jaunced the maze.' The author never gives us a glance of 
ardimry life, or of ordinary personages. From the splendid 
tourt of Arthur, we are conveyed to the halls of enchant- 
■lent, and, of coarse, are introduced to a system of man- 
««« oerfeotly decided and appropriai e, but altogether remote 



Its strings no feudal rl.^gan pour, 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore ; 
No shouting clans applauses raise. 
Because it sung their fatheis' praise ; 
On Scottish moor, or Engliyh down, 
It ne'er was graced with faL- renown ; 
Nor won, — best meed to minstrel trui,— 
One favoring smile from fair Bucciet'chI 
By one poor streamlet soimds its tone, 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 

VIIL 

But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall t*"* 

Of errant knight, and damozelle ; 

Of the dread knot a Wizard tied. 

In punislunent of maiden's pride. 

In notes of marvel and of fear, 

That best may cliarm romantic ear. 
For Lucy loves, — like Collins, ill-starred n.ime If 
WTiose lay's requital, was that tardy fame, 
WTio bound no laurel roimd his living head, 
Should hang it o'er his monument when dead, — 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand. 
And thread, hke him, the maze of Fairy -land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam, 
And slimiber soft by some Elysian stream ; — 
Such lays she loves, — and such my Lucy's choic«i 
"What other song can claim her Poet's voice J' 



©lj£ Brilial of ^nermam 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 

"Where is the Maiden of morta^ strain. 

That may match with the Baron of Triermain f 



from those of this vulgar world." — Quarterly Review, July 
1813. 

" The poem now before ns consists properly ^f two distinci 
subjects, interwoven together something in the manner of tht 
Last Minstrel and his Lay, in the first and most enchanting ol 
Walter Scott's romances. The first is the history (real or in> 
aginary, we presume not to guess which) of the author's pa/ 
sion, courtship, and marriage, with a young lady, his superior 
in rank and circumstances, to whom he relates at intervals tlx 
story which may be considered as the principal design of the 
work, to which it gives its title. This is a mode of introdn 
cing romantic and fabulous narratives which we very mnu- 
approve, though there may be reason to fear that too frequeni 
repetition may wear out its effect. It attaches a degree ol 
dramatic interest to the work, and at the same time softens the 
absurdity of a Gothic legend, by throwing it to a greater dis- 
tance from the relation and auditor, by representing i;, not a« 
a train of facts which actually took place, but as a mere fable, 
either adopted by the credulity of former times, jr invented 
for the purposes of amusement, and tiie exercise of, the iir 
agination." — Critical Review, 1813. 

' See Appendix, Note B. 



384 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO I 



She must be lovely, and constant, and kind, 

Holy and pure, and humble of mmd, 

Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood. 

Courteous, and generous, and noble of blood — 

Lovely as the S'm's first ray, 

When it breaks the clouds of an April day ; 

Constant and true as the •widow'd dove, 

Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ; 

Puie as the fountain in rocky cave, 

Where never simbeam kiss'd the wave , 

Humble as maiden that' loves in vain, 

Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 

Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies. 

Yet blitlie as the light leaves that dance in its 

sighs ; 
Courteous as monarch the morn he is crown'd. 
Generous as spruig-dews that bless the glad 

ground ; 
iNoble her blood as the currents that met 
In the veuis of the noblest Plantagenet — 
Such must her form be, her mood, and her 

strain, 
That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain. 

IL 

• "IT Roland de Vaux he hath lain him to sleep. 
His blood it was fever'd, his breatliing was deep, 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long, and the skirmish hot : 
His dinted helm and his buckler's plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight; 

All in the castle must hold them still, 
Harpers must lull liim to his rest. 
With the slow soft tunes he loves the best. 
Till sleep sink down \*pon liis breast. 

Like the dew on a summer liilL 

HI 
It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with fi-ost-fog gray. 
That Uke a silvery crape was SDrc^ad 
Round Skiddaw's dun and uistant head, 
And fainxly gleam'd each painted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 

Wlien that Baron bold awoke. 
Starting he woke, and loudly did call, 
Rousing his menials in bower and hall. 

While hastily he spoke. 

IV. 

" Hearken, my mmstrels ! Which of ye all 
Touch'd his harp with that dying fall. 

So sweet, so soft, so faint, 
It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call 

To an expiring saint ? 



> Dnnmailraise is one of the grand passes from Cnmfwrland 
alo Weetinorcland. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile 



And hearken, my merry -men 1 What time or 
where [brow 

Did she pass, that maid with her heavenlj 
With her look so sweet and her eyes so fair, 
And her graceful step and her angel air. 
And the eagle plume in her dark-brown hair. 

That pass'd from my bower e'en now i" 



Answer'd him Richard de Bretville ; he 
Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — 
" Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sat suice midnight close, 
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings^ 
Miu-mur'd from our meltmg strings. 
And hush'd you to repose. 

Had a harp-note sounded here. 

It had caught my watchful ear. 
Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh. 

When she tlunks her lover near."— 
Answer'd Pliihp of Fasthwaite tall. 
He kept guard in the outer hall, — 
" Since at eve our watch took post. 
Not a foot has thy portal cross'd , 

Else had I heard the steps, though lov 
And hght they fell, as when earth receives, 
In morn of fi-ost, the wither'd leaves. 
That drop when no winds blow " 

VL 

" Then come thou hither, Henry, my page. 
Whom 1 saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and spire, 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And redden'd all the Nine-stane Hiu. 
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 
Through devouring flame and smothering smoke 

Made the warrior's heart-blood cliilL 
Tlie trustiest thou of all my traui, 
My fleetest coiu-ser thou must reiiv 

And ride to Lyulph's tower. 
And from the Baron of Triermain 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires. 
And British bards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise, 
And his who sleeps at Dimmailraise.* 
Gifted like liis gifted race, 
He the characters can 'race, 
Graven deep in elder t me 
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime 
Sign and sigil well doth he know, 
And can bode of weal and woe, 
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, 

of stones, erected, it is said, to tlie memory of Danmail tlM 
last King of Camberiand 




SIR ROLAND OF TRIERMAIN. — Page 384. 



UMO I. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIEPtMAIN. 



38' 



From mystic dreams and course of stars. 

He shall tell if middle earth 

To that, enchanting shape gave birth, 

Or if 'twas but an airy thing, 

Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 

Framed from the rainbow's varying dyes, 

Or fading tints of western skies.' 

For, by the Blessed Rood I swear, 

If that fair form breathe vital air, 

No other maiden by my side 

Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride !"• 

VII. 

The faithful Page he mounts his steed, 

And soon he cross'd green Irthing's mead, 

Dash'd o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain. 

And Eden barr'd his course in vain. 

He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round,' 

For feats of chivalry renown' d. 

Left Mayburgh's mound* and stones of power. 

By Druids raised in magic hour. 

And traced the Eamont's winding way, 

Till Ulfo's lake* beneath him lay. 

VIII. 

Onward he rode, the pathway still 
Winding betwixt the lake and hill ; 
Till, on the fragment of a rock. 
Struck from its base by lightning shock, 

He saw the hoary Sage : 
The silver moss and lichen twined. 
With forn and deer-hair, check'd and lined, 

A cushion fit for age ; 
And o'er him shook the aspen-tree, 
A restless, rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Henry from his selle, 

And greeted Lyulph grave. 
And then his master's tale did tell. 

And then for counsel crave. 
Tlie Man of Years mused long and deep, 
Of time's lost treasures taking keep. 
And then, as rousing from a sleep. 

His solemn answer gave. 

IX. 

• That maid is born of middle earth. 

And may of man be won, 
Hiough there have glided since her birth 

Five hundred years and one. 
But Where's the Knight in all the north. 
That dare the adventure follow forth, 

1 " Just like Aurora, when she ties 

A rainbow round the morning skies. ' — Moore. 

5 " This powerful Baron required in the fair one whom he 

ihoi M honor with his hand an assemblage of qualities, that 

appears to us rather unreasonable even in those high days, 

orofuse as they are known to have been of perfections now 

nnaltamable. His resolution, however, was not more inflexi- 

•!e than that of any men modern youth ; for he decrees that 
49 



So peril )us to knightly worth. 
In „he valley of St. John i 
Listen, /outh, to what I teU, 
And bii d it on thy memory well ; 
Nor m..je that I commence the rhyme 
Far dia'.ant, 'mid the wrecks of time. 
The my<«tic tale, by bard and sage. 
Is handod down from Merlin's age. 

X. 

iljulptj's Stale. 
" Ki\-G Ari hub, has ridden from merry Carlisle, 

When i entecost was o'er : 
He journey tl hke errant-knight the whi]b> 
And sweetly the summer smi did smile 

On mountain, moss, and moor. 
Above his soHtary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back. 
Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun 
Cast umber'd radiance red and dun. 
Though never simbeam could discern 
The surface of that sable tarn,' 
In whose black mirror you may spy 
The stars, while noontide lights the skr. 
The gallant King he skirted still 
The margin of that mighty hill ; 
Rock upon rocks incumbent htmg, 
And torrents, down the guUies flung, 
Join'd the rude river that brawl'd on. 
Recoiling now from crag and stone, 
Now diving deep fi'om human ken. 
And raving down its darksome glen. 
The Monarch judged this desert wdd. 
With such romantic .ruin piled, 
Was theatre by Nature's hand 
For feat of high achievement jdann'd. 

XL 
"0 rather he chose, that Monarch bold. 

On vent'rous quest to ride. 
In plate and mail, by wood and wold. 
Than, with ermine trapp'd and cloth of gold 

In princely bower to bide ; 
The bursting crash of a foeman's spear. 

As it shiver'd against his mail. 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than courtier's whisper'd tale : 
And the clash of Cahburn more dear. 
When on the hostile casque it iimg, 
Than all the lays 
To their monarch's praise 

his nightly visitant, of whom at this time he could knoi" i«iw 
ing, but that she looked and sung like an angel, if o( iMttal 
mould, shall be his bride." — Quarterly Review. 

3 See Appendix, Note C. < Ibid. Note D. 

6 Ulswater. 

6 The small lake called Scales-tarn lies so deeply emboaometa 
in the recesses of the huge mountain called Snddleback, mor« 
poetically Glaramara, is of such great depth, and so coniiUl* 



R8b SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canio i 


That the harpers of Reged sung. 


And, where the Gothic gateway frowu'<l 


He loved better to rest by wood or river, 


Glanced neither bill nor bow. 


Than in bower of his bride, Dame Guenever, 




For lie left that lady, so lovely of cheer, 


XIV. 


T: f.llow adventures of danger and fear; 


" Beneath the castle's gloomy pride, 


And the frank-hearted Monarch full little did 


In ample roimd did Arthur ride 


wot, [Launcelot 


Three tunes ; nor living tiling he spied. 


Thai she smiled in his absence, on brave 


Nor heard a living sound. 




Save that, awakening fron* her dream 


XII. 


The owlet now began to scream, 


' He rode, till over down and deU 


In concert with the rushing stream, 


TJie shade more broad and deeper fell; 


That wasli'd tlie battled mound. 


A nd though around the mountain's head 


He lighted from liis goodly steed. 


Flow'd streams of piiiple and gold, and red. 


And he left him to graze on bank and mead , 


Dark at the base unblest by beam, 


And slowly he climb'd the narrow way, 


Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream. 


Tliat reach'd the entrance grim and gray, 


With toil the King liis way pursued 


And he stood the outward arch below. 


By lonely Tlu-elkeld's waste and wood, 


And his bugle-hora prepared to blow, 


Till on his course obliquely shone 


In summons blithe and bold 


The narrow valley of Saint John, 


Deeming to rouse from u-on sle^p 


Down sloping to the western sky. 


The guardian of this dismal Keep, 


Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 


Which well he guess' d the hold 


Right glad to feel those beams again. 


Of wizard stem, or goblin grim. 


Tlie King drew up his charger's rein ; 


Or pagan of gigantic hmb. 


With gaimtlet raised he screen'd his sight, 


The tyrant of the woli 


As dazzled with the level light. 




And, from beneath liis glove of mail. 


XV. 


Scann'd at his ease tlie lovely vale. 


" The ivory bugle's golden tip 


Wliile 'gainst the sun liis armor bright 


Twice touch'd the Monarch's manly lip. 


Gleani'd ruddy like the beacon's light. 


And twice his hand withdrew. 




— Tliink not but Arthur's heart was good i 


XIII. 


His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood. 


• Paled in by many a lofty hill. 


Had a pagan host before him stood. 


The narrow dale lay smooth and still, 


He had charged them through and throj^l 


And, down its verdant bosom led. 


Yet the silence of that ancient place 


A winding brooklet found its bed- 


Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space 


But, midmost of the vale, a mound 


Ere yet his horn he blew. 


Arose with aiiy turrets crowri'd. 


But, instant as its 'larum rung. 


Buttress, and rampire's circling bound, 


The castle gate was open flung. 


And mighty keep and tower ; 


PortculUs rose with crashing groan 


Seom'd some primeval giant's hand 


Full harshly up its groove of stone : 


The castle's massive walls had plaiin'd. 


Tlie balance-beams obey'd the blast, 


A ponderous bulwark to withstand 


And down the trembling drawbridge cast ; 


A mbitious Nimrod's power. 


The vaulted arch before him lay, 


Above the moated entrance slung. 


With naught to bar the gloomy way, 


Tlie balanced drawbridge trembling hung, 


And onward Arthur paced, with hand 


As jealous of a foe ; 


On Caliburn's' resistless brand. 


Wi( ket of oak, as iron hard. 




With iron studded, clench'd, and barr'd, 


XVL 


Ajid prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard 


" A hundred torches, flashing bright. 


The gloomy pass below. 


Dispell'd at once the gloomy night 


but the gray walls no bamiers crown'd, 


That lour'd .Jong the walls, 


Upon the watch-tower's airy round 


And show'd the King's astonish'd sight 


No warder stood his horn to sound. 


The inmates of the halls. 


No guard beside the bridge was found 


Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim, 


* hidden from the san, that 't is said its beams never resch it. 


1 This was the name of King Arthur's well-known rwm* 


ipH that tha reflection oftli* stars may be seen at mid-day. 


sometimes also called Excitibar. 



VANTO I 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



38' 



Sot giant huge of form and limb", 

Nor heathen knight, was there ; 
But the cressets, which odors flung aloft, 
Show'd by their yellow light and soft, 

A band of damsels fair. 
Dnward they came, like summer wave 

That dances to the shore ; 
All hundred voices welcome gave, 

And welcome o'er and o'er ! 
Aj; hundred lovely hands assail 
The bucklers of the monarch's mail. 
And Ijusy labor'd to unhasp 
Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 
One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair. 
And one flung odors on liis hair ; 
His short curl'd ringlets one smooth'd down, 
One wreathed them with a myrtle crown. 
A bride upon her wedding-day. 
Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 

XVII. 
" Loud laugh'd they aU, — the King, in vain, 
With questions task'd the giddy train; 
Let him entreat, or crave, or caU, 
'Twas one reply, — loud laugh'd they aU. 
Then o'er him munic chains they fling, 
Framed of the fairest flowers of spring. 
While some their gentle force unite, 
Onward to drag the wondering kaight. 
Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows. 
Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
Behind him were in triumph borne 
The warlike arms he late had worn. 
Four of the train combined to rear 
Tlie terrors of Tintadgel's spear ;' 
Two, laughing at their lack of strength, 
Oragg'd Caliburn in cumbrous length. 
One, while she aped a martial stride. 
Placed on her brows the helmet's pride ; 
Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise. 
To feel its depth o'erwhehn her eyes. 
With revel-shout and triumph-song. 
Thus gayly mai-ch'd the giddy throng, 

XVIIL 
• Tlirough many a gallery and hall 
rhey led, I ween, their royal thrall ; 
At length, beneath a fair arcade 
Tiieir march and song at once they staid. 
The eldest maiden of the band 

(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen), 

Tintadgel Castle, in Cornwall, is reported to have been the 
jlnh-place of King Arthur. 

2 " In the description of the Qneen s entrance, ae well as in 
(le contrasted enumeration of the levities of her attendants, the 
iuthor, we think, has had in his recollection Gray's celebrated 
liescription of the power of harmony to produce all the graces 
S mot}«u. in the body." — Quarterly Review 



Raised, with imposing air, her hand. 
And reverent silence did command, 

On entrance of their Queen, 
And they were mute. — But as a glance 
They steal on Arthur's countenance 

Bewilder'd with surprise. 
Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak. 
In archly dunpled chin and cheek. 

And laughter-lighted eyes. 

XIX. 

" The attributes of those high days 
Now only hve in minstrel lays ; 
For Nature, now exhausted, still 
Was then profuse of good and ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valor liigh. 
And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky. 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet e'en in that romantic age. 

Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen, 
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage. 
When forth, on that enchanted stage. 
With gUttering train of maid and page, 

Advanced the castle's Queen 
While up the hall she slowly pass'd, 
Her dark eye on the King she cast, 

That flash'd expression strong ;' 
The longer dwelt tliat lingering look, 
Her cheek the livelier color took. 
And scarce the shame-faced liing could brook 

The gaze that lasted long. 
A sage, who had that look espied. 
Where kindling passion strove with pride, 

Had wliisper'd, ' Prince, beware 1 
From the chafed tiger rend the prey, 
Rush on the lion when at bay. 
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way. 

But shun that lovely snare !' — * 

XX. 

" At once, that inward strife suppress'd, 
The dame approach'd her warlike guest. 
With greeting in that fair degree. 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are bended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the heart.* 
A courtly welcome first she gave. 
Then of liis goodness 'gan to crave 

Construction fair and true 
Of her light maidens' idle mirth, 

s " Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts. 

Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 

Of wild Fanaticism." 

Waverley J^ovela, vol. xvii. p. 907 
< " Still sways their souls with that commanding art 
Tha'. dazzles, Ij ids, yet chills the vulgar heart." 
Byron's Cotunr. \SH 



"iss 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Who drew fronu lonely glens their birth, 
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due ; 
And then she pray'd that he would rest 
Tliat night hei' castle's honor'd guest. 
Tlie Monarcl meetly thanks express'd 
The banque rose at her behest, 
With lay and tale and laugh and jest, 

Apace the evening flew.' 

XXI. 

• The Lady sate the Monarch by, 
Now in her turn abash'd and shy, 
And with indifference seem'd to hear 
The toys he whisper'd in her ear. 
Her bearing modest was and fair, 
Yet shadows of constraint were there. 
That show'd an over-cautious care 

Some inward thought to hide ; 
Oft did she pause in full reply, 
And oft cast down her large dark eye, 
Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh, 

That heaved her bosom's pride. 
Slight symptoms these, but shepherds know 
How hot the mid-day sun shall glow. 

From the mist of morning sky ; 
And so the wily monarch guess'd, 
Tliat this assumed restraint express'd 
More ardent passions in the breast, 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Jloser he press'd, while beakers rang, 
^\^ule maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang, 

Still closer to her ear — 
But why pursue the common tale ? 
Or wherefore show how knights prevail 

When ladies dare to hear ? 
Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause 
Its source one tyrant passion draws, 

Till, mastering all within," 
Where lives the man that has not tried. 
How mirth can into folly glide, 

And folly into sin?" 



^\)c Bridal of (Jriermain. 



OANTO SECOND. 



I. 

Urulpt's Stale, contrnue"a 
** Another oay, another day. 
And yet another glides away 1 

" Or. the opinion that may be formed even of theae two 
iwnzas (x\x. and xx.) we are willing to hazard the jnstness of 
tae ealoginm we have bestowed on the general poetical merit 
»f this tittle work." — Quarterly Review. 
" — — ' One Master Passion la the breast 



The Saxon stem, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower, 
Lies loitcruig in a lady's bower ; 
The horn, that foemen wont to fear, 
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian dear, 
And Caliburn, the British pride, 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 

IL 
" Another day, another day, 
And J et another, glides away 1 
Heroic plans in pleasure drown'd. 
He thinks not of the Table Round ; 
In lawless love dissolved his life. 
He tliinks not of his beauteous' wife : 
Better he loves to snatch a flower 
From bosom of his paramour, 
Than from a Saxon knight* to wrest 
The honors of his heathen crest 1 
Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses browu, 
The heron's plume her hawk struck down, 
Than o'er the altar give to flow 
The banners of a Paynim foe.' 
Thus, week by week, and day by day 
His hfe inglorious glides away ; 
But she, that soothes his dream, with fear 
Beholds liis hour of waking near !* 

HI 
" Much force have mortal charms to stay 
Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 
But Guendolen's might far outshine 
Each maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth, 
Her sire a Genie of the earth, 
Li days of old deem'd to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride. 
By youths and virgins worsliip'd long, 
With festive dance and choral song, 
Till, when the cross to Britain came, 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude, 
The downfall of his rights he rued. 
And, born of his resentment heir, 
He tram'd to guile that lady fair. 
To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The champions of the Christian name. 
Well sMlI'd to keep vain thoughts alive 
And all to promise, naught to give, — 
The timid youth had hope in store. 
The bold and pressing gain'd no more. 
As wilder'd children leave their home. 

Like Aaron's serpent, swallows np the rest." — Pori 
» MS.— " Lovely." « MS.—" Paynim knight. 

6 MS.—" Vanquish'd foe." 

• The MS. has this and the sixth couplet of itanza Ui l» 
terpolatea. 



ffAKTJ n. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



3«\ 



After the rainbow's arch to roam, 
Her lovers barter'd fair esteem, 
, Faith, fame, and honor, for a dream.' 

IV. 

" Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame' 
She practised thus — till Arthur came ; 
Then, frail humanity had part, 
A.nd all the mother claim'd her heart. 
Forgot each rule her father gave, 
Sunk from a princess to a slave, 
Too late must Guendolen deplore, 
He, that has all,' can hope no more 1 
Xow must she see* her lover strain. 
At every turn, her feeble chain ;' 
Watch, to new-bind each knot, and shrink 
To view each fast-decaying link. 
Art she invokes to Nature's aid. 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; 
Each varied pleasure heard her call. 
The feast, the tourney, and the ball: 
Her storied lore she next apphes, 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes ; 
Now more than mortal wise, and then 
In female softness sunk again ; 
Now, raptured, with each wish complying, 
With feign'd reluctance now denying ; 
Each charm she varied, to retain 
A varying heart' — and all in vain I 

V. 

" Thus in the garden's narrow bound, 
Flank'd by some castle's Gothic round, 
Fain would the artist's skill provide, 
The hmits of his realms to hide. 
The walks in labyrinths he twines. 
Shade after shade with skill combines, 
With many a varied flowery knot, 
And copse, and arbor, decks the spot, 
Tempting the hasty foot to stay, 

And linger on the lovely way 

Vain art ! vain hope ! 'tis fruitless all 1 
At length we reach the bounding wall. 
And, sick of flower and trim-dress'd 

tree. 
Long for rough glades and forest free. 

• MS. — " Po the poor dupea exchanged esteem, 

Fame, faith, and honor, for a dream." 

» MS. — " Such art- as best her sire became." 
I MS.—" That who gives all," &c. 

• MS. — *' Now must she watch," &c. 
MS. " her wasting chain." 

" As somp tair female, nnadorn'd and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. 
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when those charms are past, for charms »;e fral , 
When tine a.1vances. and *hen lovers fail. 



VI. 

" Three simimer months had scantly flovn 

When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone. 

Spoke of liis hegemen and his throne ; 

Said, all too long had been his stay. 

And duties, which a monarch sway. 

Duties, vmknown to humbler men, 

Must tear her knight from Guendolen. — 

She Usten'd silently the while. 

Her mood express'd in bitter smile f 

Beneath her eye must Arthur quail. 

And oft resume the unfinish'd tale,* 

Confessing, by his downcast eye, 

The wrong he sought to justify. 

He ceased. A momeiit mute she gazed, 

And then her looks to heaven she raised ; 

One palm her temples veil'd, to hide' 

The tear that sprung in spite of pride • 

The other for an instant press'd 

The foldings cA her silken vest I 

VII. 

" At her reproachful sign and look. 

The hint the Monarch's conscience took." 

Eager he spoke — ' No, lady, co 1 

Deem not of British Arthur so. 

Nor think he can deserter prove 

To the dear pledge of mutual love. 

I swear by sceptre and by sword. 
As belted knight and Britain's lord, 
That if a boy shall claim my care, 
That boy is born a kingdom's heir : 
But, if a maiden Fate allows. 

To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 

A siunmer-day in lists shall strive 

My knights, — the bravest knights aUve, — 

And he, the best and bravest tried, 

Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.'— 

He spoke, with voice resolved and high— 

The lady deign'd him not reply. 

VIII. 
" At dawn of morn, ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make," 
Or stirr'd his wing to brush away 
A single dew-drop from the spray. 

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress." 

Goldsmith. 
' MS. — " Wreathed were her lips in bitter smila 

6 MS. " his broken tale, 

With downcast eye and flushing cheefes. 
As «ne who 'gainst his conscience speaks." 
' MS. — " One hand her temples press'd to hide." 
10 "The scene in which Arthur, sated with his lawlra* ov« 
and awake at last to a sense of his duties, announces his imme 
diate departure, is managed, we think, with nntommon ski! 
and delicacy." — Quarterly Review. 

II MS. — " A single warbler was awake." 



390 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO a 



Eie yet a sunbeam, through the mist, 
The castle-battJements had kiss'd. 
The gates revolve, the dra'wbridge falls, 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
Doff 'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, 
'^nd steel from spur to helmet-plume, 
His Lybiaa steed full proudly trode, 
\nd joyful neigh'd bereath his load. 
The Monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence' and pleasures by, 
When, lo ! to his astonish'd ken 
>ppear'd tho form of Guendolen. 

IX. 

•• R^yord the outmost wall she stood, 

A ttir^^d like huntress of the wood : 

Saudall'd her feet, her ankles bare," 

And eagle-plupiage deck'd her hair ; 

Firm was her look, har bearing bold, 

And m her hand a rup of gold. 

' Thou goest !' siie said, ' and ne'er again 

Must we two meet, in joy or pain. 

Full fain would I tliis hour delay. 

Though weak the wish — yet, wilt thou stay ? 

— No ! thou look'st forward. Still attend, — 

Part we Uke lover and hke friend.' 

She raised the cup — ' Not this the juice 

The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 

Pledge we, at parting, in the Jraught 

Which Genii love !' — she said, and quaff'd ; 

And strange imwonted lustres fly 

From her flush'd cheek and sparkling eye. 



" The courteous Monarch bent him low, 
And, stooping down from saddlebow, 
Lifted the cup, in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the goblet's brink — 
Intense as Uquid fire from hell. 
Upon the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright, 
He bolted twenty feet upright — 
— The peasant still can show the dint, 
WHiere hie hoors lighted on the flint. — 
From Arthui's hand the goblet flew, 
Scattering p^ shoiver of fiery dew,' 

MS — ' To deep rerat»8e." 
' MS — ' Her arms and buskin'd feet were bare." 

.MS. "ofJl'°"^.'"-[dew." 

' blazmj, 1 

• The aatlior has an imlistirct re^olleetJnn of an adventure, 
lomewhat sint-ilar lo that which is here ascribed to King Ai^ 
(hnr, havirg l«fallen one of the ancienv Kings of Denmark. 
The horn n which the bnrning liipior was presenU^ to tk»t 
Monarch, is said still to be preserved in the Royal Museum at 
•lopenhagen. 

M ■) ' Curb, bit, and bridle he disdain'd, 
Until a monntain crest he gain'd. 



That burn'd and llighted where it fell I* 
The frantic steed rusli'd up the dell,* 
As whistles from the bow the reed ; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, 

Until he gain'd the hill ; 
Then breath and sinew fail'd apace. 
And, reeling from the desperate race, 

He stood, exhausted, still. 
The Monarch, breathless and amazed, 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, 
Darkening against the morning sky ;• 
But, on the spot where once they fi-own'd. 
The lonely streamlet brawl'd aroimd 
A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stone." 
Musing on this strange hap the while. 
The King wends back to fair Carlisle ; 
And cares, that cumber royal sway, 
Wore memory of the past away. 

XL 

" Full fifteen years, and more, were sped. 

Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 

Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought. 

The Saxons to subjection brought:' 

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 

By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 

The Pictish Gillamore in fight 

And Roman Lucius, own'd his might ; 

And wide were through the world renown'd* 

Tlie glories of bis Table Round. 

Each knight, who sought adventurous fame. 

To the bokl court of Britain came. 

And all who suffer'd causeless wrong, 

From tyrant proud, or faitour strong. 

Sought Arthur's presence to complain, 

Nor there for aid implored in vain." 

XII 

" For this the King, with pomp ad pride, 
Held solemn court at WHiitsuntide, 

And summon'd Prince and Peer, 
AU who owed homage for their land. 
Or who craved knighthood from his hand. 
Or who had succor to demand, 



Then stopp'd exhausted ; — all amazed. 
The rider down the valley gazed, 
But tower nor donjon," &c. 
« See Appendix, Note E. 

' Ms. — " But, on ths s|)Ot where once they frowa'd, 
The st-cam begirt a siivan mound. 
With rociis in shatter'd fragments crown'i. 
s Arthur is said to havp defeated the Saxons in web 
pitched ba**les. And to ha achieved the other feats alladt4 
to in the text. 

MS. — And wide was blazed the world aronnd." 
"> MS. -" Pornht bef-^re Arthur to complain. 
Nor there for sC!!Cor sned in vain." 



CANTO II. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 391 


To come from far and near. 


A maiden, on a palfrey white. 


At sucb high tide, were glee and game 


Heading a band of damsels bright, 


Mingled with feats of martial fame, 


Paced through the circle, to aUght 


Tor many a stranger champion came, 


And kneel before the King. 


In lists to break a spear ; 


Arthur, with strong emotion, saw 


And m t a knight of Arthur's host, 


Her graceful boldness check'd by awe, 


Savu that he trode some foreign coast, 


Her dress, Uke himtress of the wold, 


Bui at this feast of Pentecost 


Her bow and baldric trapp'd with gold, 


Before liim must appear. 


Her sandall'd feet, her ankles bare,° 


AJ , Minstrels ! when the Table Roimd 


And the eagle-plume that deck'd her hair. 


Arose, with aU its warriors crowu'd. 


Graceful her veil she backward flmig — 


There was a theme for bards to sound 


The King, as from his seat he sprimg. 


Ii. triumph to their string 1 


Ahuost cried ' Guendolen !' 


Five hundred years are past and gone. 


But 'twas a face more frank and wild. 


But Time shall draw his dying groan, 


Betwixt the woman and the child, 


Ere he behold the British throne 


Where less of magic beauty smiled 


Begirt with such a ring 1 


Than of the race of men ; 




And in the forehead's haughty grace, 


XIII. 


Tlie lines oi Britain's royal race,' 


" The heralds named the appointed spot, 


Pendragon's, you might ken 


As Caerleon or Oamelot, 




Or Carhsle fair and free. 


XV. i 


At Penrith, now, the feast was set, 


" Faltermg, yet gracefully, she said — 


And in fair Eamont's vale were met 


' Great Prince 1 behold an orphan maid 


The flower of Chivahy.' 


In her departed mother's name, 


There Galaad sate with manly grace, 


A father's vow'd protection claim ! 


Yet maiden meekness in liis face ; 


The vow was sworn in desert lone, 


There Morolt of the iron mace," 


In the deep vaUey of St. John.' 


And love-lorn Tristrem there : 


At once the King the suppliant raised. 


And Dinadam with lively glance. 


And kiss'd her brow, her beauty praia^d • 


And Lanval with the fairy lance. 


His vow, he said, should well be kept. 


And Mordred with his look askance. 


Ere in the sea the sun was dipp'd, — '' 


Brunor and Bevidere. 


Then, conscious, glanced upon his queen : 


Why should I teU of numbers more J 


But she, unruffled at the scene 


Sir Cay, Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 


Of human frailty, construed mild, 


Sir Carodac the keen, 


Look'd upon Lancelot and smiled. 


The gentle Gawain's courteous lore. 




Hector de Mares and Pellinore, 


XVL 


And Lancelot,^ that ever more 


" * Up I up ! each knight of gallant crest 


Look'd stol'n-wise on the Queen.* 


Take buckler, spear, and brand 1 




He that to-day shall bear him best. 


XIV. 


Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 


" Wli'jn wine and mirth did most abound. 


And Arthur's daughter, wlien a bride. 


And hf.rpers play'd their blithest round, 


Shall bring a noble dower ; 


A shrilly trumpet shook the ground. 


Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged wide, 


And marshals clear'd the ring ; 


And Carhsle town and tower.' 


"Tlie whole description of Arthur's Court is pictoreeqae 


And eagle-plumes that deck'd her hair." | 


K»i i^!,)ropriate." — Quarterly Review. 


" MS. — " The lineaments of royal race.'" 


t l?<^ Aj-jpendix, Note F. 


' Mr. Adolphns, in commentmg on tne simi arity of m* 


* MS — • And Lancelot for evermore 


ners in the ladies of Sir Walter Scott's poetry, and those of h* 


That Bcowl'd upon the scene." 


then anonymous Novels, says, " In Rokeby, the filia. attach 


' Bee AppendlK, Note G. 


ment and duteous anxieties of Matilda form the leading fe» 


« M9 — " The King with strong emotion saw, 


ture of her character, and the chief source of her distresses. 


,, I dignity and mingled 
Her " ^ J- awe. 
( strange attire, her reverend ) 


The intercourse between King Arthur and his daugnier Gyneth, 


in The Bridal of Triermain, is neither long nor altogether ami- ! 


Attired ) ... . 


cable ; but the monarch's feelings on first beholding that beau- 


Het dress \ ''''^ l>"°tress of the wold, 


tiful 'slip of wilderness,' and his manner of receiving hei 


Her tilken buskins braced tvith gold, 


before the dueen and Court, are too forcibly and naturalij 


( sandall'd feet, her i 


described to be omitted in mis enumeration.' — /.eUnrs on tk. 


""'Jarms and buskin'd h°"^ ••"•• 


Author of fVaverley, 1822, p. 21SJ. 



»y2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANIO A 



Then might you hear each valiant knight, 

To page and squire that cried, 
Bring my amior bright, and my courser wight 1 
Tis not each day that i warrior's might 

May win a royal bride.' 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling ; 
'Jlie helmets glance, and gleams the lance, 

And the stoel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful array, 

Thej- might gather it that wolde ; 
For brake and bramble gUtter'd gay, 

With pearls and cloth of gold. 

XVIL 
" Within trumpet sound of the Table Round 

Were fifty champions free, 
And they all arise to fight that prize, — 

They all arise but three. 
Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock's oath, 

One gallant could withhold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow. 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown, 
To plead their right, and true-love plight, 

And 'plain of honor flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast, 

With buckling spur and belt. 
That sigh and look, by ladies cast. 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading, or upbraiding glance, 

Eaah gallant turns aside, 
And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my bride ! 
She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide, 

And Carlisle tower and town ; 
She is the loveliest maid, beside. 

That ever heir'd a crown.' 
So in haste their coursers they bestride, 

And strike their visors down. 

XVIII. 
•• I'he champions, arm'd in martial sort, 

Have throng'd uito the fist. 
And but three knights of Arthur's court 

Are from the toiuTiey missed. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown, — 
There were two who loved their neighbor's wives. 

And one who loved his own.' 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

I See Appendix, Note H. 

« See the comic tale of The Boy and the Mantle, in the third 
•oluuie of Percy'8 Reliriues of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton 
)i Norman original of wliich Ariosto is supposed to have taken 
tii Tale of the Enchanted Cup. 

• " The preparations for the combat, and the descriptions of 



The second Tristrem bold. 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold," 
What time, of aU King Arthur's crew 

(Thereof came jeer and laugh). 
He, as the mate of lady true, 

Alone the cup could quaffi 
Though envy's tongue would faui sum IM, 

That, but for very shame, 
Sir Carodac, to fight that prize, 

Had given both cup and dame ; 
Yet, since but one of that fair com-t 

Was true to wedlock's shrine. 
Brand him who will with base report,— 

He shall be free from mine. 

XIX. 

"Now caracoled the steeds in air, 
Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair- 
As all around the Usts so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw, with startled eye. 
The flower of chivalry march by, 
The bulwark of the Christian creed, 
The kingdom's shield in hour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow ;• 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue. 
And Gyneth then apart he drew ; 
To her his leading-stafi" resign'd, 
But added caution grave and kind. 

XX. 

" ' Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound, 

I bid the trump for tourney sound. 

Take thou my warder, as the queen 

And umpire of the martial scene ; 

But mark thou tliis : — as Beauty bright 

Is polar star to valiant knight, 

As at her word his sword he draws. 

His fairest guerdon her applause. 

So gentle maid should never ask 

Of knighthood vain and dangerous tasK. , 

And Beauty's eyes should ever be 

Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. 

And Beauty's breath shall whisper peace. 

And bid the storm of battle cease 

I teU thee this, lest all too far. 

These knights urge tourney hito war. 

Blithe at the trmnpet let them go, 

its pomp and circumstance, are conceived in the best maDna 
of the author's original, seizing the prominent parts of th« 
picture, and detailing them with the united beauty of Mi 
Scott's vigor of fangnage, and the march and richness of 'Jii 
late Thomai Warton's versification."— Quarterly Review 
1813. 



fANTO II. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAnr. 



393 



And fairly counter blow for blow, — 
No jtriplings these, who succor need 
For a razed helm or fallmg steed. 
But, G y^neth, wlien the strife grows warm. 
And tJ-reatens death or deadly harm. 
Thy ei^e entreats, thy king commands, 
Thou drop the warder from thy hands. 
Trust thou thy father with thy fate, 
L»o)ibt not he choose thee fitting mate ; 
Nor bu it said, through Gyneth's pride 
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.' 

XXL 
" A proud and discontented glow 
O'ershadow'd Gyneth's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder by : — 
' Reserve thy boon, my Uege,' she said, 
'Thus chafFer'd down and limited, 
Debased and narrow'd, for a maid 

Of less degree than I. 
No petty chief, but holds his heir 
At a more honor'd price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me ! 
Although the sun-burn'd maid, for dower, 
Has but her father's rugged tower, 

His barren hill and lee. — 
King Arthur swore, " By crown and sword. 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That a whole summer's day should strive 
His knights, the bravest knights alive 1" 
Recall thine oath ! and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy daughter will the stain 
That soils thy sword and crown, remain. 
But think not she will e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried ; 
Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clasliing sword or splinter'd spear, 

Nor shrink though blood should flow ; 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men, 
That child of hers should pity, when 

Their meed they imdergo.' — 

XXII. 

" He trown'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold :- 
' 1 give — ^what I may not withhold ; 
For, not for danger, dread, or death, 
Mu* British Arthur break liis faith. 
Too late I mark, thy mother's art 
Hath taught thee this relentless part. 
I blame her not, for she had wi-ong, 
Bti' not to these nJy faults belong. 
Use, then, the warder as thou wilt ; 
But trust me, that if life be spilt,' 
In Arthur's love, in Arthm-'s grace, 
Oyneth shall lose a daughter's place.' 



> MS. "if blood be spat." 

50 



"With that he turn'd his head <^side, 
Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride. 
As, with the truncheon raised, she sate 
The arbitress of mortal fate ; 
Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed. 
How the bold champions stood opposed. 
For slirill the trumpet-flourish fell 
Upon his ear like passing bell !' 
Then first fi"om sight of martial fray 
Did Britain's hero tiu'n away. 

XXIII. 
" But Gyneth heard the clangor high, 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
Oh, blame her not ! the blood was hers, 
That at the trumpet's summons stirs ! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

A while untroubled view ; 
So well accomphsh'd was each knight. 
To strike and to defend in fight, 
Their meeting was a goodly sight, 

Wliile plate and mail held true. 
The hsts with planted pliunes were strown, 
Upon the wind at random thrown. 
But helm and breastplate bloodless shone. 
It seem'd their feather'd crests alone 

Should tliis encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows. 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose. 
Like lark's shrill song the flourish flowo, 
Heard while the gale of April blows 

The merry greenwood through. 

XXIV. 
" But soon too earnest grew their game. 
The spears drew blood, the swords struck dam* 
And, horsG and man, to ground there came 

Knights, who shall rise no moi e ! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced, 
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced. 
And steel coats riven, and helms imbrace I, 

And pennons stream'd with gore. 
Gone,*oo, were fence and fair array, 
And desperate strength made deadly way 
At random through the bloody fray. 
And blows were dealt with headlong swuy, 

Unheedmg where they fell ; 
And now the trumpet's clamors seem 
Like the shrill sea-bird's •« ailing scream, 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfir g stream, 

The sinking seaman's kneU 1 

XXV. 
" Seem'd in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate, 

And spare dark Mordred's crime ; 



*MS. 



' df ins kiMiL* 



S04 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cai.to a 


Alrea ly gasping on the ground 


For feats of arras as far renown'd 


Lie twenty of the Table Round, 


As warrior of the Table Roimd. , 


Of chivah-y the prime.' 


Long endurance of thy slumber 


Arthur, in anguish, tore away 


Well may teach the world to number 


From head and beard his tresses gray, 


All their woes from Gyneth's pride. 


And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay, 


When the Red Cross champions died.' 


And quaked with ruth and fear • 




Br still she deem'd her mother's shade 


XXVII 


Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 


" As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth e eye 


The sigu that had the slaughter staid, 


Slumber's load begins to lie ; 


And chid the rising tear. 


Fear and anger vauily strive 


Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 


Still to keep its light aUve. 


Helias the White, and Lionel, 


Twice, with effort and with pause, 


And many a champion more ; 


O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 


Rochemont and Dinadam are down, 


Twice her strength in vain she triea 


And Ferrand of the Forest Browu 


From the fatal chau- to rise ; 


Lies gasping in Ills gore. 


Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 


Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd 


Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 


Even to the confines of the list. 


Slow the dark-fringed eyelids faU^ 


Young Vanoc of the beardless face 


Curtainmg each azure ball. 


(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), 


Slowly as on summer eves 


O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled. 


Violets fold their dusky leaves. 


His heart's blood dyed her sandals red. 


The weighty baton of command 


But then the sky was overcast. 


Now bears down her sinking hand, 


Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast, 


On her shoulder droops her head ; 


And, rent by sudden throes. 


Net of pearl and golden thread, 


Yawn'd in mid lists the quakhig earth. 


Biu-sting, gave her locks to flow 


And from the gulf, — tremendous birth ! — 


O'er her arm and breast of snow. 


The form of Merlin rose. 


And so lovely seem'd she there, 




Spell-bound in her ivory chair, 


XXVL 


Tliat her angry sire, repenting, 


"Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 


Craved stern MerUn for relentiaf.^. 


The dreary lists with slaughter dyed. 


And the champions, for her saL.i , 


And sternly raised his hand : — 


Would again the contest \»ake ; 


' Madmen,' he said, ' yoirr strife forbear 1 


Till, in necromantic night. 


And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 


Gyneth vanish'd from their sight. 


The doom thy fates demand 1 




Long shall close in stony sleep 


XXVIII 


Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 


" Still she bears her weird alone. 


L-on lethargy shall seal 


In the Valley of Saint John ; 


Heart that pity scorn'd to feeL 


And her semblance oft will seem, 


Yet, because thy mother's art 


MingUng in a champion's dream, 


Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart, ^ 


Of her weary lot to 'plain. 


And for love of Arthur's race, 


And crave his aid to burst her ctain. 


Punishment is blent with grace, 


While her wondrous tale was new, 


Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 


Warriors to her rescue drew. 


In the Valley of Saint John, 


East and west, and south and north. 


A— this weird' shall overtake thee ; 


From the Liffy, Thames, and Forth. 


Sleep, until a knight sliall wake thee, 


Most have lought in vain the gl^n. 


1 ' The difficult subject of a tournament, in which several 


sound of the trumpets, and drowned the ', oap" of those ^ht 


mights engage at once, is admirably treated by the novelist in 


fell, and lay rolling defenceless \)en'-at> ih' leet rf tne horses. 


Ivanhoe, and by his rival in The Bridal of Triermain, and the 


The splendid armor of the comKaf.ntr /as -ow def:.ced with 


eading thought in both descriptions is the sudden and tragic 


dust and blood, and gave wty it ;ve^/ stroke of tht sword 


ihange from a scene of pomp, gayety, and youthful pride, to 


and battle-axe. The gay r'arage, shorn from the crests, 


•ne of misery, confusion, and death." — J}dolp/ius, p. 245. 


drifted upon the breeze likp sr (W ilakes. All that was beas- 


" The tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the sonth- 


tiful and graceful in the r a^ia' array had disappeared, a.ni 


nn, now toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one 


what was now visible was "nlj calculated to awake terror of 


•r the other party prevailed. Meantime, the clang of the blows. 


compassion." — Ivanhoe — faverley J^ovela, vol. svi. p. Uf 


siul the shouu of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the 


■i Doom. 



CANTO II. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



890 



Tower nor castle coiild they ken 
Not at every time or tide, 
Nor by every eye. descriec 
Fast and vigd must be borne, 
Many a night in watching worn. 
Ere an eye of mortal powers 
Cai. discern those magic towers. 
Of the persevering few, 
Some from hopeless task withdrew, 
When they read the dismal threat 
Graved upon the gloomy gate. 
Few have braved the yawning door, 
And those few return'd no more. 
In the lapse of time forgot, 
Wellnigh lost is Gyueth's lot ; 
Sound her sleep as in the tomb, 
Till waken'd by the trump of doom." 

END OF LYULPH's TALE. 



Here pause, my tale ; for all too sooQ; 

My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 

Already from thy lofty dome 

Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam, 

And each, to kiU the goodly day 

That God has granted them, his way 
Of lazy sauntering has sought ; 

Lordlings and witlings not a few, 
Incapable of doing aught. 

Yet ill at ease with naught to do. 

Here is no longer place for me : 

For, Lucy, thou wouldst bljsh to see 
Some phantom, fashionably thin, 
With limb of lath and kerchief 'd chin, 
And loimgmg gape, or sneering grin, 

Steal sudden on our privacy. 

And how should I, so humbly born, 

Endure the graceful spectre's scorn ? 

Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand 

Of English oak is hard at hand. 

IL 
Or grant the hour be all too soon 
For Hessian boot and pantaloon. 
And grant the lounger seldom strays 
Beyond the smooth and graveU'd maze;, 
Laud we the gods,, that Fashion's train 
Holds hearts of more adventurous strain. 
Artists are hers, who scorn to trace 
Their rules from Nature's boundless grace, 
But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art, 

• " The Irammels of the palfraye pleased his sight. 

And the horse-millanere his head with roses dight." 
Rowley's Ballads of Charttie. 



Damning whate'er of vast and fair 
Exceeds a canvas tliree feet square. 
This thicket, for their gumption fit, 
May furnish such a happy bit. 
Bards, too, are hers, wont to r< cite 
Their own sweet lays by waxm Ught, 
Half in the salver's tingle irown'd, 
"WTule the chasse-cafe glides around ; 
And such may hither secret stray, 
To labor an extempore : 
Or sportsman, with his boisterous hoUo, 
May here his wiser spaniel follow, 
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume 
To choose this bower for tiring-room ; 
And we alike must shun regard, 
From painter, player, sportsmaa bard. 
Insects that skim in Fasluon's sky, 
Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 
For all can hima and all can buzz. 

III. 
But oh, my Lucy, say how long 
We still must dread this trifling throng, 
And stoop to hide, with coward art. 
The genuine feelings of the heart ! 
No parents thine, whose just command 
Should rule their child's obedient hand , 
Thy guardians, with contending voice, 
Press each his individual choice. 
And which is Lucy's ? — Can it b.j 
That puny fop, trimm'd cap-a-pt e. 
Who loves in the saloon to show 
The arms that never knew a foe ; 
Whose sabre traUy along the ground, 
Whose legs in si apeless boots are drown''* 
A new Acliilles, sure, — the steel 
Fled from liis breast to fence his heel , 
One, for the simple manly grace 
That wont to deck our martial race, 

Who comes in foreign trashery 
Of tinkling chain and spur, 

A walking haberdashery. 
Of feathers, lace, and fur : 
In Rowley's antiquatfo phrase, 
Horse-miUiner' of modern days ! 

ir 

Or is it he, the wordy youth. 

So early tram'd for statesman's part, 
Who talks of honor, faith, and truth. 
As themes that he has got by heart ; 
Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach. 
Whose logic is fi-om Single-speech;' 

s See " Parliamentary Logic, &c , by the Rigtii. Horotabi 
William Gerard Hamilton" (1808), commonly called " 91b 
gle-Speecb Hamilton." 



996 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO III 



Who scorns the meanest thought to vent, 
Save in the phrase of ParUament ; 
Who, in a tale oi cat and mouse, 
Calls " order," and " divides the house," 
Who " craves permission to reply," 
Whose " noble friend is in his eye ;" 
Wl ostf loving tender some have reckon'd 
A. motion you should gladly second? 



What, neither ? Can there be a tlurd, 
To such resistless swarins preferr'd ? — 
why, my Lucy, turn aside. 
With that quick glance of injured pride f 
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear 
That alter'd and resentful air. 
Were all the wealth of Russel mine, 
And all the rank of Howard's hne, 
All would I give for leave to dry 
That dew-drop trembling in thine eye. 
Think not I fear such fops can wile 
From Lucy more than careless smile ; 
But yet if wealth and high degree 
Give gilded counters currency, 
Must I not fear, when rank and birth 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth ? 
Nobles there are, whose martial fires 
Rival the fame that raised their sires. 
And patriots, sldll'd through storms of fate 
To guide and guard the reeling state. 
Sucli, such there are — If such should come, 
Arthur must tremble and be dumb. 
Self-exiled seek some distant shore. 
And mourn till life and grief are o'er. 

VL 

What sight, what signal of alarm. 
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm ? 
Or is it, that the rugged way 
Makee Beauty lean on lover's stay ? 
Oh, no ! for on the vale and brake. 
Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake, 
And this trim swai'd of velvet green, 
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen. 
That pressure slight was but to tell. 
That Lucy loves her Arthur well. 
And fain would banish from his mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 

VIL 

But wouldst thou bid the demons fly 
Like mist before the dawning sky 
There is but one resistless spell — 
Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell ? 
Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase, 
A landaulet and four blood-bay% 
But bards agree this wizard band 
Oaa but be bound in Northern land. 



'Tis there— nay, draw not back thy himd l- 

'Tis there this slender finger round 

Must golden amulet be bound. 

Which, bless'd with many a holy prayer. 

Can change to rapture lovers' care, 

And doubt and jealousy shall die, 

And fears give place to ecstasy. 

VTIL 

Now, trust me, Lucy, all too Ions 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 
0, why so silent, love, I pray ? 
Have I not spoke the Uvelong day f 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless ? 
I ask but one — a simple sound. 
Within three little letters boimd, 

O, let the word be YES ! 



Cl)e Bribal of ^riermaitt 



CANTO THIRD. 



INTRODUCTION. 

L 

Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won, 

My hfe's best hope, and now mine own 1 

Doth not tliis rude and Alpine glen 

Recall our favorite haunts agen ? 

A wild resemblanct we can trace, 

Though reft of every softer grace. 

As the rough warrior's brow may bear 

A likeness to a sister fair. 

Full well advised our Highland host. 

That this wild pass on 'aot be cross'd. 

While round Ben-Cp a's mighty baso 

Wheel the slow steeds and Ungering cb&Lae 

The keen old carl, with Scottish pride. 

He praised his glen and mountains wide : 

An eye he bears for nature's face. 

Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 

Even in such mean degree we find 

The subtle Scot's observing mind ; 

For, nor the chariot nor the train 

Could gape of vulgar wonder gain. 

But when old Allan would expound 

Of Beal-na-paish' the Celtic sound. 

His bonnet doffd, and bow, applied 

His legend to my bonny bride ; 

^Vhile Lucy blush'd beneath his eye. 

Courteous and cautious, shrewd and aljr. 

i Beal-oa-paish, the Vale of tht BridaL 



CASIO III, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



39'. 



II. 
Raough of him. — Now, ere wp loae, 
Plunged in the vale, the distant views, 
Turn thee, my love ' look back once more 
To the blue lake'.'* retii'ing shore. 
On its smooth breast the shadows seem 
Like objects in a moriuiig dream, 
What time the slimiberer is aware 
He sleeps, and all the vision's air : 
Even so, on yonder hquid lawn, 
hi hues of bright reflection di'awn, 
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, 
1 istmct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 
Th». smmner-clouds so plain we note, 
This'. we might count each dappled spot : 
^ ^aze and we admire, yet know 
Tu«3 scene is all delusive show. 
Such dreams of ohss' would Arthur draw, 
When first his Lucy's form he saw ; 
Yet sigh'd and sicken'd as he drew, 
Despairing they could e'er prove true 1 

III 
But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view 

Up the fair glen, our destined way : 
The fairy path that we pursue, 
Distinguish'd but by greener hue, 

Winds round the purple brae, 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
For carpets serve, or tapestry. 
See how the little runnels leap. 
In threads of silver, down the steep. 

To swell the brooklet's moan 1 
Seems that the Higliland Naiad grieves, 
Fantastic while her crown she weaves. 
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves. 

So lovely, and so lone. 
There's no illusion there ; these flowers. 
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers, 

Are, Lucy, all our own ; 
And, since thine Arthur call'd thee wife, 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path, on-wiading still. 
By gurgling brook and sloping hilL 
'Tis true, that mortals carmot tell 
What waits them in the distant dell ; ' 

But be it hap, or be it harm, 
We tread the pathway arm in arm, 

IV. 

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why 
[ could thy bidding twice deny, 



1 MS.—" Scenes of bliss." 

• MS. — " Until yon peevish oath yon swore, 

That yon would sue for it no more." 



When twice you pray'd I would again 
Resume the legendary strain 
Of the bold Knight of Triermain ? 
At length yon peevish vow you 

swore. 
That you would sue to me no more,' 
Until the minstrel fit drew near, 
And made me prize a hstening ear. 
But, loveliest, when thou first didti 

pray 
Continuance of the knightly lay, 
Was it not on the happy day 

That made thy hand mine own f 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy 
Naught past, or present, or to be. 
Could I or think on, hear, or see, 

Save, Lucy, thee alone I 
A giddy draught my rapture was, 
As ever chemist's magic gas. 

V. 

Again the summons I denied 
In yon fair capital of Clyde : 
My Harp — or let me rather choose 
The good old classic form — ^my Musei, 
(For Harp's an over-scutched plu-ase 
Worn out by bards of modern days), 
My Muse, then — seldom will she waki, 
Save by dim wood and silent lake • 
She is the wild and rustic Maid, 
Whose foot tmsandall'd loves to tread 
Where the soft greensward is inlaid 

With varied moss and thyme • 
And, lest the simple lily-braid. 
That coronets her temples, fade, 
She hides her still in greenwood shade, 

To meditate her rhyme. 

VL 

And now she comes 1 The mm-mur 

dear 
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear, 

The glade hath won her eye ; 
She longs to join with each blithe rill 
That dances down the Highland hiL, 

Her bhther melody.' 
And now my Lucy's way to cheer. 
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear 
How closed the tale, my love whilere 

Loved for its chivalry 
List how she tells, in notes of flame, 
" Child Roland to the dark tower came r* 

• MS. — " Her wild-wood melody." 

* The MS. haj not this co3 ieL 



S98 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAirro in 



iill)e Brlbal of ^ricrmain. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Bewcastle now must keep the Hold, 

npeir-Adara's steeds must bide in stall, 
Of Hartley-bum the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
ArA Liddesdale may buckle spur, 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
Taras and Ewes keep nightly stir, 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plunder'd flocks 

The Borderers bootless may complain; 
Thoy lack the sword of brave de Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Triermain. 
That lord, on high adventure bound. 

Hath wander'd forth alone, 
And day and night keeps watchful round 

In the valley of Saint John. 

li. 
When first began his vigil bold. 
The moon twelve summer nights was old, 

And shone both fau and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless blue, * 
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw 

Her hght composed and cool. 
Stretch'd on the brown liiU's heathy breast, 

Sir Roland eyed tlie vale ; 
Chief where, distiuguish'd from the rest, 
Those clustering rocks uprear'd their crest, 
The dwelling of the fair distress'd, 

As told gray Lyulph's tale. 
Tims as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on his armor bright, 

In beams that rose and fell. 
And danced upon his buckler's boss, 
That lay beside him on the moss, 

As on a crystal welL 

in. 

Ever he watch'd, and oft he deem'd, 

While on the mound the moonhght stream'd. 

It alter'd to his eyes ; 
#ain would he hope the rocks 'gan change 
To buttress'd walls tlieir shapeless range. 
Fain think, by transmutation strange. 

He saw gray tuiTets rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope throb'd high. 
Before the wild illusions fly, 

Which fancy had concf ived, 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That long'd to be deceived. 
It was a food deception all, 



Such as, in solitary hall. 

Beguiles the musing eye, 
When, gazing on the sinking fire, 
Bulwark, and battlement, and spire, 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night. 
Or by the blaze of noontide blight. 
Or by the dawn of morning light. 

Or evening's western flame. 
In every tide, at every hour, 
In mist, in sunshine, and in showei. 

The rocks remain'd the same. 

IV. 

Oft has he traced the charmed mound, 
Oft chmb'd its crest, or paced it roimd, 

Yet nothing might explore, 
Save that the crags so rudely piled. 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps 

And drinks but of the weU ; 
Ever by day he walks the hill. 
And when the evening gale is chill. 

He seeks a rocky cell, 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead. 
And tell his Ave and his Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need. 

For aid to burst his spelL 



And now the moon her orb has hid, 
And dwindled to a silver tlu-ead. 

Dim seen in middle heaven, 
Wliile o'er its curve careering fast, 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the liills 
The upland showers had swoln the rill% 

And down the torrents came ; 
Mutter'd the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of hghtning flame. 
De Vaux, within his mountain cave 
(No human step the storm durst brave), 
To moody meditation gave 

Each faculty of soul,' 
Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound. 
And the sad winds that whistled round. 
Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, 

A broken slumber stole. 

VL 

'Twas then was heard a heavy sound 

(Sound, strange and fearful there to hear 

> MS — " His facal^es of sonl." 



rANTo in. THE BRIDAL OF TRTERMATN. 3s> 


'Mongat desert hills, -where, leagues aroxind, 


Came mounted on that car of fire. 


Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer) : 


To do his errand dread. 


A.8 starting from his couch of fern,* 


Far on the sloping valley's course. 


A-gain he heard, in clangor stern, 


On thicket, rock, and toiTent hoarse. 


ITiat deep and solemn sAvell,— 


Sliingle and Scrae,* and FeU and Force, 


Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke, 


A dusky light arose : 


• Like some proud minster's pealing clock, 


Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene 


Or city's larum-bell. 


Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen. 


W I :(it thought was Roland's first when fell, 


Even the gay thicket's summer green, 


Jr. that deep wilderness, the knell 


In bloody tincture glows. 


Upon his startled ear ? 




To slander warrior were I loth, 


IX. 


Yet must I hold my minstrel troth, — 


De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set, 


It was a thought of fear. 


At eve, upon the coronet 




Of that enchanted mound. 


VII. 


And seen but crags at random flung, 


But lively was the mingled thrill 


That, o'er the brawling torrent hung,* 


That chased that momentary chill, 


In desolation frown'd. 


For Love's keen wish was there. 


What sees he by that meteor's lour ? — 


And eager Hope, and Valor high, 


A banner'd Castle, keep, and tower, 


And the proud glow of Chivalry, 


Return the lurid gleam. 


That burn'd to do and dare. 


With battled walls and buttress fast, 


Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd, 


And barbican' and ballium* vast. 


Long ere the mountain-voice" was hush'd, 


And airy flanking towers, that cast 


That answer'd to the knell ; 


Theu- shadows on the stream. 


For long and far the unwonted sound. 


'Tis no deceit ! — distinctly clear 


Eddying in echoes round and round, 


CrenelP and parapet appear, 


"Was toss'd from fell to fell ; 


While o'er the pile that meteor drear 


And Glaramara answer flung, 


Makes momentary pause ; 


And Grisdale-pike responsive rung. 


Then forth its solemn path it drew, 


And Legbert heights their echoes swung. 


And fainter yet and fainter grew 


As far as Derwent's deU.' 


Those gloomy towers upon the view, 




As its wild light withdraws. 


VIIL 




Forth upon trackless darkness gazed 


X. 


The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed. 


Forth from the cave did Roland rush. 


Till all was hush'd and still, 


O'er crag and stream, through brier and busk 


Save the swoln ton-ent's sullen roar, 


Yet far he had not sped," 


And the night-blast that wildly bore 


Ere sunk was that portentous light 


Its course along the hill. 


Behind the liills, and utter night 


Tlien on the northern sky there came 


Was on the valley spread." 


A light as of reflected flame. 


He paused perforce, and blew his horn. 


And over Legbert-head, 


And, on the mountain echoes borne," 


A? if by magic art controU'd, 


Was heard an answering sound, 


A mighty meteor slowly roll'd 


A wild and lonely trumpet-note, — 


Its orb of fiery red ; 


In middle air it seem'd to float 


Thou wouHst have thought some demon dire 


High o'er the battled mound ; 


MS " hia conch of rock, 


His speaking-trumpet ; — back out of the cloadf 


Again npon his ear it brolje." 


Of Glaramara southward came the vo'ce ; 


M3 • " mingled sounds were hush'd." 


And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head." 


'' The rock, like something starting from a sleep. 


WoRD8WO»TH 


Took up the lady's voice, and laugh'd again; 


* Bank of loose stones. * Waterfall 


That ancient Woman seated on Helm-Crag 


6 MS. "rocks at random piled, 


Was ready with her cavern ; Hammar-'-'car, 


That on the torrent brawling wild." 


And the tall steep of Silver-How, sent forth 


' The outer defence of the castle gate. 


A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard, 


8 Fortified court. » Apertures for shooting arrojn 


Km] Fairfield answer'd with a mountain tone ; 


10 MS. " had not gone." 


flelvellyn far into the clear blue sky 


i> MS. " the valley lone." 


■iairied the ladv's • lioe, — old fkiddaw blew 


" MS.—" And far upon the echoes borne.' 



♦00 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO in 



And sounds were heard, as when a guard 
Of some proud castle, hokling ward, 

Pace, forth their nightly round. 
The valiant Kniglit of Triermain 
Rung forth his challenge-blast again, 

But answer came there none ; 
And 'nii<l the mingled wind and rain, 
Darkling he sought the vale in vain,' 

Until the dawning shone ; 
And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, 
Distinctly seen by meteor-light, 

It all had passed away 1 
And that enchanted mound once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore, 

As at the close of day. 

XI. 

Stejl'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part, 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees, by night or day. 
That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray, 

Hears but the torrent's roar. 
Till when, tluough hills of azure borne,* 
The moon rencw'd her silver horn, 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A summer mist arose ; 
Adown the vale the vapors float. 
And cloudy undulations moat* 
That tufted mound of mystic note. 

As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side, 
Until the airy billows hide^ 

Tlie rock's majestic isle; 
It Bcem'd a veil of filmy lawn, 
By some ftintastic fairy drawn" 

Around enchanted pile. 

XII. 
The breeze came softly down the brook,* 
And, sighing as it blew, 

' MS. " he souglit the towers in vain." 

' MS. — " Bnt when, tlirongh fielils of azure borne." 
' MS. — '• And witli their eddying billows moat." 
« MS. — " T'ntil (he mist's gray bosom hide." 

» MS.— "a veil of airy lawn." 

• " A sharp frost wind, which made itself heard and felt 
from time to time, removed the clouds of mist which might 
otherwise have slumbered till morning on the valley ; and, 
Ihougn It conid not totally disperse the clouds of vapor, yet 
'hrew them in confused and changeful masses, now hovering 
oand the heads of the mountains, now filling, as with a dense 
and voluminous stream of smoke, the various deep gnllies 
where masses of the composite rock, or brescia, tumbling in 
fragments from the cliffs, have rushed to the valley, leaving 
each behind its course a rent and torn ravine, resembling a de- 
Ktrted water-course. The moon, which was now high, and 
tinkled <vitt ^1 the vivacity of a ftoatj atmosphere, silvereU 



The veil of silver mist it shook. 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renew'd that wondrous vie'y. 
For, though the loitering vapor braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dewy fold ; 
And still, when shook that filmy screen, 
Were towers and bastions dimly seen, 
And Gothic battlements between 

Then- gloomy length unroU'd.' 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thins ej% 
Once more the fleeting vision die ! 

— The gallant knight 'gan speed 
As prompt and light as, when the hound 
Is opening, and the horn is wound. 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his course amain 

Hath rivall'd archer's shaft ; 
But ere the mound he could attain. 
The rocks their shapeless form regain, 
And, mocking loud his labor vain, 

The mountain spirits laugh'd. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild imeartlily shout of scorn, 

XIII. 
Wroth wax'd the Warrior. — " Am I then 
Fooled by the enemies of men, 
Like a poor liind, whose homeward way 
Is haunted' by mahcious fay ? 
la Triermain become your taunt, 
De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, avaunt T 
A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 
The baleful blade so bright and square, 
And the tough shaft of hebcn wood. 
Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
Backward his stately form he drew. 
And at the rocks the weapon threw, 
Just where one crag's projected crest 
Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. 
Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock 
Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 
If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell, 

the windings of the river, and the peaks and precipices whiok 
the mist left visible, while her beams seemed, is it were, al> 
sorbed by the fleecy whiteness of the mist, where it lay thiofc 
and condensed, and gave to the more light and vapory specka, 
which were elsewhere vi,«ible, a sort of filmy transparency r^ 
sembling the lightest veil of silver gauze." — IVavei ley JVo- 
vels — lioh Rny — vol. viii. p. 2C7. 

" The praiso of truth, precision, and distinctness, is not very 
frequently combined with that of extensive magnificence and 
splendid complication of imagcT ; yet, how masterly, and 
often sublime, is the panoramic display, in all these works, of 
vast and diversified scenery, and of crowded and tumoltoous 
action," &c. — Jidolphus, p. 163. 

' " The scenery of the valley, seen by the light of the lum. 
mer and autumnal moon, is described with an ajjrial tODoh \m 
which we cannot do justice. " — Quarterly Rtviem. 

"MS.— "Is wilder'd." 



OAKTTo III. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. tOi 


Or if the blow dissolved some spell. 


Tliis enduring fabric plann'd ; 


But down the headlong ruin came, 


Sign and sigil, word of power. 


With cloud of dust, and flash of flame. 


From the earth raised keep ancl vCwer. 


Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, 


View it o'er, and pace it round. 


Crusli'd lay the copse, the earth was torn, 


Rampart, turret, battled mound. 


Till staid at length, the ruin dread 


Dare no more ! To cross the gate 


lyumber'd the torrent's rocky bed, 


Were to tamper with thy fate ; 


And bade the waters' high-swoln tide 


Strength and fortitude were vain. 


Seek other passage for its pride. 


View it o'er — and turn again " — 


XIV. 


XVII 


VV^hen ceased that thunder, Triermain 


« That would I," said the Warrior bold. 


Survey'd the mound's rude front again ; 


" If that my frame were bent and old. 


And, lo! the ruin had laid bare. 


And my tliin blood dropp'd slow and cold 


Hewn in the stone, a winding stair, 


As icicle in thaw ; 


Whase moss'd and fractured steps might lend 


But while my heart can feel it dance. 


The means the summit to ascend ; 


Blithe as the sparkling wine of France, 


And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 


And this good arm wields sword or lance. 


iiegan to scale these magic rocks. 


I mock these words of awe !" 


And soon a platform won, 


He said ; the wicket felt the sway 


Where, the wild witchery to close. 


Of his strong hand, and straight gave way. 


Within three lances' length arose 


And, with rude crash and jarrmg brav. 


The Castle of Saint John ! 


The rusty bolts withdraw ; 


No misty phantom of the air, 


But o'er the threshold as he strode, 


No meteor-blazon'd show was there ; 


And forward took the vaulted roati. 


In morning splendor, full and fair, 


An unseen arm, with force amain. 


The massive fortress shone. 


Tlie ponderous gate flung close again. 




And rusted bolt and bar 


XV. 


Spontaneous took their place once n-oie, 


Embattled high and proudly tower'd. 


While the deep arch with suUen roar 


•Shaded by pond'rouB flankers, lower'd 


Return'd their surly jar. 


The portal's gloomy way. 


" Now closed is the gin and the prey withUr 


Though for six hundrud yeai-s and more, 


By the Rood of Lanercost ! 


Its strength had brook'd the tempest's roar 


But he that would win the war- wolf's 'iin, 


The scutcheon'd emblems which it bore 


May rue him of his boast." 


Had sufFer'd no decay : 


Thus muttering, on the Warrior went. 


'''it from the eastern battlement 


By dubious light down steep descent. 


A turret nad made sheer descent. 




And, down in recent ruin rent, 


XVIII. 


In the mid torrent lay. 


Unbarr'd, unlock'd, imwatch'd, a port 


Else, o'er the Castle's brow sublime. 


Led to the Castle's outer court : 


Insults of violence or of time 


There the main fortress, broad and tali 


Unfelt had pass'd away. 


Spread its long range of bower and hall. 


In shapeless characters of yore, 


And towers of varied size, 


fhe gate this stern inscription bore :— 


Wrought with each ornament extreme, 




That Gothic art, in wildest dream 


XVI. 


Of fancy, could devise ; 


SnHcrfptfon. 


But full between the Warrior's way 


" Patience waits the destined day. 


And the main portal arch, there lay 


Strength can clear the cumber'd way. 


An inner moat ; 


Warrior, who hast waited long. 


Nor bridge nor boat 


Firm of soul, of sinew strong, 


Afibrds De Vaux the means to cross 


It is given to thee to gaze 


The clear, profound, and silent fosse. 


On the pile of ancient days. 


BQs arms aside m haste he flings, 


Ni'ver mortal builder's hand 


Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings. 




And down falls hetn, and down the nhieM, 


' MS. — " And bade its waters, in their pride 


Rough with the din b of many a field. 


Seek other cnrrent for their tide." 
51 


Fair was his manly form, and fiiir 



«02 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



uxAfo ni 



HU keen dark eye. and dose curl'd hair, 
When, all unarm'd, 8ave that the brand 
Of well-proved metal graced his hand, 
With naught to fence his dauntless breast 
dut the close gipon's imder-vest, 
Wiose sullied buff the sable stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
R "land De Vaux upon the brim 
O' the broad moat stood prompt to swim, 

XIX. 

A c<?< «i< red thus he dared the tide, 
^nd soon he reacli'd the farther side 

And enter'd soon the Hold, 
And paced a hall, whose walls so wide 
Were blazon'd all with feats of pride, 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they counter'd here, 

While trumpets seem'd to blow ; 
And there, in den or desert drear, 

Tliey queU'd gigantic foe.* 
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire, 
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
Strange in their arms, and strange in face. 
Heroes they seem'd of ancient race, 
WTiose deeds of arms, and race, and name, 
Forgotten long by later fame. 

Were here depicted, to appal* 
rha«e of an age degenerate. 
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 

In this enchanted hall. 
For some short space the venturous Knight 
With these high marvels fed Ms sight. 
Then sought the chamber's upper end. 
Where three broad easy steps ascend 

To an arch'd portal door. 
In whose broad folding leaves of state 
Was framed a wicket window-grate. 

And, ere he ventured more. 
The gallant Knight took earnest view 
Tlie grated wicke^.-windoAi through, 

XX. 

) for his arms ! Of martial weed 
Hurl nevei mortal Knight such need! — 
•Tf spied a stately gallery; all 
H 3t3w-white marble was the waU, 

The vaulting, and the floor ; 
Ann, coniiast strange ! on either hand 
There stood array'd in sable band 

Four Maids whom Afric bore ;* 
Ai.d each a Lybian tiger led, 
Held by as bright and frail a thread 

As Lucy's golden hair. — 

• A sort ol Joubfet, •vom beneath the armor. 
MS.— "They connter'd giant foe." 
MS. — " Portray'd by limner to appal." 

' MS.—" Four Maidens stood in sable band 



For the leash that bound these monsters 
dread 

Was but of gossamer. 
Each Maiden's short barbaric vest' 
Left all imclosed the knee and breast. 

And hmbs of shapely jet ; 
WTiite was their vest and turban's fold. 
On arms and ankles rings of gold 

In savage pomp were set ; 
A quiver on their shoulders lay 
And in their hand an assagav." 
Such and so silent stood they there, 

That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare, 
Station'd the gazer's soul to scara 

But, when the wicket oped, 
"Each grisly beast 'gan upward cbnw, 
Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw, 
Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw ; 
Wliile these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue^ 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 

XXL 
" Rash Adventurer, bear thee back 1 

Dread the spell of Dahomay 1 
Fear the race of Zaharak,' 

Daughters of the burning day 1 

• When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling. 

Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
Zarali's sands in pillars reeling. 

Join the measure that we tread, 
When the Moon has donn'd her cloak, 

And the stars are red to see, 
Slirill when pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such aa we. 

" WTiere the shatter'd columns lie, 

Showmg Carthage once had been. 
If the wandering Santon's eye 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death. 

To the nations preaclieu doom, 
' Azrael's brand hath left the sheath I 

Moslems, think upon the tomb I' 

" Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 

Ours the hydra of the fen, 
Ours the tiger of the brake, 

All that plagues the sons of men. 
Oiu-s the tempest's midnight wrack, 

Pestilence that wastes by day — 
D"ead the race of Zaliarak ! 

Fear the spell of Dahomay 1 

The blackest Afriqne bore." 
4 MS. — " Each Maiden's short and savage vest. ' 
' The MS. lias not this couplet. 
'' Zaharak or Zaharah is the Arab name of the Great OeMr 



PANTO in. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



4U:. 



XXII. 


" Five hundred years o'er this ccld glen 


Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 


Hath the pale sun come round agen ; 


Rung those vaulted roofs among, 


Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 


Long it was ere, faint and still, 


Dared to cross the HaU of Fear. 


Died the far-resounding song. 




«^iile yet the distant echoes roll, 


" Warrior ! thou, whose daimtless heart 


'The "Warrior communed with his soul. 


Giv< 3 us from our ward to part, 


" When first I took this venturous quest, 


Be as strong in future trial. 


I swore upon the rood, 


Where resistance is denial. 


Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest, 




For evil or for good. 


" Now for Afric's glowing sky, 


My forward path too well I ween, 


Zwenga wide and Atlas high. 


Lies yonder fearful ranks between ! 


Zaharak and Dahomay ! 


For man unarm'd, 'tis bootless hope 


Motmt the winds ! Hurra, hurra 1" 


With tigers and with tiends to cope — 




Yet, if I tm-n, what waits me there. 


XXV. 


Save famine du-e and fell despair ? — 


The wizard song at distance died. 


Other conclusion let me try. 


As if in ether borne astray. 


Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 


Wliile through waste halls and chambert 


Forward, lies faith and knightly fame ; 


wide 


Behind, are perjury and shame. 


The Knight pm^sued his steady way, 


In life or death I hold my word !" 


Till to a lofty dome he came, 


With that he drew his trusty sword. 


That flash'd with such a brilliant flame, 


Caught down a banner from the wall, 


As if the wealth of all the world 


And enter'd thus the fearful halL 


Were there in rich confusion hurl'd. 




For here the gold, in sandy heaps, 


XXIIL 


With duller earth, incorporate, sleeps , 


On high each wayward Maiden threw 


Was there in ingots piled, and there 


Her swarthy arm, with wild halloo I 


Coin'd badge of empery it bare ; 


On either side a tiger sprung — 


Yonder, huge bars of silver lay. 


Against tlie leftward foe he flimg 


Dimm'd by the diamond's neighboring ray 


The ready banner, to engage 


Like the pale moon in morning day ; 


With tangling folds the brutal rage ; 


And in the midst four Maidens stand, 


The right-hand monster in mid-air 


The daughters of some distant land. 


He struck so fiercely and so fair, 


Their hue was of the dark-red dye, 


Through gullet and through spinal bone 


That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 


The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 


Their hands palmetto baskets bare, 


His grisly brethren ramp'd and yell'd. 


And cotton fillets bound their hau- ; 


But the shght leash their rage withlield. 


Slim was their form, then- mien was shy, 


Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 


To earth they bent the humbled eye. 


Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. 


Folded their arms, and suppliant kneel'd. 


Safe to the gallery's bound he drew, 


And thus their proffei d gifts reveal'd.' 


Safe pass'd an open portal through ; 


XX VL 


And when against pursuit he flung 


The gate, judge if the echoes rung I 


CHORrS. 


Onward his daring coiu-se he bore. 


" See the treasures MerUn piled. 


V\Tiile, mix'd with dying growl and roar, 


Portion meet for Arthur's child. 


Wild jubilee and loud hurra 


Bathe in Wealth's unboundod stream, 


Pursued him on his venturous way. 


Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream T 


XXIV. 


FIRST MAIDEN. 


" Hurra, hurra ! -Our watch is done 1 


" See these clots of virgin gold 1 


Wi hail once more the tropic sun. 


Sever'd from the sparry mould. 


Pallid beams of northern da.y. 


Nature's mystic alchemy 


farewell, farewell 1 Hurra, hurra ! 


In the mine thus bade them lie ; 


MS.— That flash'd with such a golden flome." 


' MS. — " And, suppliant as on earth they kneel'6. 




The gifts they proiTer'd thas reveal'd " 



(04 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO m 



And their orient smile can win 
Kings to stoop, and saints to sin." — 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

' See, these pearls, that long have slept ; 
These were tears by Naiads wept 
For the loss of Marinel. 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Tieasured them, till hard and wliite 
As the teeth of Amphitrite." — 

THIRD MAIDEN. 

" Does a liveher hue delight ? 
Eere are rubies blazing bright, 
Here th<^ emerald's fairy green, 
And the topaz glows between ; 
Here their varied hues unite, 
Li the changeful chrysolite." — 

FOURTH MAIDEN. 

" Leave these gems of poorer shone, 
Leave them all, and look on mine ! 
Wliile their glories I expand. 
Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand 
Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze 
Blind the rash beholder's gaze." — 

CHORUS. 

" "Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 
Would 'twere all our mountains bore I 
We should ne'er in future story, 
Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory 1" 

XXVIL 

Calmly and unconcern'd, the Knight 
Waved aside the treasures bright : — 
" Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the hair of girls and boys !' 
Bid your streams of gold expand 
O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
De Vaux of wealth saw never need, 
Save to purvey liim arms and steed, 
And all the ore he deign'd to hoard 
Inlays his helm, and hilts his sword." 
Hub gently parting from their hold, 
B* left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 

XXVIIL 

And now the morning sun was high, 
De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry ; 
Wlien, lo ! a plashing soimd he hears, 
A gladsome signal that he nears 
Some frolic water-nm ; 

' M8 - " Let those boasted gems and pearb 
Braid the hair of tt^-canght girls." 



And soon he reach'd a court-yard square, 
Where, dancing in the sultry air, 
Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sim. 
On right and left, a fair arcade. 
In long perspective view display'd 
Alleys and bowers, for sun or slaade : 

But, full in front, a door, 
Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it leu 
To the lone dwelling of the dead. 

Whose memory was no more. 

XXIX. 
Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space. 
To bathe his parched lips and face, 

And mark'd with well-pleased eye. 
Refracted on the fountain stream. 
In rainbow hues the dazzling beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
His senses felt a mild control, 
lake that which lulls ■'he weary soul, 

From contempli i on high 
Relaxing, when the es.r receives 
The music that the gitenwood leaves 

Make to the breezi:s' sigh, 

XXX. 

And oft in such a dreamy mood, 

The half-shut eye ^an frame 
Fair apparitions in the wood. 
As if the nymphs of field and flood 

In gay procession came. 
Are these of such fantajtic mould. 

Seen distant down, the fair arcade. 
These Maids enliuk'd ui sister-fold. 

Who, late at bashj'ul distance staid. 

Now tripping from the greenwood ebada 
Nearer the musing chwmpion draw, 
And, in a pause of seeming awe, 

Again stand doubtful now ? — 
Ah, that sly pause of witching powers I 
That seems to say, " To please be ours, 

Be yours to tell us how." 
Their hue was of the golden glow 
That suns of Candahar bestow. 
O'er which in slight suffusion flows 
A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 
Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free. 
In nature's justest symmetry ; 
And, wreathed with flowers, with odors graeei( 
Tlieir raven ringlets reach'd the waist : 
In eastern pomp, its gilding pale 
The hennah lent each shapely nail. 
And the dark sumah gave the eye 
More hquid and more lustrous dyo. 
The spotless veil of misty lawn. 
In studied disarrangement, dra^ i 

The form and bosom o'er, 



CANTO III. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



40 --^ 



To -win the eye, or tempt the touch, 

For modesty showed all too much — 

Too much — yet promised more. 

XXXI. 

■ Gentle Knight, a while delay," 
Thus they sung, " thy toilsome way, 
While we pay the duty due 
To our Master and to you. 
Over Avarice, over Fear, 
Love triumphant led thee here 
Wai'rior, list to us, for we 
Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 
Though no treasured gems have we. 
To proffer on the bended knee. 
Though we boast nor arm nor heart. 
For the assagay or dart, 
Swains allow each simple girl 
Ruby Up and teeth of pearl ; 
Or, if dangers more you prize, 
Flatterers find them in om- eyes. 

" Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay, 
Rest till evening steal on day ; 
Stay, O stay 1 — in yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flowers, 
Spread the feast and fill the wine, 
Charm thy ear with sounds divine. 
Weave our dances till delight 
Yield to languor, day to night. 
Then shall she you most approve. 
Sing the lays that best you love, 
Scft thy mossy couch shall spread, 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head. 
Till the weary night be o'er — 
Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more ? 
Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior, — she 
Is slave to Love and slave to thee." 

xxxn. 

do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme, 

For Stoic look, 

And meet rebuke. 
He lack'd the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip, 
He kise'd one damsel's laughing Up,* 
And press'd another's proflered hand; 
Spoke to them all in accents bland. 
But broke their magic circle through ; 
" Kind Maids," he said, " adieu, adieu I 
My fate, my fortune, forward Ues." 
He said, and vanish'd from their eyes; 
But, as he dared that darksome way, 
StiU heard behind their lovely lay : — 

' MB. — " As lonnd the band of sirens press'd, 
One da risel's laughing lip he kisg'd." 



" Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart I 
Go, where the feelings of the heart 
With the warm pulse in concord move ; 
Go, where Virtue sanctions Ijove l" 

XXXIIL 
Downward De Vaux through daiksom^' wat 

And ruined vaults has gone. 
Till issue from their wUder'd maze, 

Or safe retreat, seem'd none, — 
And e'en the dismal path he strays 
Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for Uving air. 
Foul vapors rise and mine-fires glare. 
Whose fearful light the dangers show'd 
That dogg'd him on that dreadful road. 
Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun. 
They show'd, but show'd not how to shun 
These scenes* of desoiate despair, 
These smothering clouds of poison'd air. 
How g'iadly had De Vaux exchanged, 
Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged • 

Nay, soothful bards have said. 
So perilous his state seem'd now. 
He wish'd him under arbor bough 

With Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trimipet flourish'd loud and clear, 
And as it ceased, a lofty lay 
Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way. 

XXXIV. 
" Son of Honor, theme of story. 
Think on the reward before ye 1 
Danger, darkness, toil despise • 
'Tis Ambition bids thee rise 

•' He that would her heights ascend, 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries; 
Thus Ambition's minions rise. 

" Lag not now, though rough the way 
Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 
Grasp the boon that's spread before ye. 
Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory T 

It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the Wanderer found. 

And then a turret stair : 
Nor climb'd he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air. 
And next a welconif; glimpse was given, 
That cheer'd him with the Ught of heaven 

At length his toil had won 

a MS.—" This state," &o. 



iu6 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. cahto la 


A lofty hall with trophies dress'd, 


Bid your vaulted echoes moan. 


Where, as to greet imperial guest, 


As the dreaded step they own. 


Four Maidens stood, whose crimson vest 




Was bomid with golden zone 


" Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell. 




Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well 1 


XXXV. 


Spread your dusky wings abroad,* 


Of Europe secm'd the damsels all ; 


Boune ye for your homeward road 1 


The first a nymph of lively Gaul, 




Wliose easy step and laughing eye 


" It is His, the first who e'er 


iler borrow'd air of awe belie ; 


Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ; 


The next a maid of Spain, 


His, who hath the snares defied 


Dark-eyed, dai-k-hau 'd, sedate, yet bold ; 


Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pi.d» 


vVliite ivory skin and tress of gold, 




Her shy and bashful comrade told 


" Quake to your foundations deep, 


For daughter of Almaine. 


Bastion huge, and Turret steep 1* 


These middens bore a royal robe, 


Tremble, Keep ! and totter, Tower 1 


With crown, with sceptre, and with globe, 


This is Gyneth's waking hour." 


Emblems of empery ; 




The fourth a space behind them stood, 


XXXVIl. 


And leant upon a harp, in mood 


Thus while she sung, the venturous Knighl 


Of minstrel ecstasy. 


Has reach'd a bower, where milder light* 


Of merry England she, in dress 


Through crimson curtains fell : 


Like ancient British Druidess. 


Such soften'd shade the hDl receives, 


Her hair an azure fillet bound, 


Her purple veil when twilight leaves 


Her graceful vesture swept the ground. 


Upon its western swell. 


And, in her hand display'd. 


Tliat bower, the gazer to bewitch, 


A crown did that fourth Maiden hold, 


Hath wondi'ous store of rare and rich 


But unadorn'd with gems and gold, 


As e'er was seen with eye ; 


Of glossy laurel made.' 


For there by magic skill, I wis. 




Form of each thing that Uving is 


XXXVI. 


Was limn'd in proper dye. 


At once to brave De Vaux Imelt down 


All seem'd to sleep — the timid hare 


These foremost Maidens three, 


On form, the stag upon Ms lair, 


And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown. 


The eagle in her eyrie fair 


Liegedom and seignorie, 


Between the earth and sky. 


O'er many a region wide and fair. 


But what of pictured rich and rare' 


Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir ; 


Could win De Vaux'« eye-glance, where 


But homage would he none : — ' 


Deep slumbering in tne fatal chair, 


" Rather," he said, " De Vaux would ride, 


He saw King Arthur's cliild 1 


A Warden of the Border-aide, 


Doubt, and anger, and dismay. 


In plate and mail, than, robed in pride, 


From her brow had pass'd away. 


A monarch's empire own ; 


Forgot was that fell tourney-day. 


Rather, far rather, would he be 


For, as she slept, she smiled : 


A free-born knight of England free. 


It seem'd, that the repentant Seer 


Than sil on Despot's tluone." 


Her sleep of many a hundred year 


So pass'd he jt., when that fom-th Maid, 


With gentle dreams beguiled. 


As starting from a trance. 




r pon ihe harp her finger laid ; 


XXXVIII. 


Her magic tt)uch the chords (they'd, 


That form of midden loveliness. 


Theii- soul awaked at once I 


'Twixt cliildhood and 'twixt youth, 




Tliat ivory chair, that silvan dress. 


BONO OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN. 


The arms and ankles bare, express 


" Quake to your foundation.s deep. 


Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 


Stately Towers, and Bjmner'd Keep, 


Still upon her garment's hem 


1 MS — " Oflanrel leaves was made." 


* MS. " and battled keep." 


» MS.—" But the firm knight i assM on." 


' MS. *' soften'd light." 


j • MS. — " S))rea(l your pennotis all ahroai).*' 

i 


• MS.—" But what "( rich or what of iiw." 



tANTO III. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



401 



Vanoc's blood made purple gem, 
Am the warder of command 
Cumber'd still her sleeping hand ; 
Still her dai-k locks dishevell'd flow 
From uet of pearl o'er breast of snow ; 
And so fair the slmnberer seems, 
That De Vaux impeach'd his dreams, 
Vapid all and void of might. 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
y I'ionless a while hf stands, 
Folds his arms and clasps his hands, 
Trembling in his fitful joy. 
Doubtful how he should destroy 

Long-enduring spell ; 
Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed lids ol Gyneth's eyes. 

What these eyes shall teU. — 
" St. George ! St. Mary ! can it be 
That they will kindly look on me I" 

XXXIX. 

Gently, lo ! the Warrior kneels, 
Boft that lovely hand he steals, 
Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp — 
But the warder leaves her grasp ; 

Lightnmg flashes, rolls the thunder I 
Gyneth startles from her sleep, 
Totters Tower, and trembles Keep, 

Burst the Castle-walls asunder 1 
Fierce and frequent were the shocks,— 

Melt the magic halls away ; 

But beneath their mystic rocks, 

In the arms of bold De Vaux, 

Safe the princess lay ; 
Safe and free from magic power. 
Blushing like the rose's flower 

Opening to the day ; 
And round the Champion's brows were bound 
The crown that Druidess had wound. 

Of the green lam-el-bay. 
And tills was what remain'd of aU 
The wealth of each enchanted haU, 

The Garland and the Dame : 
But where should Warrior seek the meed, 
Pui i -^ high worth for daring deed, 

Ebc"' jp ', from Love and Fame 1 



CONCLUSION. 



Mt Lcct, when the Maid is won, 

The Minstrel's task, thou know'st, is done ; 

MS — *' Yet know, this maid and warrior too, 
Wedded as lovers wont to do." 

MS — ' Thiit melts whene'er the breezes blow, 
Or bbams r cloudless sun." 



And to require of bard 
That to his dregs the tale should ran, 

Were ordinance too hard. 
Our lovers, briefly be it said, 
Wedded as lovers wont to wed,* 

When tale or play is o'er ; 
Lived long and blest, loved fond anH 

true. 
And saw a numerous race renew 

The honors that they bore. 
Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays. 
In morning mist or evening maze, 

Along the mountain lone, 
*That fairy fortress often mocks 
His gaze upon the castled rocks 

Of the Valley of St John ; 
But never man since brave De Vaux 

The charmed portal won. 
'Tis now a vain illusive show. 
That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow 

Or the fresh breeze hath blown." 

IL 

But see, my love, where far below 
Our lingering wheels are moving slow. 

The whiles, up-gazing still. 
Our menials eye om- steepy way. 
Marvelling, perchance, what whhn can' siiy 
Our steps when eve is sinking gray. 

On tliis gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar — Life and time 
Ring all their joys in one dull chime 

Of luxury and ease ; 
And, ! beside these simple knaves. 
How many better born are slaves 

To such coarse joys as these, — 
Dead to the nobler sense that glows 
When nature's grander scenes unclose I 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet. 
The mountain's misty' coronet, 

Tbe greenwood, and the wold ; 
And love the more, that of their maze 
Adventure high (^f other days 

By ancient bards is told. 
Bringing, perchance, like my poor tale, 
Some moral truth in fiction's veil :* 
Nor love them less, that o'er the hiU 
The evening breeze . as now, comes chill ■• * 

My love shall wrap her warm, 
' And, fearless of the slippery way. 
While safe she trips the heathy brae. 

Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 

THE END OF laiEEMAIN.* 

SMS.— "Silvan." 
■1 The MS. ha-s not this couplet. 

6 *' The Bridal of Triermain is written in the style of Ml 
Walter Sc^tt ; and if in magma ooluisse sat est, the aulbn 



nrhatever may be the merits of his work, has eamed the meed 
kt which he aspires. To attempt a serious imitation of the 
met popular living poet — and this imitation, not a short frag- 
Ulent, in which all his peculiarities might, with comparatively 
Lttle difficulty, be concentrated — but a long and complete 
woik, with plot, character, and machinery entirely new — and 
with no manner of resemblance, therefore, to a parody on any 
liconuclion of the original author ; — this must be acknowledged 
ui attii'mptof no timid daring." — Edinburgh Magazine, 1817. 



" The fate of this work must depend on its own merits, for 
t is not borne p by any of the adventitious circumstances that 
'reqnentiy cor. ..-ibute to literary success. It is ushered into the 
world in the most modest guise ; and the author, we believe, 
£ entirelj unknown. Should it fail altogether of a favorable 
reception, we shall be disposed to abate something of the in- 
dignation which we have occasionally expressed against the ex- 
travagant gaudiness of modern publications, and imagine that 
tiiere are readers whose suffrages are not to be obtained by a 
work without a name. 

" The merit of the Bridal of Triermain, in our estimation, 
consists in its perfect simplicity, and an interweaving the re- 
finement of modern times with the peculiarities of the ancient 
metrical romance, which are in no respect violated. In point 
of interest, the first and second cantos are superior to the third, 
'^ne event naturally arises out of that which precedes it, and 
the eye is delighted and dazzled with a series of moving pic- 
tures, each of them remarkable for its individual splendor, and 
all contributing more or less directly to produce the ultimate 
result. The third canto is less profuse of incident, and some- 
what more monotonous in its effect. This, we conceive, will 
be the im[)ression on the first perusal of the poem. When we 
have leisure to mark the merits of the composition, and to sep- 
arate them from the progress of the events, we are disposed to 
think that the extraordinary beauty of the description will neai^ 
ly compensate for the defect we have already noticed. 

" But it is not from the fable that an adequate notion of the 
merits of this singular work can be formed. We have already 
Bpoken of it as an imitation of Mr. Scott's style of composi- 
tion ; and if we are compelled to make the general approbation 
more precise and specific, we should say, that if it be inferior 
lu vigor to some of his productions, it equals, or surpasses them. 
In elegance and beauty ; that it is more uniformly tender, and 
'ar less infected with the unnatural prodigies and coarsenesses of 
the earlier romancers. In estimating its merits, however, we 
should forget that it is offered as an imitation. The diction 
undoubtedly reminds us of a rhythm and cadence we have 
neanl before ; but the sentiments, descriptions, and characters, 
have |i alities that are native and unborrowed. 

"In his sentiments, the author has avoid«c the slight de- 
ficiency we ventured to ascribe to his prototype. The pictures 
of [Ore description are perpetually illuminated with reflections 
tha'i bring out their coloring, and increase their moral effect : 
these reflections are suggested by the scene, produced without 
jffort, and expressed with unaffected simplicity. The descrip- 
tons a-e s|)irited and striking, possessing an airiness suited to 
the mythology and manners of the times, though restrained by 
ecrrecl taste. Among the characters, many of which are such 
IS we ei pect to find in this department of poetry, it is impossi- 
ble not to distinguish that of Arthur, in which, identifying 
hin.eelf with his original, the author has contrived to unite the 
valor of the hero, the courtesy and dignity of the monarch, and 
ihe amiable weaknesses of any ordinary mortal, and thus to 
iresent to us tho express lineaments of the flower of chivalry." 
—Quarterly Review. 1813. 



we shall give merely as such, without vouching for the trutl 
of it. When the article entitled, ' The Inferno of A.tisitlora, 
apjieared in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1809, it will 
be remembered that the last fragment contained in that singu- 
lar production, is the beginning of the romance of Triermain 
Report says, that the fragment was not meant to be an imita- 
tion of Scott, but of Coleridge ; and that, for this purpose 
the author borrowed both the name of the hero and the seem 
from the then unpublished poem of Cliristabelie ; and furthei 
that so few had ever seen the manuscrijit of that poem, ha' 
amongst these few the author of Triermain could not be lis 
taken. Be that as it may, it is well known, that on the ap 
pearance of this fragment in the Annual Register, t was uni 
versally taken for an imitation of Walter Scott, and never onc^ 
of Coleridge. The author perceiving this, and that the poeir 
was well received, instantly set about drawing it out ''nto a reg- 
ular and finished work ; for shortly after it was aniounced ir 
the papers, and continued to be so for tliree long years ; the 
author, as may be supposed, having, during that period, his 
hands occasionally occupied with heavier metal. In 1813, thf 
poem was at last produced, avowedly and manifestly as an im- 
itation of Mr. Scott ; and it may easily be observed, that from 
the 27th page onward, it becomes much more decidedly likt 
the manner of that poet, than it is in the preceding part whicr. 
was published in the Register, and which, undoubtedly, doei 
bear some similarity to Coleridge in the poetry, and more e» 
pecially in the rhythm, as, e. g. — 

' Harpers must lull him to his rest. 
With the slow tunes he loves the best, 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill.' 

' It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, 
That, like a silvery crape, was spread 
Round Skiddaw's dim and <listant head ' 

' What time, or where 



Did she pass, that maid with the heavenly tmm 
With her look so sweet, and her eyes so fair. 
And her graceful step, and her angel air, 
And the eagle-plume on her dark-brown hair. 
That pass'd from ray bower e'en now V 

' Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh. 
When she thinks her lover near.' 

' And light they fell, as when earth recei\e(. 
In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves, 
That drop when no winds blow.' 

' Or if 'twas but an airy thing, 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
Framed from the rainbow's varying f^yes. 
Or fading tints of western skies.' 

" These, it will be seen, are not exactly Colerid^, Bnl tho 
are preci-sely such an imitation of Coleridge as, we conceivt. 
another poet of our acquaintance would write : on that ground, 
we are inclined to give some credit to the anecdote here re 
lated, and from it we leave our readers to guess, as we hav« 
done, who is the author of the poem ." — Blackwood' a Mag 
azine. April, 1817. 



The quarto of Rokeby was followed, within two monttis, b 
the small volume which had been designed for a twin-birth 
With regard to this poem, we have often heard, from what —the MS. had been transcribed by one of the Ballantynei 
•a/ be deenr ed good authority, a very curious anecdote, which | themselves, in order to guard against any indiscretion of tb» 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



40fi 



pnev-people ; and the mystification, aided and abetted by Ers- 
kinn, in no small degree heigliiened the interest of its reception. 
Scott says, in ihe Introduction to the Lord of the Isles, " As 
Mr. Ersiiine was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and 
as I took care, in several places, to mix something that might 
»eBem')le (as far as was in my power) ray friend's feeling and 
manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions were 
■old." Among the passages to which he here alludes, are no 
doubt those in which the character of the minstrel Arthur is 
shaded with the colorings of au almost effeminate gentleness. 
Vet, in the midst of them, the "mighty minstrel" himself, 
fmaa time to time, escapes ; as, for instance, where the lover 
bids Lucy, in that exquisite picture of crossing a mountain 
stream, trust to his " stalwart arm," — 

" Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprear." 

Nor can I pass the compliment to Scott's own fair patroness, 
where Lucy's admirer is made to conless, with some momen- 
tary lapse of gallantry, that he 

" Ne'er won — best meed to minstrel true — 
One favoring smile from fair Baccleach ;" 

■a (He barst of genuine Borderism, — 

' Bewcasiie now must keep the hold, 

Ppeir-Adam's steeds must bide in stall i 
Of Hartley-burn the bow-men bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur. 

And Tev.ot now may belt the brand, 
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir, 
And Eskdole forar Camberla ..i "— 
.53 



But, above all, the choice of the scenery, both of the li trodac 
tions and of the story itself, reveals the early and treasured pre 
dilections of the poet. 

As a whole, the Bridal of Trierraain appears to me as cha^ 
acteristic of Scott as any of his larger poems. His genius per 
vades and animates it beneath a thin and playful veil, whif' 
perhaps adds as much of grace as it takes away of splendor 
As Wordsworth says of the eclipse on the lake of liUgano 

" 'Tis sunlight sheathed and gently charm'd ;" 

and I think there is at once a lightness and a polish o\ «••>• 
fication beyond what he has elsewhere attained. If it be n 
miniature, it is such a '>ne as a Cooper might have hung ft.- 
lessly beside the masterpieces of Vandyke. 

The Introductions contain some of the most exquisite i«is- 
sages he ever produced ; but their general effect has always 
struck me as unfortunate. No art can reconcile ns to con- 
temptuous satire of the merest frivolities of morlern life— somM 
of them already, in twenty years, grown obsolete — inter^jd 
between such bright visions of the old world of romance, w'aen 

" Strength was gigantic, valor high, 
And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky, 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's drean' " 

The fall is grievous, from the hoary minstrel of Newark, ain, 
his feverish tears on Killeerankie, to a pathetic swain, wii< 
can stoop to denounce as objects of his jealousy— 

" The landaalet and four blood-bays- - 
The Uensian boot and pantaloon." 



410 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

Likt Collins, thread the maze of Fairy-land. — P. 383. 

Collins, according to Johnson, " by indulging some pecu- 
iSar habits of thought, was eminently delighted with those 
Bights of imagination which pass the bounds of nature, and to 
ivhich the mind is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence 
in po])ular traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and mon- 
»ters ; he delighted to rove through the meanders of enchant- 
ment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose 
by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens." 



Note B. 



The Baron of Triermain.—V. 383. 

Triermain was a fief of the Barony of Gilsland, in Cumber- 
land : it was possessed by a Saxon family at the time of the 
Conquest, but, " after the death of Gilmore, Lord of Tryei^ 
maine and Torcrossock, Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and 
Tororossock to his second son, Ranulph Vaux ; which Ra- 
nuljih afterwards became heir to his elder brother Robert, the 
founder of Lanercost, who died without issue. Ranulph, be- 
ing Lord of all Glisland, gave Gilmore's lands to his younger 
jnn, named Roland, and let the Barony descend to his eldest 
«on Robert, son of Ranulph. Roland had issue Alexander, 
and he Ranulph, after whom succeeded Robert, and they were 
named Rolands successively, that were lords thereof, until the 
mign of Edward the Fourth. That house gave for arms. Vert, 
a bend dexter, chequy, or and gules." — Burn's Antiquities 
tf IVestmureiand and Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 482. 

This branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now 
represented by the family of Braddyl of Conishead Priory, in 
the county palatine of Lancaster ; for it appears that about 
the time above mentioned, the house of Triermain was united 
to its kindred family Vaux of Caterlen, and, by marriage with 
the heiress of Delamore and Leybourne, became the represen- 
■ative of those ancient and noble families. The male line 
Tailing in John De Vaux, about the year 1665, his daughter and 
heiress, Mabel, married Christopher Richmond, Esq., of High- 
head Castle, in the county of Cumberiand, descended from 
^n ancient family of that name. Lords of Corby Castle, in the 
lame county, soon after the Conquest, and which they alien- 
ated about the 15th of Edward the Second, to Andrea de 
iiarcla. Earl of Cariisle. Of this family was Sir Thomas Je 
Raigcmont (miles auratus), in the reign of King Edward the 
First, who appears to have greatly distinguished himself at tha 
siege of Kaerlavoroc, with William, Baron of Leybonme. In 
an ancient heraldic poem, now extant, and preserved in the 
British Museum, describing that siege,' his arms are stated to 
be. Or, 2 Bars Genielles Gules, and a chief Or, the same borne 
by his descendants at the present day. The Richmonds re- 
moved to their castle of Highhead in the reign of Henry the 
Eighth, when the then representative of the family married 
•larg.aret, daughter of Sir Hugh Lowther, by the Lady Doro- 
;hy de Clifford, only child by a second marriage of Henry Lord 
Clifford, great-grandson of John Lord Clifford, by Elizabeth 
Percy, daughter of Henry (surnamed Hotspur), by Elizabnh 

1 1 bis Voem haa been recently edited by Sir Nicolas Harris Nichoma, 



Mortimer, which said Elizabeth was daugn'^er ( f Edw id Mt* 
timer, third Earl of Marche, by Philippa, sole daughter and 
heiress of Lionel, Duke of Clarence. 

The third in descent from the above-mentioned John Riciv 
mond, became the representative of the families of Vaux, ol 
Triermain, Caterlen, and Torcrossock, by his marriage with 
Mabel de Vaux, the heiress of them. His grandson, Henry 
Richmond, died without issue, leaving five sisters co-heiresse^ 
four of whom married ; but Margaret, who married Williaa 
Gale, Esq., of Whitehaven, was the only one wiio had mala 
issue surviving. She had a son, and a daughter married to Hen 
ry Curwen of Workington, Esq., who represented the county 
of Cumberland for many years in Parliament, and by her had 
a daughter married to John Christian, Esq. (now Curwen). 
Jolin, son and heir of William Gale, married Sarah, daughtei 
and heiress of Christopher Wilson of Bardsea HaFi, m tne 
county of Lan#Rster, by Margaret, aunt and co-heiress of Thom- 
as Braddyl, Esq., of Braddyl, and Conishead Priory in tho 
same county, and had issue four sons and two daughters. 1st, 
William Wilson, died an infant; 2d, Wilson, who, upon the 
death of his cousin, Thomas Braddyl, without issue, succeeded 
to his estates, and took the name of Braddyl, in pureuance ol 
his will, by the King's sign-manual ; 3d, William, died young ; 
and, 4th, Henry Richmond, a lieutenant-general of the army, 
married Sarah, daughter of the Rev. R. Baldwin ; Margaret 
married Richard Greaves Townley, Esq., of Fulbourne, in tha 
county of Cambridge, and of Bellfield, in the county of Lan- 
caster ; Sarah married to George Bigland of Bigland Hall, in 
the same county. Wilson Braddyl, eldest son of John Gale, 
and grandson of Margaret Richmond, married Jane, daugh -< 
and heiress of Matthias Gale, Esq., of Catgill Hall, in th« 
county of Cumberland, by Jane, daughter and heiress of th< 
Rev. S. Bennet, D. D. ; and, as the eldest surviving male 
branch of tjie families above mentioned, he quarters, in addi- 
tion to his own, their paternal coats in the following order, as 
appears by the records in the College of Arras. 1st, Argent. 
a fess azure, between 3 saltiers of the same, charged with ait 
anchor between 2 lions' heads erased, or, — Gale. "'', Or, 
bare genielles gules, and a chief or, — Richmond. 3d, Or, a 
fess chequey, or and gules between 9 gerbes gules, — Vaux of 
Caterlen. 4th, Gules, a fess chequey, or and gules between 
6 gerbes or — Vaux of Torcrossock. 5th, Argent (not vert, ai 
stated by Burn), a bend chequey, or and gules, for Vaux o( 
Triermain. 6th, Gules, a cross patonce, or, — Delamore. 7th, 
Gules, 6 lions rampant argent, 3, 2, and 1, — Leybourne. — This 
more detailed genealogy of the family of Triermain was obli- 
gingly sent to the author by Major Braddyll of Conisheid 
Priory, 



Note C. 



He paas'd red Penrith's Table Round.—?. 385. 

A circular intrenchment, about half a mile from Penrith, n 
thns popularly termed. Tho circle within the ditch is about 
one hundred and sixty pacet in circumference, with openings 
or approaches, directly opposite lo each other. As the ditcn 
is on the inner side, it could not bf i"tendeJ for the purpose of 
defence, and it ha-s reasonably been t>««njectur"d, that the e" 
closure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats ot chi^ 



APPENDIX TO THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



4lj 



ill'", apd the embaakment around for the convenienoe of the 
tii«ctators. 



Note D. 



Mayburgh' s mound. — P. 385. 

Kighei 0|i the river Earaont than Arthur's Round Table, is 
a pMdigious enclosure of great antiquity, formed by a collec- 
tion of stones upon the top of a gently sloping hill, called May 
»irgh. In the plain which it encloses there stands erect an 
mhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses 
ire said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. 
The wlv 'e appears to be a monument of Druidical timea. 



Note E. 



The monarch, breathless and amazed, 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

JVo"- tower nor donjon could he spy, 
Dar'tening against the morning sky. — P. 390. 

■■ " We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a 
rery narrow dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a 
imall brook makes many meanderings, washing httle enclo- 
>ures of grass-ground, which stretch up the rising of the hiUg. 
In the widest part of the dale you are struck with the appear 
ance of an ancient ruined castle, which seems to stand upon 
the summit of a little mount, the mountains around forming 
an amphitheatre. This massive bulwark shows a front of va- 
lious towers, and makes an awful, rude, and Gothic appear- 
ance, with its lofty turrets and ragged battlements ; we traced 
the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest 
antiquity stands characterized in its architecture ; the inhabit- 
ants near it assert it as an antediluvian structure. 

" The traveller curiosity is roused, and he prepares to 
•make a nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the 
rack, by his being assured, that, if he advances, certain genii 
who govern the place, by virtue of their supernatural art and 
secromancy, will strip it of all its beauties, and, by enchant- 
ment, transform the magic walls. The vale seems adapted 
for the habitation of such beings ; its gloomy recesses and re- 
tirements look like haunts of evil spirits. There was no de- 
lusion in the report ; we were soon convinced of its truth ; for 
Jiis piece of antiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, as 
He drew near, changed its figure, and proved no other than a 
shaken m,issive pile of rocks, which stand in the midst of this 
little vale, disunited from the adjoining mountains, and have 
lO much the real form and resemblance of a castle, that they 
iear the name of the (Jastle Rocks of St. John." — Hutchin- 
10*1 '8 Excursion to the hakes, p. 121. 



Note F, 



Thefiouer of Chivalry. 
There Oalaaji sate with manly grace, 
Ttt maiden meekness in bis face ; 



There Morolt of the iron mace. 

And love-lorn Tristrem there. — P. 391. 

The characters named in the stanza are all of them more o 
less distinguished in the romances which treat of King Arthul 
and his Round Table, and .heir names are stiung togethet 
according to the estabUshed custom of minstrels upon sucb 
occasions ; for example, in the ballad of the Maiiiage of Sl 
Gawaiue : — 

" Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde. 
They rode with them that uaye. 
And, foremost of the companye, 
There rode the stewarde Kaye. 

■" See did Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 
And. eke Sir Garratte keen, 
Sir Tristrem too, that gentle knight, 
To the forest fresh and greens " 



Note G. 



Lancelot, that ever more 

Looked stolen-wise on the Queen. — P. 391. 

Upon this delicate subject hear Richard Robinson, citiEei 
of London, in his Assertion of King Arthur : — " But as it is a 
thing sufficiently apparent that she (Guenever, wife of Kin^ 
Arthur) was beautiful, so it is a thing doubted whether she 
was chaste, yea or no. Truly, so far ns I can with honestie, I 
would spare the impayred honour and fame of noble women 
But yet the truth of the historic pluckes me by the eare, and 
willeth not onely, but commandeth me to declare what th» 
ancients have deemed of her. To wrestle or contend with so 
great authoritie were indeede unto mei a controversie, and 
that greate." — Assertion of King Arthure. Imprinted it 
John Wolfe, London, 15<j2. 



Note H. 



There were two who loved their neighbor's wivet 
And one who loved his own. — P. 392. 

" In our forefathers' tyme, when Papistrie, as a standyr^ 
poole, covered and overflowed all England, fewe books were 
read in our tongue, savying certaine bookes of chevalrie, m 
they said, for pastime and pleasure ; which, as some say, weia 
made in the monasteries, by idle monlts or wanton chanons. 
As one, for example, La Jilorte d' Arthure ; the whole pleas- 
ure of which book standeth in two speciall poynts, in open 
manslaughter and bold bawdrye ; in which booke they be 
counted the noblest knightes that do kill most men without 
any quarrell, and commit fowlest adoulteries by sutlest shiftes ; 
as Sir Laun;elot, with the wife of King Arthur, his master 
Sir Tristram, wiin the w-fe of King Marke, his uncle ; Si, 
Lamerocke wim the wife of King Lote, that was his owTS 
aunt. This is good stnffe for wise men to laugh at ar honed 
men to take pleasure at : yet I know when God'« Bible wai 
banished the Court, and La Morte d'Arthnre receivea >nt4> t^ 
Prince's chamber." — Ascham's Schoolmaster. 



Si:i)i: £oxh of tl)c Jsles: 



A POEM, m SIX CANTOS. 



NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 

The composition of " The Lord of tlie Isles," as 
we now have it in the Author's MS., seems to have 
open begun at Abbotsford, in the autumn of 1814, 
and it ended at Edinburgh the 16th of December. 
Some part of Canto I. had probably been com- 
mitteJ to writing in a rougher form earlier in the 
year. The original quarto appeared on the 2d of 
January, 1815.' 

It may be mentioned, that those parts of this 
i*oem which were written at Abbotsford, were 
composed almost all in the presence of Sir Walter 
Scott's family, and many in that of casual visitors 
&Ibo : the original cottage which he then occupied 
not affording him any means of retirement. Nei- 
ther conversation nor music seemed to disturb him. 



INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1833. 

I COULD hardly have chosen a subject more pop- 
ilar in Scotland, than any thing connected with 
the Bruce's history, imless I had attempted that 
of Wallace But I am decidedly of opinion, that a 
popular, or -^^hat is called a taking title, though 
well qualiiiea to ensure the publishers against loss» 
and clear their shelves of the original impression, 
is rather apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the 
repritation of the author. He who attempts a sub- 
ject Df distinguished popularity, has not the privi- 
lege of awakening the enthusiasm of liis audience ; 
on the contrary, it is already awakened, and glows 
it may be, mure ardently than that of the author 
himself. In this case, the warmth of the author is 
inferior to that of the party whom he addresses, 
who has, therefore, little chance of being, in Bayes's 
phrase, " elevated and surprised" by what he has 
thought of with more enthusiasm than the writer. 
The sense of this risk, joined to the consciousness 

I rabtiehed by Archibald Constable and Co., X2 2s. 

• Sir Walter Scott's Jonmal of this voyage, some fragments 
»f which were printed in the Edinburgh Annnal Register for 
1814, is now given entire in his Life by Liociihart, vol. iv. 
rhap. 28-32. 

» Harriet, Duchess of Bncclenoh, died 24th August, 1814. 
Vt Waltei Scott received the mournful intelligence whi''* 



of striving against wind ana tele, made the task ol 
composing the proposed Poem somewhat heavy 
and hopeless; but, like the prize-fighter in "Aa 
You Like it," I was to wrestle for my reputation, 
and not neglect any advantage. In a most agree 
able pleasure-voyage, which I have tried to com 
memorate in the Introduction to the new edition 
of the " Pirate," I visited, in social and friendly 
company,' the coasts and islands of Scotland, and 
made myself acquainted with the localities of which 
I meant to treat. But this voyage, which was it 
every other effect so dehghtful, was in its conclu- 
sion saddened by one of those strokes of fate which 
so often mingle themselves with our pleasures 
The accomplished and excellent person who hac' 
reconamended to me the subject for " The Lay of 
the Last Minstrel," and to whom I proposed to fa- 
scribe what I already suspected might be the close 
of my poetical labors, was unexpectedly removed 
from the world, which she seemed only to have 
visited for purposes of kindness and benevolence 
It is needless to say how the author's feelings, or 
the composition of his trifling work, wi re afiected 
by a circumstance which occasioned so many teara 
and so much sorrow.' True it is, that " The Lord 
of the Isles" was concluded, unwillingly and in 
haste, under the painful feeling of one who has ? 
task which must be finished, rather than with the 
ardor of one who endeavors to perform that task 
well. Although the Poem cannot be said to have 
made a favorable impression on the public, the sale 
of fifteen thousand copies enabled the author to 
retreat from the field with the honors of war.* 

In the mean time, what was necessarily to be 
considered as a failure, was much reconciled to my 
feelings by the success attendmg my attempt w\ 
another species of composition. " Waverley" had 
under strict incognito, taken its flight from the 
press, just before I set out upon the voyage already 
mentioned ; it had now made its way to popularity 
and the success of that work and the volumeB 

visiting the Giant's Canseway, and immediately returned 
home. 

* " As Scott passed tlirough Edinburgh on his return from hir 
voyage, the negotiation as to the Lord of the Isles, which had 
been protracted through several months, was completed— 
Constable agreeing to gi^^e fifteen hundred guineas for one-half 
of the copyright, while ths other Tioiety was retained by tbf 
author."- -Life, vol. iv. p. 394- 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4ia 



irhich followed, was suiEcient to have satisfied a 
greater appetite for applause than I have at any 
time possessed.' 

I may as well add in this place, that, being 
much urged by my intimate friend, now unhappily 
no more, William Erskine (a Scottish judge, by 
the title of Lord Kinedder), I agreed to write the 
Uttle romantic tale called the "Bridal of Trier- 
main;" but it was on the condition, that he should 
make no serious effort to disown the composition, 
if repi.-t should lay it at his door. As he was 
more ts.an suspected of a taste for poetry, and as 
[ tfioi? care, in several places, to mix something 
whie^ might resemble (aa far as was in my power) 
my liiend's feeling and manner, the train easily 
caught, and two large editions were sold. A third 
being called for. Lord Kinedder became imwilling 
to aid any longer a deception which was going far- 
ther than he expected or desired, and the real au- 
thor's name was given. Upon another occasion, I 
sent up another of these trifles, which, like school- 
boys' kites, served to show how the wind of popu- 
lar taste was setting. The manner was supposed 

1 The first edition of Waverley appeared in July, 1814. 
s " Harold the Danntless" was fi»t pablisbed in a am*!! 
i%ne volame, Jannary, 1617. 



to be that of a rude minstrel or Scald, in oppos'- 
tion to the " Bridal of Triermain," which was de- 
signed to belong rather to the Italian schooL Thia 
new fugitive piece was called " Harold the Daimt- 
less;"" and I am still astonished at my having 
committed the gross error of selecting the very 
name which Lord Byron had made so famous. It 
encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious 
friend, Mr. James Hogg, had pubhshed about th« 
.same time, a work called the " Poetic Mirror," con^ 
taining imitations of the principal living poets. 
There was in it a very good imitation of my own 
style, which bore such a resemblance to " Harold 
the Dauntless," that there was no discovering the 
original from the imitation; and I beheve that 
many who took the trouble of thinking upon the 
subject, were rather of opinion that my uigenious 
fiiend was the true, and not the fictitious Simon 
Pure. Since this period, which was in the year 
1817, the Author has not been an intruder on thj 
pubhc by any poetical work of importance. 

W. S. 
Abbotsfoed, April, 1830. 

> Bir. Hogg'i " Poetic Minor" «np««ied in Octobw, ^8 • 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



©he £or& of the laics. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO TEE FIRST EDITION. 



The scene of thin Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyleshire ; and, 
jfterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it ts laid 
near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of the year 1307, whe7i Bruce, who had been driven out oj 
Scotland by the English, and the Barons who tiJhered to that foreign interest, returned from, the Island 
of Rachrin, on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many of the per- 
nonages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those oJ 
ihe venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the re 
storer of Scottish monarchy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition ''"f whose Metrical History 
of Robert Bruce^ will soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learn^lj riend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson. 

Abbotsford, iOth December, 1814.' 



1 The work allnded to appeared in 1820, under the title of 
•'The Bruce and Wallace." 2 vols. 4to. 

2 " Here is another genuine lay of the great Minstrel, with 
all his characteristic faults, beauties, and irregularities. The 
•aisie glow of coloring — the same energy of narration — the 
lame amplitude of desciiption, are conspicuous here, which 
distinguish all his other productions : with the same still more 
iharacteristic disdain of puny graces and small originaUties — 
;he true poetical hardihood, in the strength of which he urges 
in his Pegasus fearlessly through dense and rare, and aiming 
gallantly at the great ends of truth and effect, stoops but rarely 
to study the means by which they are to be attained — avails 
(imself, without scruple, of common sentiments and common 
jnages wherever tliey seem fitted for his purposes — and is origi- 
nal by the very boldness of his borrowing, and impressive by 
Dis disregard of epigram and emphasis. 

" Though bearing all these marks of the master's hand, the 
work before us does not come op, in interest, to The Lady of 
Ihe Lake, or even to Marmion. There is less connected story ; 
Mid, what there is, is less skilfully complicated and disen- 
.angled, and less diversified with change of scene, or variety of 
characf r. In the scantiness of the narrative, and the broken 
and liiscontmnous order of the events, a.s well as the inartificial 
insertion of detached descriptions and morsels of ethical reflec- 
Jon, it bears more resemblance to the earRest of the author's 
greater productions; and suggests a comparison, perhaps not 
altogether to his advantage, with the structure and execution 
af the Lay of the Last Minstrel : — for though there is probably 
more force and substance in the latter narts of the present work, 

is certainly inferior to that enclianting performance in deli- 
tacy and sweetness, and even — is it to be wondered at, after 
*»or such publications 7 — in originality. 

' The title of ' The Lord of 'he Isles' has been adopted, we 



presume, to match that of ' The Lady of the Lake ;' bnt thei* 
is no analogy in the stories — nor does the title, on this occasion, 
correspond very exactly with the contents. It is no unusual 
misfortune, indeed , for the author of a modem Epic to have 
his hero turn out but a secondary personage, in the gradua' 
unfolding of the story, while some unruly underling runs of! 
with the whole glory and interest of the poem liul here the 
author, we conceive, must have been aware of the niisnomei 
from the beginning ; the true, and indeed the ostensible hero 
being, from the very first, no less a person than King Robert 
Bruce." — Edinburgh Review, No. xlviii. 1815. 

" If it be possible for a poet to bestow upon his writings a 
superfluous degree of care and correction, it may also be pos- 
sible, we should suppose, to bestow too little. VVheltier thii 
be the case in the poem before us, is a point upon which Mr. 
Scott can possibly form a much more competent judgment than 
oanelves ; we can only say, that without possessing greater 
beauties than its predecessors, it has certain violations of pro. 
priety, both in the largnage and in the composition of the story, 
of which the former efforts of his muse afl'orded neither s« 
many nor sucn striking examples. 

" We have not now any quarrel with Mr. Scott on acconi:) 
of the measure which he has chosen ; still less on account of 
his subjects , we believe that they are both of them not onlj 
pleasing in themselves, but well adairted to each other, antf 
to the bent of his peculiar genius. (In the contrary, it is be- 
cause we admire his genius, and are partial to the subjecti 
which he delights in, that we so much regret he should leaTe 
room for any difference of opinion respecting them, merely 
from not bestowing upon his publications that common degre» 
of labor and meu.lation which we cannot help saying it ii 
scarcely decorous to withhold." — Quarter'y Rcvieie, N* 
xxvi. July. 1815. 



CANTO T. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



41 f 



©l)e Corb of tl)e Isles, 



CANTO FIRST. 



AtmJMN departs — but still bis mantle's fold 
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,* 
P'.neath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold 
Tweed and his tributaries mingle stUl ; 
Hoarser the wind, and deeper soimds the rill, 
Y^t hngering notes of silvan music swell, 
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill ; 
And yet some tints of summer splendor tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's ■wes- 
tern fell. 

Autumn depctrts — from Gala's'' fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; 
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it 

o'er 
No morp tlie distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last blitlie shout hath died upon our ear, 
And harvest-home hath hush'd the clanging 

wain. 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear. 
Save where, sad laggard of the autunanal train, 
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scat- 

ter'd grain. 

Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleas- 
ure still, 
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to 

stray. 
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the bill, 
To listen to the wood's expiring lay. 
To note the red leaf shivermg on the spray, 
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain, 
On tlie waste fields to trace the gleaner's way. 
And moralize on mortal joy and pain ? — 
Oi 1 if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the min- 
strel strain. 

No I do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, 
Though faint its bea ities as the tints remote 
That gleam through mist in Autumn's evening 

sky. 
And iew as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, 

1 John, fifteenth Lord Somerville, illustrions for his patriotic 
jevotion o the science of ^agriculture, resideil frequently in his 
oeautifu villa called the Pavilion, situated on the Tweed over 
B>;ainst delrose, and was an intimate friend and almost daily 
iompanioii of the poet, from whose windows at Abbotsford 
ills lordship's plantations formed a jirominent object. Lord S. 
Meu In 1819. 

The river Gala famous in song, ilows into the Tweed a 
^•vf nundred vards below Abbotsford : but probally the word 



When wild November hath his bugle wound ; 
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I,' 
Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest 

bound, 
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest 

found. 

So shaJt thou list, and haply not unmoved, 
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved, 
Still live some relics of the ancient lay. 
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay, 
With such the Seer of Skye'' the eve beguiles ; 
'Tis known amid the patliless wastes of Reay, 
In Harries known, and in lona's piles. 
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of thr 
Isles. 



" Wake, Maid of Lorn !" the Minstrels sung. 

Thy rugged halls, Artomish ! rung,' 

And the dark seas, thy towers that lave 

Heaved on the beach a softer wave. 

As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep 

The diapason of the Deep. 

Lull'd were the winds on Inninmore, 

And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore. 

As if wild woods and waves had pleasur<» 

In listmg to the lovely measure. 

And ne'er to symphony more sweet 

Gave mountain echoes' answer meet. 

Since, met fi-om mainland and fi-om isle, 

Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle, 

Each minstrel's tributary lay 

Paid homage to the festal day. 

Dull and dishonor'd were the bard. 

Worthless of guerdon and regard. 

Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame. 

Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim. 

Who on that morn's resistless caU 

Were silent in Artornish hall. 

11. 

" Wake, Maid of Lorn !" 'twas thus they sui%, 
And yet more proud the descant rung, 
" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is ours. 
To charm dull sleep' from Beauty's towers ; 
Earth, Ocean, Air, have naught so shy 

Oala here stands for the poet's neighbor and kinsman, »D' 
much attached friend, John Scott, Esq., o"^ Gtla. 

■* MS. " an humble gleaner I." 

* MS. " the aged of Skye." 

6 See Appendix, Note A. 

6 MS. — " Made mountain echoe3,"&o. 

MS. "for right is onn 

To summon sleeo." Sic. 



no SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto i 


But o-wns the power of minstrelsy. 


V. 


In Leftermore the tunid deer 


Retired her maiden train among. 


Will pause, the harp's wild chime to 


Edith of Lorn received the song," 


hear ; 


But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 


Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark 


That had her cold demeanor seen , 


Will long pursue the minstrel's bark ;' 


For not upon her cheek awoke 


To list liis notes, the eagle proud 


The glow of pride when Flattery spoke. 


WiU poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud* 


Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 


Tlien let not Maiden's ear disdain 


One sigh responsive to the string 


The summons of the minstrel train, 


As vauily had her maidens vied 


But, while oiu- harps wild music make, 


In skiU to deck the princely bride. 


Edith of Lorn, awake, awake 1 


Her locks, in dark-brown length array'a, 




Cathleeu of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid ; 


HL 


Young Eva with meet reverence drew 


" wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine. 


On the light foot the silken shoe. 


Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine ! 


While on the ankle's slender round 


She bids the mottled thrush rejoice 


Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wotmd, 


To mate thy melody of voice ; 


That, bleach'd Lochryan's depths within, 


Tic dew that on the violet lies 


Seem'd dusky still on Edith's skin 


Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes ; 


But Einion, of experience old. 


But, Edith, wake, and all we see 


Had weightiest task — the mantle's fold 


Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee !" — 


In many an artful plait she tied, 


" She comes not yet," gray Ferrand cried ; 


To show the form it seem'd to hidet 


" Brethren, let softer spell be tried. 


Till on the floor descending roU'd* 


Those notes prolong'd, that soothing theme. 


Its waves of crimson blent with gold, 


Which best may mix with Beauty's dream. 




And whisper, with their silvery tone, 


VL 


The hope she loves, yet fears to own." 


1 lives there now so cold a maid. 


Ho spoke, and on the harp-strings died 


W ho thus in beauty's pomp array'd, 


The strains of flattery and of pride ; 


In beauty's proudest pitch of power, 


More soft, more low, more tender fell 


And conquest won — the bridal hour^ 


The lay of love he bade them telL 


With every charm that wins the heart, 




By Nature given, enhanced by Art, 


IV. 


Could yet the fair reflection view, 


Wake, Maid of Lorn ! the moments fly, 


In the bright mirror pictured true. 


Which yet that maiden-name allow ; 


And not one dimple on her cheek 


Wake, Maiden, wake I the hour is nigh. 


A tell-tale consciousness bespeak ? — 


When Love shall claim a plighted 


Lives stiU such maid ? — Fair damsels, eay, 


vow. 


For further vouches not my lay. 


By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest. 


Save that such Uved in Britain's isle. 


By hope, that soon shall fears remove, 


W hen Lorn's bright Edith scorn'd to smila 


We bid thee break the bonds of rest. 




And wake thee at the call of Love I 


VIL 




But Morag, to whose fostering care 


' Wake, Edith, wake 1 in yonder bay 


Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, 


Lies many a galley gayly mann'd. 


Morag, who saw a mother's aid* 


V e hear the merry pibrochs play, 


By all a daughter's love repaid, 


We see the streamers' silken band. 


(Strict was that bond — most kind of all- 


Wliat Chieftain's praise these pibrochs 


Inviolate in Highland hall) — 


swell. 


Gray Morag sate a space apart. 


Wliat crest is on these banners wove, 


In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 


rhe harp, the minstrel, dare not teU — 


In vain the attendants' fond appeal 


The riddle must be read by Love." 


To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal ; 


Am Appendix, Note B. 


s MS. — " The train npon the pavement ) fl„^»j n 




Then to the floor descending i 


US — ' Retired amid her mecial train, 


* MS. — " Bnt Morag, who the maid had press'd. 


Edith of Lorn received the strain." 


An infant, to her fostering breast, 




And seen a mother's early aid," &o. 



-jAPToi. THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 4n 


She niark'd her cliild receive their care, 


Yet, empress of this joyful day, 


Cold as the image sculptured fair 


Edith is sad wlule all are gay." — 


(Form of some sainted patroness), 




Wliich cloister'd maids combine to dress ; 


IX. 


She mark'd — and knew her nm sling's heart 


Proud Edith's soul came to her eye. 


In the vain pomp took httle pp.rt. 


Resentment check'd the struggling sigh. 


Wistful a while she gazed — then press'd 


Her hurrying hand indignant dried 


Tb.i maiden to her anxious breast 


The burning tears of injured pride — 


In finisli'd loveliness — and led 


" Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 


To where a turret's any heaJ, 


To swell yon hireling harpers' lays ; 


Slender and steep, and battled round, 


Make to yon maids thy boast of powet. 


O'erlook'd, dark Mull ! thy mighty Sound,' 


That they may waste a wondering hoa?^ 


Where thwarting tides, with mingled 


Telling of bamiers proudly borne. 


roar, 


Of pealing beU and bugle-horn. 


Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore. 


Or, theme more dear, of robes of prite. 


i 


Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 


VIII. 


But thou, experienced as thou art, 


" Daughter," she said, " these seas behold, 


Think'st thou with these to cheat tne heari 


Round twice a hundred islands roll'd, 


That, bound in strong affection's chain. 


From Hut, that hears their northern roar 


Looks for return, and looks in vain ? 


To the green Hay's fertile shore ;" 


No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 


( )r mainland turn, where many a tower 


In these brief words — He loves her not 1 


Owns thy bold brother's feudal power," 




Each on its own dark cape reclined, 


X. 


And listpnuig to its own wild wind, 


" Debate it not — too long I strove 


From where Mingarry, sternly placed, 


To call his cold observance love. 


O'erawes the woodland and the waste,* 


All blinded by the league that styled 


To where Dunstaffiiage hears the raging 


Edith of Lorn, — while yet a child. 


Of Coimal with hi? rocks engaging. 


She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side, — 


Ihink'st thou, amid this ample roimd. 


The brave Lord Ronald's destint;d bride. 


A single brow but thine has frown' d. 


Ere yet I saw Mm, while afar ^ 


To sadden this auspicious morn. 


His broadsword blazed m Scotland's war 


That bids the df jghter of high Lorn 


Traiu'd to believe our fates the same. 


Impledge lier or.ousal faith to wed 


My bosom tlirobb'd when Ronald's name 


The heir of mi'^htj Somerled P 


Came gracing Fame's heroic tale. 


Ronald, from many a hero sprung, 


Like perfume on the summer gale. 


The fan-, the vahant, and the young. 


What pilgrun sought om- halls, nor told 


Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name* 


Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ; 


A thousand bards have given to fame. 


Who touch'd the harp to heroes' praise 


The mate of monarchs, and allied 


But his achievements swell'd the lays ' 


On equal terms with England's pride. — 


Even Morag — not a tale of fame 


From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot 


Was hers but closed with Ronald's naraa 


Who hears the tale,' and triumphs not ? 


He came ! and all that had been told 


The damsel dons her best attire. 


Of his high worth seem'd poor and cold 


Tlie shepherd lights his beltane fire. 


Tame, lifeless, void of energy. 


Joy, joy ! each warder's horn hath sung. 


Unjust to Ronald and to me 1 


Joy, joy ! each matin beU hath rung 




The holy priest says grateful mass. 


XL 


Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass. 


" Since then, what thought had Edith's fcear» 


No mountain den holds outcast boor, 


And gave not plighted love its part I — 


Of heart so dull, of soul so poor. 


And what requital ?® cold delay — 


But he hath flung his task aside. 


Excuse that shimn'd the spousal day. — 


And claim'd tliis mom for holy-tide ; 


It dawns, and Ronald is not here !— 


» See Appendis, Note C. 2 Ibid. Note D 


' MS.—" The news." 




6 MS. — " When, from that honr, had Edith's hean 
A thought, and Ronald iack'd his pars ■ 


• See Appendix, Not( E. 6 Ibid. Note F 


• Ibid. Note e 


And what her euerdon 1 ' 



t18 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO 



Hiicts he Bentalla's nimble deer,' 

Or loiters he in secret dell 

To bid some lighter love far'' 'well, 

And swear, that though he may not scorn 

A daughter of the House of Lorn,* 

Yet when these formal rites are o'er, 

Again they meet, to pai-t no more ?" 

XII. 

-" Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove, 
More nobly tliuik of Ronald's love. 
Look, where beneath the castle gi"ay 
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 
See'st not each galley's topmast bend, 
A? on the yards the sails ascend ? 
Hiding tlie dark-blue land, they rise 
Like the wliite clouds on April skies ; 
The shouting vassals man the oars, 
Beliind them sink Mull's mountain shores. 
Onward their merry course they keep, 
Through whistling breeze and foaming 

deep. 
And mark the headmost, seaward cast, 
Stoop to the fi-eshening gale her mast, 
As if she veil'd its banner'd pride. 
To greet afar her prince's bride ! 
Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed 
His galley mates the flying steed. 
He chides her sloth '."—Fair Edith sigh'd, 
Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus repUed : — 

XIIL 

" Sweet thought, but vain ! — No, Morag 

mark. 
Type of his course, yon lonely bark. 
That oft hath shifted hehn and sail. 
To win its way against the gale. 
Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes 
Have view'd by fits the course she tries ;* 
Now, though the darkening scud comes on 
And dawfr's fair promises be gone, 
Ana though the weary crew may see 
Ovu- sheltering haven on then- lee. 
Still closer to the rising wind 
Tliey strive her sliivering sail to bind. 
Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge* 
A' every tack her course they urge. 
As if they fear'd Artornish more 
Than adverse winds and breakers' roar." 

XIV. 
Sooth spoke the maid. — Amid the tide 
The skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore, 

• MS. - Aiul on its dawn the bridBjroom lags ; — 

Hunts he Bentalla's nimble stags 1" 
8«e Appendix. Note H. 

• M9. — ' Since dawti of mom, with Tazant eyei 



And shifted nft her stooping side, 
In weary tack from shore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no more 

She gain'd, of forward way, 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed which peasants share. 

Who toil the livelong day ; 
And such the risk her pilot braves, 

That oft, before she wore. 
Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken wavoa, 
Where in wliite foam the ocean raves 

Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true 
Undaunted toil'd her hardy crew, 

Nor look'd where shelter lay, 
Nor for Artornish Castle drew. 

Nor steer'd for Aros bay. 

XV. 
Thus while they strove with wind and 

seas. 
Borne onward by the willing breeze. 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamer'd with silk, and trick'd with geld 
Mann'd with the noble and the bold 

Of Island chivalry. 
Around their prows the ocean roars, 
And chafes beneath their thousand oars. 

Yet bears them on their way : 
So chafes* the war-horse in his might, 
That fieldward bears some vahant knight. 
Champs, till both bit and boss are white, 

But, foaming, must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold 
Lances of steel and crests of gold. 
And hauberks with their burnish'd fold. 

That shimnje/'d fair and free ; 
And each proud galley, as she pass'd, 
To the wild cailence of the .last 

Gave n iLler niinstreljy. 
FuU many a shrill triumphant note 
Siuline and Scallastle bade float 

Their misty shores aroimd ; 
And Moi ven's echoes answer'd well. 
And Duart heard the distant swell 

Come down the darksome Sound. 

XVL 

bo bore they on with mirth and pride, 
And if that laboring bark they spied, 

'Twas with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor, 
'Wlien, toiling in his task obscure, 

Yonng Eva view'd the course she triei ' 

4 MS. " the breakers' verge." 

6 MS.—" So fumes," &;c. 

' MS. — " That bears to fight some gallant knixM. 



U— -— 



?ANTO I. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



41k 



They pass him careless by.' 
Let them sweep on with heedless eyes ! 
But, had they known what mighty prize 

In that frail vessel lay, 
The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold, 
Had scatheless pass'd the unguarded fold, 
€re, di-ifting by these galleys bold, 

Unchallenged were her way !" 
And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on, 
With mirth, and pride, and minstrel tone 1 
But hadst thou known who sail'd so nigh, 
Far other glance were in thine eye 1 
Far other flush were on thy brow. 
That, shaded by the bonnet, now 
Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer 
Of bridegroom when the bride is near 1 

XVIL 
Yes, sweep they on 1 — We wiU not leave, 
For them that triumph, those who grieve. 

With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout, 
And bards to cheer the wassail rout 

With tale, romance, and lay ;* 
And of wild mu-th each clamorous art, 
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, 
May stupefy and stun its smart. 

For one loud busy day. 
Yes, sweep they ou ! — But with that skiff 

Abides the minstrel tale, 
Wliere there was dread of surge and cliff, 
Labor that strain'd each sinew stiff. 

And one sad Maiden's waiL 

xvin. 

All day with fruitless strife they toil'd, 
With eve the ebbmg currents boil'd 

More fierce from strait and lake ; 
And midway through the channel met 
Conflicting tides that foam and fret, 
And high their mingled billows jet, 
As spears, that, in the battle set. 

Spring upward as they break. 
Then, too, the Hghts of eve were past,* 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Inninmore ; 
Rent was the sail, and strain'd the mast, 
And many a leak was gaping fast, 
And the pale steersman stood aghast, 

And gave the conflict o'er. 

XIX. 
Twas then that One, whose lofty look 
Nor labor dull'd nor terror «hook, 

MS. — " As the gay nobles give the boor, 
When, toiling in his task obscnre, 
Their greatness passes by." 
MS.— * She held « ^challenged way." 



Thus to the Leader spoke : — 
" Brother, how hopest thou to abide 
The fury of this wilder'd tide. 
Or how avoid the rock's rude side, 

Until the day has broke 1 
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel. 
With quivering planks, and groaning keeL 

At the last billow's shock ? 
Yet how of better coimsel tell, 
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear ; 
For look on sea, or look on land, 
Or yon dark sky — on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her alone I grieve, — on me 
Danger sits light, by land and sea, 

I follow where thou wilt ; 
Either to bide the tempest's lour. 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower. 
Or rush amid their naval power,' 
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour 

And die with hand on hilt." — 

XX. 

That elder Leader's calm reply 

In steady voice was given, 
" In man's most dark extremity 

Oft succor dawns from Heaven. 
Edward, trim thou the shatter'd sail. 
The helm be mine, and down the gale 

Let our free course be driven ; 
So shall we 'scape the western bay, 
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray. 
So safely hold our vessel's way 

Beneath the Castle waU ; 
For if a hope of safety rest, 
'Tis on the sacred name of guest. 
Who seeks for shelter, storm-distress' (1, 

Within a chieftain's hall. 
If not — it best beseems our worth, 
Om' name, our right, our lofty birth. 

By noble hands to falL" 

XXL 

The helm, to his strong arm consign'd, 
Gave the reef 'd sail to meet the wind, 

And on her alter'd way. 
Fierce bounding, forward sprimg the ship 
Like greyhound starting from the slip 

To seize liis flying prey. 
Awaked before the rusliing prow. 
The mimic fires of ocean glow, 

Those Ughtnings of the wave ;* 
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides, 

s MS.—" With mirth, song, tale, and lay." 

•1 MS — " Then, too, the clouds were sinking fwt. 

6 "the hostile power." 

' See Appendix, Note I. 



• 

i20 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. oarto* 


And, flasliing round, the vessel's sides , 


XXIV. 


With elvi.<h lustre lave,' 


Beneath the Castle's sheltermg lee, 


Wliilc, far behind, their livid light 


They staid their course in quiet sea. 


To the (lark billows of the night 


Hewn in the rock, a passage there 


A gloomy splendor gave. 


Souglit the dark fortress by a stair, 


It seems as if old Ocean shakes 


So straight, so high, so steep, 


Frjm his dark brow the lucid" flakes 


With peasant's staff one vahant hand 


In envious pageantry. 


Might well the dizzy pass have mann'd, 


1 match the meteor-hght that streaks 


'Gainst himdreds arm'd with spear and brand, 


Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 


And plunged them in the dieep.' 




His bugle then the helmsman woimd ; 


XXII. 


Loud answer'd every echo round, 


Nor lack'd they steadier light to keep 


From turret, rock, and bay. 


Their course upon the darken'd deep ; — 


The postern's hinges crash and groan, 


Artornish, on her frowning steep 


And soon the warder's cresset shone 


"TwLst cloud and ocean hung. 


On those rude steps of slippery stone. 


Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 


To hght the upward way. 


And landward far, and far to sea, 


" Thrice welcome, holy Sire !" he said ; 


Her festal radiance flung.' 


" FuU long the spousal train have staid. 


By that blithe beacon-hght they steer' d. 


And, vex'd at thy delay, 


Whose lustre mingled well 


Fear'd lest, amidst these wildering seas. 


With the pale beam that now appear' d, 


Tlie darksome night and freshening breeze 


As the cold moon her head uprear'd 


Had driven thy bark astray." — 


Above the eastern fell. 






XXV. 


XXIII. 


" Warder," the younger stranger* said. 


Thus guided, on their course they bore, 


" Thine erring guess some mirth had made 


Until they near'd the mamland shore, 


In mirthful hour ; but nights like these. 


Whea frequent' on the hollow blast 


When tlie rough winds wake western seas, 


Wild shouts of merriment were cast. 


Brook not of glee. We crave some aid 


And wind and wave and sea-bird's cry 


And needful shelter for this maid 


With wassail sounds in concert vie,' 


Until the break of day ; 


Lilie funeral shrieks with revelry, 


For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank 


Or like the battle-shout 


Is easy as the mossy bank 


By peasants heard from cuff's on high, 


That's breathed upon by May, 


When Triumph, Rage, and Agony, 


And for our storm-toss'd skiff we seek 


Madden the fight and route. 


Short shelter in tliis leeward creek. 


A'"ow nearer yet, through mist and storm 


Prompt when the dawn the east shall streaK 


Dhnly arose the Castle's form. 


Again to bear away." — 


And deepen' d^ shadow made, 


Answered the Warder, — " In what name 


Far lengthen'd on the main below. 


Assert ye hospitable claim ? 


Where, dancing in reflected glow, 


Whence come, or whither bou d ? 


A hundred torches play'd, 


Hath Erin seen your parting sails ? 


Spangling the wave with lights as vain 


Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 


As pleasures in this vale of pain, 


And seek ye England's fertile vales. 


Tfciit dazzle as they fade.° 


Or Scotland's mountain grotind ?"— 


M9 — ' And, bursUvff round the vessel's sides. 


4 MS.—" The wind, the wave, the sea-h'rds' c-f , 


A livid lustre gave." 


In melancholy concert vie" 


• MS -" Livid." 


6 MS.— " D.irksome." 


» ' Tlie di-scri|)tion of the vessel's approach to the Castle 


6 " Mr. Fcott, we observed in the newspapers, was engaged 


Jirongh the tempestuous and sparkling waters, and the con- 


during last summer in a maritime evpediiion ; and, according- 


faet of the gloomy iispect of the billows with the glittering 
plendor of Artornish, 


ly, the most striking novelty in the present poem is the extent 
and variety of the sea pieces with which it abounds. One of 


' 'Twixt cloud and ocean hung,' 


the first we meet with is the picture of the distresses of tli« 


(ending her radiance abroad through the terrors of the night. 


King's little bark, and her darkling run to the shelter of Ap 


)rid mingling at intervals the shouts of her revelry with the 


tomish Castle." — Edinburgh licvew, 1815 


ivilder cadence of the blast, is one of ihe happiest instances of 




VIr. Scott's felicity in awful and magnificent scenery," — Criti- 


' See Appendix, Note K. 


zi Review 


8 MS.—" That young leader." 



CAHTO t. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



XXVI. 

" Warriors — for other title none 
For some brief space we list to own, 
Bound by a vow — warriors are we ; 
In strife by land, and storm by sea, 

We have been known to fame ; 
And these brief words have import dear, 
When sounded in a noble ear, 
To harbor safe, and friendly cheer, 

That gives us rightful claim. 
Grant us the trivial boon we seek, 
And we in other realms will speak 

Fail' of your courtesy ; 
Deny — and be your niggard Hold 
Scorn'd by the noble and the bold, 
rShmm'd by the pilgrun on the wold, 

And wanderer on the lea !" — 

XXVII. 
" Bold stranger, no — 'gainst claim like thine, 
K'o bolt revolves by hand of mine,' 
Though urged in tone that more express'd 
A monarch than a suppliant guest. 
Be what ye will, Artoroish Hall 
On tliis glad eve is free to all. 
Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 
'Gainst om- ally, great England's Lord, 
Or mail upon yom* shoulders borne. 
To battle with the Lord of Lorn, 
Or, outlaw' d, dwelt by greenwood tree 
With the fierce Ivnight of Ellerslie," 
Or aided even the murderous strife. 
When Comyn fell beneath the knife 
Of that fell homicide The Bruce,^ 
This night had been a term of truce. — 
Ho, vassals ! give these guests your care, 
And show the narrow postern stair." 

XXVIIL 

To land these two bold brethren leapt 
(The weary crew their vessel kept). 
And, lighted by the torches' flai'e, 
That seaward flung their smoky glare. 
The younger knight that maiden bare 

Half lifeless up the rock ; 
On his strong shoulder lean'd her head 
And down her long dark tresses shed, 
As ilie wild vine in tendrils spread, 

Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him follow'd close that elder Loid, 
And in his hand a sheathed sword, 

MS. " 'gainst claim like yonre, 

No liolt ere closed our castle dooiB." 

Sir William Wallace. 

See Appendix. Note L. 

WS. — " Well could it cleave the gilded casque, 
And rend the trustiest shield " 

M.S. — ''The entrance vaulti'd low." 



Such as few arms could wield ; 
But when he boun'd hhu to such task. 
Well could it cleave the strongest casque, 

And rend the surest shield.'' 

XXIX. 

The raised portcullis' arch they pass, 
The wicket with its bars of brass, 

The entrance long and low,^ 
Flank'd at each turn by loop-holes strait. 
Where bowmen might in ambush wait 
(If force or fraud should burst the gate), 

To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post of ward 
Was now defenceless and unbarr'd. 

And all the passage free 
To one low-brow'd and vaulted room, 
Where squire and yeoman, page and grooBOs 

Plied their loud revelry. 

XXX. 

And " Rest ye here," the Warder bade, 
" Till to our Lord your suit is said. — 
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid. 
And on these men who ask bur aid. 

As if ye ne'er had seen 
A damsel tued of midnight bark. 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark.* 

And bearmg martial mien." 
But not for Eacliin's reproof 
Would page or vassal st.and aloo^ 

But crowded on to stare. 
As men of courtesy untaught, 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught. 

From one the foremost there,' 
His checker 'd plaid, and in its shrouxl, 
To hide her from the vulgar crowd. 

Involved his sister fair. 
His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent, 

Made brief and stern excuse ; — 
" Vassal, were thine tlie cloak of pall 
That decks thy Lord in bridal hall, 

'Twere honor'd by her use. ' 

XXXI. 
Proud was his tone, but calm ; iiis eye 
Had that compelling dignity, 
His mien that bearing haught and higk 

Which common spirits fear !' 
Needed nor word nor signal more, 

6 MS. — " Or warlike men of moulding stark." 

7 MS. — " Till that hot Kdward fiercely caught 

From one, the boldest there." 

8 " Stil\ sways their souls with that commanding ail 

That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar iieart. 
What is that spell, that thus nis lawless train 
Confess aud envy, yet oppose in vain * 



i'22 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO U. 



Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er ; 
Upon each other back they bore, 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appear'd the Seneschal, 
Conunission'd by his lord to call 
The strangers to the Barou's hall, 

Where feasted fair and free 
That Island Prince in nuptial tide, 
With Edith there his lovely bride. 
And her bold brother by her side, 
And many a chief, the flower and pride 

Of Western land and sea.* 

Here pause we, gentles, for a space ; 
And, if our tale hath won yoiu* grace, 
Grant us brief patience, and again 
W e will renew the minstrel strain." 



©Ije Corlr of tlje Isles. 



CANTO SECOND, 



Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive h'->ard I 
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair 1 
Through the loud haU in joyous concert pour'd. 
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care 1 
But ask thou not if Happiness be there, 
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, 
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear ; 
Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know, 
ff sceiie of mortal Ufe but teems with mortal woe.' 

XL 

With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay. 



With all that olden time deem'd 



gay, 



The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 
But there was in liis troubled eye 
A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flush'd, and faded now, 
Emotions such as diaw theu birth 



What Bhonld it be, that thus their faith can bind t 
The power of Thought — the magic of the Mind I 
Link'd with success, assumed and i<ept witli skill, 
That moulds another's weakness to its will ; 
Wields with her liands, but, still to these unknown, 
Makes even their mightiest deed" appear hiscwn. 
Buch hath it l)een — sliall be — beneath the sun 
Tlie many still must labor for the one I 
Tis Nature's doom." 

Byron's Corsair, 

' MS. — " Of mountain chivalry." 

' " The first Canto is full of business and description, and 
/le scene? are sucli as Mr. Scott's muse generally excels in. 
The scene between Edith ind her nurse is spirited, and con- 



From deeper source than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
And jester's tale went round in vain, 
Or fell but ou his idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. 
Then would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,* 

And call for pledge and lay. 
And, for brief space, of all the crowd. 
As he was loudest of the loud, 

Seem gayest of the gay.' 

HI 

Yet naught amiss the bridal throng 
Mark'd in brief mirth, or musing long ; 
The vacant brow, the unhstening ear. 
They gave to thoughts of raptui es near, 
And his fierce starts of sudden glee 
Seera'd bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd, ' 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,' 
And jealous of liis honor'd line. 
And that keen knight, De Argentine' 
(From England sent on errand high. 
The western league more firm to tie),* 
Both deem'd in Ronald's mood to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye. 
Pierced deeper tln-ough the mystery, 
And watch' d, with agony and fear. 
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer. 

IV, 

She watch'd — yet fear'd to meet his glance, 
And he shumi'd hers, till when by chance 
They met, the point of foeman's lance 

Had given a milder pang ! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed — then sternly mann'd his heart 
To play his hard but destined part, 

And from the table sprang. 
" FiU me the mighty cup 1" he said, 
" Erst own'd by royal Somerled :* 
Fill it, till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 



tains many very pleasing lines. The description of Lor" Re 
nald's fleet, and of the bark endeavoring to make her waj 
against the wind, more particularly of the last, is executet 
with extraordinary beauty and fidelity." — Quarterly Htvitit 

3 '* Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ; aud the eud o 
that mirth is heaviness." — Proverbs, .tiv. 13. 

< MS. " and give birth 

To jest, to wassail, and to mirth " 

6 MS. — " Would seem the loudest of the tond. 
And gaye.st of the gay." 

8 MS.—" Since Lorn, the proudest of the proud " 

' MS. — " And since the keen De Argeutiue " 

s See Appendix, Note L. 

' Ibid. Note M 



CAXTO U. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



41* 



And every gena of varied sliine 
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine ! 
To you, brave lord, and brother mine, 

Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 
Tlie union of Our House with thine, 
By this fair bridal-link 1"— 



" Let it pass round !" quoth He of Lorn, 
' And in good time — that winded horn 

Must of the Abbot teU ; 
The laggard monk is come at last." 
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast, 
And on the floor at random cast, 

The mitasted goblet fell. 
But when tlie warder in his ear 
Tells other news, liis blither cheer 

Returns like sun of May, 
When through a thunder-cloud it beams ! — 
Lord of two hmidred isles, he seema 

As glad of brief delay. 
As some poor criminal might feel. 
When, from the gibbet or the wheel. 

Respited for a day. 

"VL 
■ Jirother of Lorn," with hurried voice 
He said, " and you, fair lords, rejoice ! 

Here, to augment our glee. 
Come wandering knights from travel far 
Well proved, they say, in strife of war, 

And tempest on the sea. — 
Ho ! give them at your board such place 
As best their presences may grace,' 

And bid them welcome free !" 
With solemn step, and silver wand, 
Thft Seneschal the presence scann'd 
0/ these strange guests f and well he 

knew 
How to assign their rank its due ;* 

For though the costly furs 
That erst had deck'd their caps were torn, 
And theu' gay robes were over-worn. 

And soii'd their gilded spurs, 
Tjt such a high commanding grace 
Was ir their mien and in their face, 
Ajb suited best the princely dais,* 

And royal canopy ; 
And there he marshall'd them their place, 

Fii 81 of that company. 

- MS.- -' As rafcy tnff.r presence fittest grace." 
> MS. — " With solemn-pace, and silver rot). 
The Seneschal the entrance show'd 
To these strange guests." 
Bee Appendix, Note N. 
* Dais — the great hall table — elevated a step or two above 
ke rest of the room. 
" MS — " A side then lords and ladies spake. 



VIL 
Then lords and ladies spake aside. 
And angry looks the error chide,* 
That gave to guests unnamed, unknoTra, 
A place so near their prmce's throne , 

But Owen Erraught said, 
" For forty years a seneschal. 
To marshal guests in bower aid hall 

Has been my honor'd trade. 
Worship and bu'th to me are known. 
By look, by bearing, and by tone. 
Not by furr'd robe or broider'd zone ; 

And 'gainst an oaken bough 
I'll gage my silver wand of state. 
That these three strangers oft have sate 

In higher place than now."— * 

VIIL 
" I, too," the aged Ferrand said, 
" Am qualified by minstrel trade'' 

Of nxnk and place to tell ; — 
Mark'd ye the younger stranger's eye. 
My mates, how quick, how keen, how high, 

How fierce its flashes fell, 
Glancing among the noble rout* 
As if to seek the noblest out. 
Because the owner might not brook 
On any save his peers to look ? 

And yet it moves me more. 
That steady, calm, majestic brow. 
With which the elder chief even now 

Scann'd the gay presence o'er. 
Like being of superior kind, 
In whose high-toned impartial mind 
Degrees of mortal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifferent weight. 
The lady too — though closely tied 

The' mantle veil both face and eye, 
Her motions' grace it could not hide, 

Nor could* her form's fair symmetry.' 

IX. 

Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
Lour'd on the haughty front of Lorn. 
From underneath his brows of pride, 
The stranger guests he sternly tyed. 
And whisper 'd closely what thi ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear ; 

Then question'd, liigh and brief, 
If, in their voyage, aught they knew 

And ushers censured the mistake.' 
e " The first entry of the illustrious strangers into the MtM 
of the Celtic chief, is in the accustomed and peculiar 8 yle o 
the poet of chivalry.'^ — Jeffrey. 
' MS. — " ' I, too,' old Ferrand said, and laugh'/l, 
' Am qualified by minstrel r aft. 

8 MS. " the festal rout." 

B MS.— " Nor hide." iie. 



424 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. caxto u 


Of the rebellious Scottish crew, 


Did the fauy of the fountain. 




Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew, 


Or the mermaid of the wave. 




With Carrick's outlaw'd cliief ?* 


Frame thee in some coral cave ? 




And if, their winter's exile o'er, 


Did, in Iceland's darksome mitie. 




Tliey harbor'd stUl by Ulster's shore. 


Dwarf's swart hands thy metal twine 




Or launch'd their galleys on the main. 


Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here, 




To vex their native land again ? 


From England's love, or France's fear f 




X. 


XIL 




Tliat younger stranger, fierce and high, 


Sona contfnutU. 




At once confronts the Chieftain's eye* 


" Jf ! — thy splendors nothing teU 




With look of equal scorn ; — 


Foreign art or faery spell. 




* Of rebels have we naught to show ; 


Moulded thou for monarch's use, 




Biit if of Royal Bruce thou'dst know. 


By the overweenmg Bruce, 




I warn thee he has sworn,' 


When the royal robe he tied 




Ere thrice tlu-ee days shall come and go. 


O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 




His banner Scottish winds shall blow, 


Thence in triumph wert thou torn, 




Despite each mean or mighty foe. 


By the victor hand of Lorn 1 




From England's every bill and bow, 






To Allaster of Lorn." 


" When the gem was won and lost, 




Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire, 


Widely was the war-cry toss'd 1 




But Ronald quench'd the rising fire ; 


Rung aloud Bendourish fell. 




"Brother, it better suits the time 


Answer'd Douchart's sounduig dell, 




To chase the night with Ferraud's rhyme. 


Fled the deer from wild Teyndrnm, 




Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jar9 


When the homicide, o'er^ome, 




riiat flow from these unliappy wars." — * 


Hardly 'scaped, with scathe and scorn. 




' Content," said Lorn ; and spoke apart 


Left the pledge with conquering Loru 1 




With Ferrand, master of his art. 






Then wliisper'd Argentine, — • 


XIIL 




" Tlie lay I named will carry smart 


Sonfl conclutjelj. 




To these bold strangers' haughty heart, 


" Vain was then the Douglas brand,' 




If light tliis guess of mine." 


Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, 




He ceased, and it was silence all. 


Vain KfrkjDatrick's bloody dirk. 




Until the minstrel waked the haU.* 


Making sure of murder's work ;' 




XL 


Barendown fled fast away. 




Fled the fiery De la Haye," 




2rS)e 33rooc|) of l.orn.* 


When tliis brooch, triumphant borne, 




" Whence the brooch of burning gold. 


Beam\l upon the breast of Lorn. 




That clasps the Chieftain's mantle-fold. 






Wrought and cfiased with rare device. 


" Farthest fled its former Lord, 




Studded fair with gems of price,' 


Left Ids men to brand and cord," 




On the varied tartans beaming. 


Bloody brand of Higliland steel. 




As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming. 


English gibbet, axe, and wheel 




Fainter now, now seen afar, 


Let liim fly from coast to coast. 




Fitful suiiies the northern star ? 


Dogg'd by Comyn's vengeful ghost, 
Wliile his spoils, in triumph worn. 




* Gem i ne er wrought on Higliland mountain. 


Long shall grace victorious Lorn !" 




I Pee Appendix, Note O. 


chief over Robert Bruce, in one of their rencontres. Bruce 


MS. — " That rounger stranfjer, nanght oiit-dared, 


in truth, had been set on by some of that clan, and had 


extri 1 


Was prompt the haughty Chiel'to beard." 


cated himself from a fearful overmatch by stependous exertioim | 


s MS.—" Men say that he has sworn." 


In the struggle, however, the brooch which fastened his 


roya 


' 'The description of the bridal feast, in the second Canto, 


mantle h.ad been torn off by the assailants ; and it is on th« | 


<as eevetal animated lines ; but the ^e.^l j)Ower and poetry of 


subject of this trophy tiiat tlie Celtic poet pours forth this 


wilr. 


Ihe author do not ajipear to us to be called out until the occa- 


rapid, and spirited strain." — Jeffrev. 




lion of the Highland quarrel which follows the feast." — 


6 See Api)endix, Note P. ' Ibid. Note Q. 




ifntkly Review, March, 1815. 


s See Appendix, Note R. 




6 ' In a very different style of excellence (from that of the 


9 See Appendix, Note S. 




first tiree stanzas) is the triumphant and insulting song of the 


ID See Appendix, Note T. 




*>ard of Lo-n, cf'inmeniorating the pretended victory of his 


" MS.—" Left his followers to the swird.' 





tliNTO II. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



42 f 



XIV. 

AS glares the tiger on hia foes, 

Heium'd in by liunters, sjDears, and bows, 

Ami, ero he bounds upon the ring, 

Selects tlie object of his spring, — 

Now on the bai'd, now on liis Lord, 

So Edward glared and grasp'd his sword — 

But stem his brother spolie, — " Be stilL 

Vv'^hat ! ai't thou yet so Avild of will. 

After high deeds and sufferings long. 

To chafe thee for a menial's song ? — 

Well hast thou framed, Old Man, thy strains. 

To praise the hand that pays thy pains 1' 

Yet something might thy song have told 

Of Lorn's three vassals, true and bold, 

Who rent theii" lord from Bruce's hold. 

As underneath his knee he lay, 

And died to save him in the fray. 

I've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp 

Was clench'd within their dying grasp, 

What tmie a hundred foemen more 

Rush'd iUj and back the victor bore,* 

Long after Lorn had left the strife,^ 

Full glai' to 'scape with limb and life.- - 

EnoHgh of this — And, Minstrel, hold, 

As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold, 

For futm-e lays a fan- excuse. 

To speak more nobly of the Bruce." — 

XV. 

■• Now, by Columba's slu'ine, I swear. 

And every saint that's buried there, 

'Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries, 

" And for my kmsrnan's death he dies." 

As loudly Ronald calls, — " Forbear I 

Not in my sight while brand I wear, 

O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall. 

Or blood of stranger stain my hall 1 

This ancient fortress of my race 

Shall be misfortune's resting-place. 

Shelter and shield of the distress' d, 

No slaughter-house for shipwreck'd guest." — 

" Talk not to me," fierce Lorn rephed, 

" Of odds, or match ! — when Comyn died, 

I'hree daggers clash'd within his side 1 

TiUi not to me of sheltering hall, 

TLe Caurch of God saw Comyn fall ! 

On G nd's own altar stream'd his blood, 

Wliilfc o' ir my prostrate kinsman stood 

The rutlness murderer — e'en as now — 

With armed hand and scornful brow ! — 

Up, all who love m.e ! blow on blow 1 

Afld lay the outlaw'd ftlons low 1" 



' See Appe^'lix, Note U. 
« The Ms>. has not this couplet. 
t M3 — " When breathless Lorn had left the strife." 
For ihent four lines the MS. has — 
54 



XVL 

Then up sprang many a mauilanu Lord, 
Obedient to their CliieftaLo's word. 
Barcaldine's arm is high m air. 
And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare, 
Black Murthok's duk has left its sheath. 
And clench'd is Dermid's hand of death. 
Their mutter'd threats of vengeance sweU 
Into a wild tmd warlike yell ; 
Onward they press with weapons high. 
The affrighted females slu-iek and fly. 
And, Scotland, tlien thy brightest ray 
Had darken'd ere its noon of day, — 
But every cliief of birth and fame, 
That from the Isles of Ocean came. 
At Ronald's side that hour withstoo I 
Fierce Lorn's relentless tliirst fur bijod 

XVIL 
Brave Torquil fi-om Dunvegan high. 
Lord of the misty hills of Sk>'e, 
Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane, 
Duart, of bold Clan-GiUian'a strain, 
Fergus, of Carina's castled bay, 
Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colunsay, 
Soon as they saw the broadswords glance, 
With ready weapons rose at once, 
More prompt, that many an ancient feud. 
FuU oft suppress' d, full oft renew'd, 
Glow'd 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle, 
And many a lord of ocean's isle. 
Wild was the scene — each sword was bare. 
Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy haii 
In gloomy opposition set. 
Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met ; 
Blue gleaming o'er the social board, 
Flash'd to the torches many a sword ; 
And soon those bridal hghts may shine 
On purple blood for rosy wine. 

XVIIL 
T^Tiile thus for blows and death prepared, 
Each heart was up,' each weapon bared. 
Each foot advanced, — a surly pause 
StUl reverenced hospitable laws. 
All menaced violence, but alike 
Reluctant each the first to strike 
(For aye accursed in minstrel line 
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine), 
And, match'd in numbers and in migh' 
Doubtful and desperate seem'd the fight. 
Thtis threat and murmur died away. 
Tin on the crowded hall there lay 

" But stern the Island Lord withstood 
The vengeful Cliieftain's thirst of blood." 
' MS. — " While thus for blood and blows prepared^ 
Raised was each Land " &o 



126 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



Such silence, as the deadly 8tiU, 


Hath whisper'd of a lawful claim, 


Ere bursts the thunder on the hill 


That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's Lord, 


With blade advanced, each Cliieftain bold 


Though dispossess'd by foreign sword. 


Show'd like the Sworder's form of old,' 


Tills craves reflection — but though right 


As wanting still the torch of Life, 


And just the charge of Ifcgland's Knight, 


To -wake the marble into strife* 


Let England's crown her rebels seize 




Where she has power; — in towers lilfw 


XIX. 


these. 


That awful pause the stranger maid, 


'Midst Scottish Chieftains summon'd here 


And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 


To bridal mirth and bridal cheer, 


As to De Argentine she clung. 


Be sure, with no consent of mme. 


A.way her veil the stranger flung, 


Shall either Lorn or Argentine 


And, lovely 'mid her wild despair, 


With chains or violence, m oiu- sis'ht, 


Fast stream'd her eyes, wide flow'd her hair. 


Oppress a brave and banish'd Knight." 


" thou, of knighthood once the flower, 




Sure refuge in distressful hour. 


XXL 


Thou, who in Judah well hast fought 


Then waked the wild debate again, 


For our dear faith, and oft hast sought 


With brawling threat and clamor vain 


Renown in knightly exercise, 


Vassals and menials, tkronging in. 


When this poor hand has dealt the prize, 


Lent their brute rage to swell the din ; 


Say, can thy soul of honor brook 


When, far and wide, a bugle-clang 


On the unequal strife to look. 


From the dark ocean upward rang. 


"V^Tien, butcher'd thus in peaceful hall. 


" The Abbot comes !" they cry at once, 


Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall 1" 


" The holy man. whose favor'd glance 


To Ai-gentine sht? txu'n'd her word. 


Hath sainted visions kno^vn ; 


But her eye sought the Island Lord.* 


Angels have met him on the way, 


A flush like evening's setting flame 


Beside the blessed martyrs' bay. 


Glow'd on liis cheek ; his hardy frame, 


And by Columba's stone. 


As with a brief convulsion, shook : 


His monks have heard their hymnings hig^ 


With hurried voice and eager look, — 


Sotmd from the summit of Dim-Y, 


" Fear not," he said, " my Isabel 1 


To cheer his penance lone. 


What said I— Edith !— aU is well— 


When at each cross, on gnth and wold* 


Nay, fear not — I will well provide 


(Their number tlu-ice a hundi'ed fold), 


The safety of my lovely bride — 


His prayer he made, his beads he told, 


My bride V — but there the accents clung 


With Aves many a one — 


In tremor to bis faltering tongue. 


He comes our feuds to reconcile, 




A samted man frorh sainted isle ; 


XX. 


We will his holy doom abide, 


liow rose De Argentine, to claim 


The Abbot shall our strife decide."* 


The pj-isoners in liis sovereign's name, 




To FiUgland's crown, who, vassals sworn, 


XXIL 


'Gainst their Uege lord had weapon borne — 


Scarcely this fair accord was o'er," 


(Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 


Wlien through the wide revolving door 


His care their safety to provide ; 


The black-st<iled brethren wuid ; 


For knight more true in thought and deed 


Twelve sandaU'd monks, who rehcs bore, 


Than Argentine ne'er spurr'd a steed)— 


With many a torch-bearer before, 


And Ronald, who his meaning guess'd. 


And many a cross behind.' 


Seem'd half tc sanction the request. 


Then sunk each fierce uplifted hand. 


Tills purj'^se fiery Torquil broke : — 


And dagger bright and flashing brand 


"Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke," 


Dropp'd swiftly at the sight ; 


He said "and, in our islands. Fame 


They vanish'd from the Ohm-chman's eye, 


1 MS "each Cliieftain rude, 


« MS.—" We will his holy rede obey, 


Like that famed Swordsman's statne stood." 


Tlie Abbot's voice shall end the fray." 


MS.—" To warken him to deadly strife." 


8 MS. — " Scarce was this peaceful paction o'er." 


The MS. adds :— 


' MS. — " Did slow procession wind ; 


•' With such a frantic fond appeal, 


Twelve monks, who stole and mantle wow 


As only lovers make and feel." 


And chalice, pyx, and relics bore. 


MS^.— Wlial time at every cross of old." 


With many," &.C. 



Canto ii. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



421 



Ab ehooting stars, that glance and di», 
Dart from the vault of night. 

XXIII. 
The Abbot on the threshold stood, 
And m his hand the holy rood ; 
Back or: his elioulders flow'd his hood, 

The torch's glaring ray 
fcS/iow d, in its red and fiasliing light, 
Hi3 wither'd cheek and amice white, 
His blue eye glistening cold and bright, 

His tresses scant and gray. 
" Fair Lords," he said, " Our Lady's love, 
And peace be with you from above, 

And Beuedicite ! — 
— But what means this ? no peace is here I — 
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer ? 

Or are these naked brands 
A seemly show for Churchman's sight, ' 
When he comes summon'd to unite 
Betrothed hearts and hands ?" 

XXIV. 
Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal, 
Proud Lorn first answer'd the appeal ; — 

" Tliou comest, holy Man, 
True sons of blessed chm-ch to greet,' 
But little deeming here to meet 

A wretch, beneath the ban 
Of Pope and Church, for murder done 
Even on the sacred altar-stone ! — '' 
Well mayst thou wonder we should know 
Sudi miscreant here, nor lay him low,' 
Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce. 
With excommunicated Bruce I 
Yet wiU I grant, to end debate. 
Thy sainted voice decide his" fate."* 



: The MS. here adds : — 

" Men bonnd in her communion sweet, 
And duteous to the Papal seat." 

MS. " the blessed altar-stone." 

Tn place of the conplet which follows, the MS. haa — 
" But promptly had my dagger's edge 
Avenged the guilt of sacrilege, 
Save for my new and kind ally, 
And Torquil, chief of stormy Skye 
(In whose wild land there rests the seed, 
Men say, of ancient heathen creed). 
Who would enforce me to a truce 
With excommunicated Bruce." 

» The MS. adds: 

Secure such foul offenders find 
No favor in a4ioly mind." 

The MS. has : 

" Alleged the best of honor's laws, 

The succor } j,"J^°j ,,y | storm^taid gnest, 

Th« refuge due to the distress'd. 

Tie oath that binds each generous knighf " 



XXV. 

Then Ronald pled the stranger's cause. 
And knighthood's oath and honor's laws ;• 
And Isabel, on bended knee. 
Brought pray'rs and tears to back the plea' 
And Edith lent her generous aid. 
And wept, and Lorn for mercy pray'd." 
" Hence," he exclaim'd, degenerate maid 
Was't not enough to Roland's bower 
I brought thee, like a paramour,' 
Or bond-maid at her master's gate. 
His careless cold approach to wait ? — 
But the bold Lord of Cumberland, 
The gallant CUfFord, seeks thy hand ; 
His it shall be — Nay, no reply ! 
Hence I till those rebel eyes be dry." 
With grief the Abbot heard and saw. 
Yet naught relax'd his brow of aw» * 

XXVL 
Then Argentine, in England's name. 
So highly urged his sovereign's claim,' 
He waked a spark, that long suppress'd. 
Had smoulder'd in Lord Ronald's breast ; 
And now, as from the flint the fire, 
Flash'd forth at once his generous ire. 
" Enough of noble blood," he said, 
" By EngUsh Edward had been shed. 
Since matcliless Wallace first had been 
In mock'ry crown'd with wreaths of green," 
And done to death by felon hand, 
For guarding well liis father's land. 
Where's Nigel Bruce ? And De la Haye, 
And valiant Seton — where are they ? 
Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 
And Eraser, flower of chivalry ?" 
Have they not been on gibbet bound. 



Still to prevent unequal fight ; 
And Isabel," &c. 

e MS. — " And wept alike and knelt and pray'd" — The niM 
lines which intervene betwixt this and the concluding couplp' 
of the stanza are not in the MS. 

' See Appendix, Note V. 

8 The MS. adds— 

" He raised the suppliants from the floor, 
And bade their sorrowing be o'er, ) 

And bade them give their weeping o'er, J 
But in a tone that well explain'd 
How little grace tlieir prayers had gain'd ; 
For though he purposed true and weJ, 
Still stubborn and inflexible 
In what he deem'd his duty high. 
Was Abbot Ademar of Y." 

9 MS. — " For Bruce's custody made claim."- Id pluw m 
the two couplets which follow, the MS has — 

" And Torquii, stout Danvegan's Knight, 
As well defended Scotland's right, 
Enougn of," &c. 

10 See Appendix, Note W. 

11 See Appsndix, Note X. 



*28 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO L 



Tlieir quarters flung to hawk and hound, 
And hold vre here a cold debate, 
To yield more victims to their fate ? 
Wliat ! can the English Leopard's mood 
Never be gorged with northern blood? 
AVas not the life of Athole shed, 
To soothe the tyrant's sicken'd bed ?' 
And must his word, till dying day. 
Be naught but quarter, hang, and slay ! — * 
Thou frown'st, De Argentine, — My gage 
Is jjrompt to prove the strife I wage." — 

XXVII. 
" Nor detm," said stout Dunvegan's knight,* 
" That tht;'i shalt brave alone the fight 1 
By saints of isle and mainland both. 
By Woden wild (my grandsire's oath),* 
Let Rome and En,gland do their worst, 
Howe'er attainted or accursed. 
If Bruce shall e'er find friends again. 
Once more to brave a battle-plain. 
If Douglas couch again his lance, 
Or Randolph dare another chance. 
Old Torquil will not be to lack 
With twice a thousand at his back. — • 
Kay, chafe not at my bearuig bold, 
Good Abbot ! for thou know'st of old, 
Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will 
Smack of the wild Norwegian still ; 
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 
For England's wealth, or Rome's applause." 

XXVIIL 

The Abbot seem'd with eye severe 

Tlie hardy Cliieftain's speech to hear ; 

Then on Kang Robert turn'd the Monk,* 

But twice his courage came and sunk, 

Confronted with the hero's look ; T 

Twice fell liis eye, his accents shook ; 

At length, resolved in tone and brow, 

Ste.'^nly he question'd him — " And thou, 

Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead. 

Why I denounce not on thy deed 

Tliat awful doom which canons tell 

Shuts paradise, and opens hell ; 

Anathema of power so dread, 

It blends the living with the dead. 

Bids each good angel soar away, 

And every ill one claim his prey; 

Expels thee from the clmrch's care, 

A ud deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; 

' See Appendix, Note Y. 
' See Appendix, Note Z. 

• In the yi.<. this couplet is wanting, and, withont breaking 
lie stanza. Lord Boland eontinnes, 

" By saints of isle," &c. 

* The MacLeods, and most other distinpnished Hebridean 
•imilieB, were of Scandinavian extraction, and some were late 



Arms every hand against thy life, 

Bans all who aid thee in the strife, 

Nay, each whose succor, cold and scant,* 

With meanest ahns reheves thy want ; 

Hatmts thee while living, — and, when dead. 

Dwells on thy yet devoted head. 

Rends Honor's scutcheon from thy hearse, 

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse. 

And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd grou/id. 

Flung Uke vile carrion to the hound ; 

Such is the dire and desperate doom 

For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 

And such the well-deserved meed 

Of tliine unhaUow'd, ruthless deed." 

XXIX. 
" Abbot I" the Bruce rephed, " thy charge 
It boots not to dispute at large. 
Tliis much, howe'er, I bid thee know. 
No selfish vengeance dealt the blow, 
For Comyn died liis country's foe. 
Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed 
Fulfill'd my soon-repented deed. 
Nor censure those from whose stern tongre 
The dire anathema has nuig. 
I only Wame mine own wild ire. 
By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 
Heaven knows my purpose to atone, 
Far as I may, the evil done, ■ 
And hears a penitent's appeal 
From papal curse and prelate's zeaL 
My first and dearest task achieved. 
Fair Scotland from her thrall reheved. 
Shall many a priest in cope and stole 
Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul. 
While I the blessed cross advance. 
And expiate tliis unliappy chance 
In Palestine, with sword and lance.' 
But, while content the Church should know 
My conscience owns the debt I owe,* 
Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
The name of traitor I return. 
Bid them defiance stem and high,* 
And give them in their tliroats the he 
These brief words spoke, I speak no more. 
Do what thou wilt ; my shiift is o'er.*' 

XXX. 

Like man by prodigy amazed, 
LTpon the King the Abbot gazed ; 
Then o'er his pallid features glance, 

or imperfect converts to Clmstianity. The family namw ■ 
Torquil, Thormod, &c. are all Norwegian. 

" MS. — " Then turn'd him on the Bruce the Motk.' 

8 MS. — " Nay, curses each whose succor scant." 

' Pee Appendix, Note 2 A. 

8 The MS. adds : — •' For this ill-timed and luckless bl««r 
i' MS. " '•nid and hiuh." 



OANTO II. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



42t 



Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
His breatliing caTiie more thick and fast, 
And from his pale blue eyes ■were cast 
Strange rays of wild and wandering light ; 
Uprise his locks of silver white, 
Flush'd is his brow, through every vein 
Ic azure tide the currents strain. 
Ar. d undistinguish'd accents broko 
The awful silence ere he spoke.* 

XXXI. 
" De Bruce ! I rose with purpose d\ ead 
lo speak my curse upon thy head," 
And give thee as an outcast o'er 
To liim who bums to shed thy gore ; — 
P-t, like the Midianite of old, 
Who stood on Zoploim, heaven-controU'd,* 
I feel witliin mine aged breast 
A power that will not be repress'd.* 
It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, 
It burns, it maddens, it constrains ! — 
De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 
Hath at God's altar slain thy foe : 
O'ermaster'd yet by high behest, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd 1" 
He spoke, and o'er the astonish'd throng 
Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII. 

Again that light has fired his eye. 
Again his form swells bold and high, 
The broken voice of age is gone, 
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone : — 

' MS. — " Swell on his wither'd brow the veins, 
Each in its azure current strains. 
And interrupted tears express'd 
The tumult of his laboring breast." 

a See Appendix, Note 2 B. 

s See the Book of Numbers, chap, xxiii. and xxiv. 

4 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 

6 Ibid. Note 2 D. 

8 " On this transcendent passage we shall only remark, that 
>f the gloomy part of the prophecy we hear nothing more 
hrough the whole of the poem, and tliongh the Abbot informs 
Jie King that he sliall be ' On foreign shores a man exiled,' 
he poet never speaks of him but as resident in Scotland, np 
* the period of the battle of Bannockbnrn." — Critical fie- 
liew. 

' The MS. has not this couplet. 

e " TIij conception and execution of these stanzas constitute 
excellence which it would be difficult to match from any other 
part of the poem. The surprise is grand and perfect. The 
monk, struck with the heroism of Robert, foregoes the intended 
anathema, and breaks outt into a prophetic annunciation of his 
inal triumph over all his enemies, and the veneration in which 
his name will be held by posterity. These stanzas, which con- 
elnde the second Canto, derive their chief title to encomium 
from the emphatic felicity of their burden, 

' I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd ;' 
% which few and simple words following, as they do, a series 



" Thrice vanquish'd on the battle-plain. 
Thy followers slaughter'd, fled, or ta'en, 
A hunted wanderer on the wild. 
On foreign shores a man exiled,* 
Disown'd, deserted, and distress'd,* 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd 1 
Bless'd in the hall and in the field, 
Under the mantle as the sliield. 
Avenger of thy country's shame, 
Restorer of her injured fame, 
Bless'd in thy sceptre and thy sword, 
De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful Lord, 
Bless'd in thy deeds and in thy fame, 
Wliat lengthen'd honors wait thy name ! 
In distant ages, sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, 
And teach his infants, in the use 
Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 
Go, then, triumphant 1 sweep along 
Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 
The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, 
Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd I 
Enough — my short-lived strength decays. 
And sinks the momentary blaze. — 
Heaven hath our destined purpose broke. 
Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ;' 
Brethren, our errand here is o'er. 
Our task discharged, — Unmoor, unmoor !" ~ 
His priests received the exhausted Monk, 
As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
Pimctual his orders to obey. 
The train refused all longer stay, 
Embark'd, raised sail, and bore away.* 



of predicated ills, there is an energy that instantaneonsly a, 
peals to the heart, and. surpasses, all to nothing, the results d 
passages less happy in their application, though more labored 
and tortuous in their construction." — Critical Review. 

" The story of the second Canto exhibits fewer of Mr. Scott's 
characteristical beauties than of his cliaracteristical faults. 
The scene itself is not of a very edifying description ; nor is 
the want of agreeableness in the subject compensated by any 
detached merit in the details. Of the language and versifica 
tion in many parts, it is hardly possible to speak favorably. 
The same must be said of the speeches which the different 
characters address to each other. The rude vehemence which 
they display seems to consist much more in the lnndne««i and 
gesticulation with which the speakers expiess themselves tiiSJ 
in the force and energy of their sentiments, wnicn, for the aoe*. 
part, are such as the barbarous chiefs, to whom tney are M 
tributed, might, without any great premeditation, either ai i« 
the thought or language, have iitually uttered. To f rd lan- 
guage and sentiments projiortiom-d to characters of sptk ax- 
traordinary dimensions as the agents in the poems (f H)n,«i 
and Milton, is indeed an admirable effort of geril ; but U. 
make such as we meet with in the epic poetry of e present 
day, persons often below the middle size, and never very much 
above it, merely speak in character, is not likely to occasion 
either much difficulty to the poet, or much pleasure to the 
reader. As an example, we might adduce the speech of stoui 
Dunvegan's knight, stanza xxvii., which is not the less wanting 
in taste, because it is natural and characteristic." — G iirter 
Review 



(30 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO lb 



€l]e £orlr of tlje Msks, 



CANTO THIED. 



I. 

Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled 
head 

STiJden and deep the thimder-peal has roll'd, 
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold ? 
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold, 
Tlie rustling aspen's leaves are mute and stiU,* 
The wall-ik)wer waves not on the ruin'd hold. 
Till, mm-muring distant first, then near and 
shrill, [groaning hilL 

Fie savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the 

IL 

Artornish ! such a silence sunk 
Upon thy halls, when that gray Monk 

His prophet-speech had spoke ; 
And his obedient brethren's sail 
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale 

Before a whisper woke. 
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear, 
Close pour'd in many an anxious ear, 

The solemn stillness broke ; 
And stlLl they gazed with eager guess, 
\Vhere, in an oriel's deep recess. 
The Island Prince seem'd bent to press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer, 
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear. 

III. 
Starting at lengtli, with frowning look, 
His hand he clench'd, his head he shook, 

And sternly flung apart ; — 
" And deem'st thou me so mean of mood, 
As to forget the mortal feud, 
And clasp the hand witli blood imbrued' 

From my dear Kinsman's heart ? 
Is tills thy rede ? — a due return 
For ancient league and friendship sworn 1 
But well our mountain proverb shows 
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows. 
Be -t e^ en so — believe, ere l«ng, 
tie that now bears shall wreak the wrong.— 
Call Edith—call the Maid of Lorn 1 
My sister, slaves 1 — for further scorn. 
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 
Away, De Argentine, away 1 — 

- MS. — " Tlie rustling aspen bids Ms leaf be still." 
' MS. — " And c.asp tlie bloody hand imbrued." 
' M'^. — " Nor brotlier we, nor ally know." 
Thfl >«8. has,— 

Such was fierce Lorn a cry."— 



We nor ally nor brother know,' 
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe." 

IV. 
But who the Chieftain's rage can tell. 
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 
To lughest tower the castle round. 
No Lady Edith was there found i 
He shouted, " Falsehood ! — treachery I— • 
Revenge and blood ! — a lordly meed 
To him that will avenge the deed 1 
A Baron's lands !" — His frantic mood 
Was scarcely by the news withstood, 
That Morag shared his sister's flight. 
And that, in hurry of the night, 
'Scaped noteless, and without remark, 
Two strangers souglit the Abbot's bark.— 
" Man every galley ! — fly — pursue 1 
The priest his treachery shall rue I • 
Ay, and the time shall quickly come, 
When we shaU hear the thanks that Rome 
WiU pay his feigned prophecy 1" 
Such was fierce Lorn'e mdignant cry I* 
And Cormac DoU in haste obey'd. 
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weigh'd ' 

(For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil).* 
But others, lingering, spoke apart, — 
" The Maid has given her maiden heart 

To Ronald of the Isles, 
And, fearful lest lier brother's word 
Bestow her on that English Lord, 

She seeks lona's piles, 
And wisely deems it best to dwell 
A votaress in the holy cell, 
Until these feuds so fierce and fell 

The Abbot reconciles."* 



As, impotent of ire, tlie hall 
Echo'd to Lorn's impatient call, 
" My horse, my mantle, and my train I 
Let none who honors Lorn remain !"- 
Courteous, but stern, a bold request 
To Bruce De Argentine express'd. 
" Lord Earl," he said, — " I cannot chuse 
But yield such title to the Bruce, 
Though name and earldom both are gone. 
Since he braced rebel's armor on — 
But, Earl or Serf — rude phrase was thine 
Of late, and launch'd at Argentine 
Such as compels me to demand 
Redress of honor at thy hand. 

See a note on a line in the Lay of the Iiast Minrti»', 
p. 21. 

6 See Appendix, Note 2 E. 
« MS.—" While friends shall labor fair and well 
These fends to reconcile." 



TANTO m. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



431 



We need not to each other tell. 
That both can wield theh weapons well ; 
Ther dj me but the soldier grace, 
This glove upon thy helm to place 
Where we may meet in tight ; 
And I will say, as still I've said, 
Though by ambition far misled. 
Thou art a noble knight." — 

VI. 

" And I,' the princely Bruce replied, 
" Mght term it stain on knighthood's pride, 
That the bright sword of Argentine 
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ; 

But, for your brave request, 
Be sure the honor'd pledge you gave 
In every battle-field shall wave 

Upon my helmet-crest ; 
Beheve, that if my hasty tongue 
Hath done thine honor causeless wrong, 

It shall be well redress' d. 
Not dearer to my soul was glove, 
Bestow'd in youth by lady's love. 

Than this which thou hast given 1 
Thus, then, my noble foe I gi'eet ; 
Health and high fortune till we meet, 

And then — what pleases Heaven." 

VI r. 

Thus pai ted they — for now, with soimd 
Tjke waves roll'd back from rocky ground, 

The friends of Lorn retire ; 
Each mainland chieftain, with his train. 
Draws to his mountain towers again, 
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain 

And mortal hopes expire. 
But thi-ough the castle double guard. 
By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward, 
Wicket and gate were trebly barr'd, 

By beam and bolt and chain ; 
Then of the guests, in courteous sort, 
,He pray'd excuse for mirth broke short, 
And bade them in Artornish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Now torch and menial tendance led 
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, 
A».i Deads were told, and Aves said. 

And soon they simk away 
Into such sleep, as wont to shed 
Oblivion on the weary head. 

After a tcf'ieome day. 

VIII. 
But soon uproused, the Monarch cried 
To Eflward slumbering by his side, 
" Awake, or sleep for aye 1 

B«9 A ppndiz, Note 2 F. 



Even now there jarr'd a secret door— 
A taper-hght gleams on the floor — 

Up, Edward, up, I say ! 
Some one glides in like midnight ghost- 
Nay, strike not ! 'tis our noble Host." 
Advancing then kis taper's flame, 
Ronald stept forth, and with him came 
Dunvegan's chief — each bent the kneo 
To Bruce in sign of fealty. 

And proft'er'd him his sword, 
And hail'd Iiim, in a monarch's style. 
As king of mainland and of isle. 
And Scotland's rightful lord. 
" And 0," said Ronald, " Own'd of Heaven'. 
Say, is my erring youth forgiven. 
By falsehood's arts from duty driven. 

Who rebel falchion drew. 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame. 
Even while I strove against thy claim. 

Paid homage just and true ?" — 
" Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 
Answer'd the Bruce, "must bear the crirae. 

Since, guiltier far than you. 
Even I" — he paused ; for Falkirk's woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose." 
The Chieftain to liis breast he press'd. 
And in a sigh conceal'd the rest. 

IX. 

They proft'er'd aid, by arras ana might, 
To repossess Ifim in his right ; 
But well then- coimsels must be weigh'd. 
Ere banners raised and musters made. 
For English hire and Lorn's intrigues 
Bound many chiefs in southern leagues 
In answer, Bruce his purpose bold 
To his new vassals^ frankly told. 
" The winter worn in exile o'er, 
I long'd for Carrick's kindred shore. 
I thought upon my native Ayr, 
And long'd to see the burly fare 
That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 
Now echoes through my father's haJL 
But first my course to Arran led. 
Where vahant Lennox gathers head, 
And on the sea, by lempest toss'd, 
Om- barks dispersed, our purpose cross'd. 
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun. 
Far from her destined course had run, 
Wlien that wise will, which masters ours, 
Compell'd us to your friendly towers." 



Then Torquil spoke : — " The time craves speed 

We must not linger in our deed. 

But instant pray our Sovereign Liege, 

» MS.- " Alliet " 



tS2 



SCOTT'S rOETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO m. 



To shun the perils of a siege. 

The vengeful Lorn, with aU his powers, 

Lies but too near Artornisli towers, 

And England's light-arm'd vessels ride, 

Not distant far, tJie waves of Clyde, 

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor, 

And sweep each strait; and guard each shore. 

Then, til' this fresh alarm pass by, 

Seciet and safe my Liege must lie 

In tlje far bounds of fi-iendly Skye, 

Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." — 

' Not so, brave Chieftain," Ronald cried ; 

*' Myself win on my Sovereign wait,' 

And raise in arms the men of Sleate, 

Wliilst thou, renown'd wliere cliiefs debate, 

Shalt sway tlieir souls by comicil sage. 

And awe them by thy locks of age." 

— " And if my words in weight shall faU,' 

This ponderous sword shall tiu-n the scale." 

XL 

- " The scheme," said Bruce, " contents me 

well; 
Meantime, 'twere best that Isabel, 
For safety, with my bark and crew. 
Again to friendly Erin drew. 
There Edward, too, shall with her wend. 
In need to cheer her and defend. 
And muster up each scatter'd friend." — ' 
Here seem'd it as Lord Ronald's ear 
Would other counsel gladlier hear ; 
But, all acliieved as soon as plann'd, 
Both barks, in secret arm'd and mann'd. 

From out the haven bore ; 
On different voyage forth they ply, 
TKi for the coast of winged Skye, 

And that for Erm's shore. 

XIL 
"Vi'ith Bruce and Ronald bides the tale. 
To favorinj^ winds they gave the sail, 
TiU MuU'b dark lieadlands scarce they knew. 
And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue.* 
But then the squalls blew close and hard. 
And, fain to strike the galley's yard. 

And take them to the oar. 
With these rude seas, in weary plight, 
They strove the livelong day and night, 
Nor tiU the dawning had a sight 

Of Skye's romantic shore. 



; MS. — " ' Myself thy pilot and thy guide.' 

' Not so, kind Torquil,' Ronald cried ; 
' 'Tis I will on my sovereign wail.' " 
The MS. has, 

" ' Aye,' said the Chief, ' or if they fail, 
This broadsword's weight shall turn tlie scale.' " 
fn altering this passage, the poet appears to liave lost a link. 
Bd 



Where Coolin stoops liim to the west, 
They saw upon his shiver'd crest 

The Sim's arising gleam ; 
But such the labor and delay. 
Ere they were moor'd in Scavigh bay 
(For calmer heaven compell'd to stay),* 

He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, " If true mine eye, 
These are the savage wilds that lie 
North of StrathnardiU and Dunskye ;• 

No human foot comes here. 
And, since these adverse breezes blow. 
If my good Liege love hunter's bow, 
What hinders that on laud we go. 

And strike a mountaiu-deer ? 
Allan, my page, shall with us wend ; 
A bow full deftly can he bend. 
And, if we meet a herd, may send 

A shaft shall mend our cheer." 
Then each took bow and bolts in hand, 
Their row-boat launch'd and leapt to land. 

And left their skiff and train. 
Where a wild stream, with headlong shoc^ 
Came brawling down its bed of rock. 

To mingle with the main. 

XIIL 

A while their route they silent made. 

As men who stalk for mountain-deer, 
TiU the good Bruce to Ronald said, 

" St. Mary ! what a scene is here I 
I've traversed many a mountain-strand. 
Abroad and in my native-lanu. 
And it has been my lot to tread 
Wliere safety more than pleasure led ; 
Thus, many a waste I've wander'd o'er 
Clombe many a crag, cross'd many a rioor 

But, by my halidome, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this, 
Yet so sublime in barrenness. 
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press, 

Where'er I happ'd to roam." 

XIV. 
No marvel thus the Monarch spake ; 

For rarely human eye has Imown 
A scene so stern as that dread lake, 

With its dark ledge' of barren etona 
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway 
Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way 

a The MS. adds: 

" Our bark's departure, too, will blind 
To our intent the foeman's mind." 
* MS. — " Till Mull's dark isle no more they <new 
Nor Ardnamurchan's niountauiii blue.' 
' MS. — " For favoring gales compell'd to stay.' 
« S'ee Appendix, Note 2 G. 
' MS.— "Darlt banks." 



OANTft m. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



412 



Through the rude bosom of the hill, 
And that each naked precipice, 
Suble ravine, and dark abyss, 

Tells of the outrage still. 
ITie wildest glen, but this, can show 
Some touch c4 Nature's genial glow ; 
Un liigh Benmore green mosses grow, 
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe,' 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 
But here, — above, around, below. 

On mountain or in glen, 
Nor ti-ee, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, 
Nor aught of vegetative power, 

The weary eye may ken. 
For all is rocks at random thrown. 
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of atone, 

As if were here denied 
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew, 
That clothe with many a varied huo 

The bleakest* mountain-side.' 

XV. 

And wilder, forward, as they wound. 
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. 
Huge terraces of granite black* 
Afforded rude and cumber'd track ; 

For from the mountain hoar,' 
Hm-l'd headlong in some night of fear. 
When yell'd the wolf and fled the deer. 

Loose crags had toppled o'er ;' 
And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay. 
So tliat a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise. 
In Nature's rage at random thrown. 
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 

On its precarious base. 
The evening mists, with ceaseless change, 
Now clothed the moimtains' lofty range. 

Now left their foreheads bare, 
And roiind the skirts their mantle fm*rd, 
3r on the sable waters curl'd. 
Or on the eddying breezes whirl'd, 

Dispersed in middle air. 
And oft, condensed, at once they lower,^ 
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower 

Fours like a torrent down,* 



, MS.-" And \ f^^"^ "^^^ ''°'^» \ in deep Glei,«, " 
' heather-bells J 

IMS.-" 5 Wildest),, 
' Rareil. S 

' The (oluarterly Reviewer says, " This picture of barren 
»esolation is admirably touched ;" and if the opinion of Mr. 
rnmor be worth any thing, " No words could have given a 
Tuer picture of this, one of the wildest of Nature's land- 
icapes." Mr. Turner adds, however, that he dissents in one 
jarticular ; but for one: or two tufts of grass he must have 
)roken his neck, having slipped when trying to attain the best 
•osition for lifting the view which embellishes volume tenth, 
•M'ion ]833. 

55 



And when return the stm's glad bi ams. 
Whiten'd with foam a thousand streams 
Leap from the motmtain's crown.' 

XVL 

" This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers 

drear 
Are precipices sharp and sheer, 
Yielding no track for goat or deer, 

Save the black shelves we tread, 
How term you its dark waves ? and hc^ 
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow, 

And yonder peak of dread. 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The grisly gulfs and slaty rifts, 

Wliich seam its shiver'd head ?"— 
" Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim. 
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. 
But bards, familiar in our isles 
Rather with Nature's frowns than smile<i 
Full oft their careless hiunors please 
By sportive names from scenes 'ike hewi 
I would old Torquil were to show 
His maidens with their breasts of snow 
Or that my noble Liege were nigh 
To hear liis Nurse sing lullaby 1 
(The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers whit* 
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring mights. 
Or that your eye could see the mood 
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude. 
When dons the Hag her whiten'd hood — 
'Tis thus our islesmen's fancy frames. 
For scenes so stern, fantastic names " 

xvn. 

Answer'd the Bruce, " And musing mind 
Might here a graver moral find. 
These mighty chffs, that heave on high 
Their naked brows to middle sky, 
Indifferent to the sun or snow, 
Where naught can fade, and naught can blot 
May they not mark a Monarch's fate, — 
Raised high mid storms of strife and state. 
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed. 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste f* 



4 MS. — " And wilder, at each step they take, 

Tnni the proud cliffs and yawning lake ; 
Huge naked sheets of granite black," bo. 
6 MS. — " For from the mountain's crown." 
6 IMS. — " Huge crags had toppled down." 
' MS. — " Oft closing too, at once they lower." 
8 WS.— " Pour'd like a torrent dread.' 
» MS. — " Leap from the mountain's heafi." 
10 " He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find 

The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow 
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, 
Must look down on the hate of those below. 
Though high above the sun of jlory slow. 



134 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO nx 



O'er hope and love and ft ar aloft 
High rears liis crowned head — But soft ! 
Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
Are hunters and a slaui^hter'd stag. 
Who may they be ? But late you said 
No steps these desert regions treid ?"— 

XVIII. 
'' 3o f aid 1— and believed in sooth," 
H<Jiiald replied, I spoke the truth. 
Vet DOW I spy, by yonder stone. 
Five men — they mark us, and come on ; 
And by their badge on bonnet borne, 
I guess them of the land of Lorn, 
F;ie8 to my Liege." — " So let it be ; 
I ve faced worse odds than five to three— 
— But the poor j>age can little aid ; 
Then be our battle thus array'd, 
Jf our free passage they contest ; 
Cope thou with two, I'll match the rest." — 
' Not 80, my Liege — for by my life. 
Ibis sword shall meet the treble strife ; 
My strength, my skill in arms, more small. 
And less the loss should Ronald fall 
But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, 
Alliui has sword as well as bow, 
And were my Monarch's order given, 
Two shafts should make our nrmber even." — 
" No 1 not to save my life 1" he said ; 
" Enough of blood rests on my head, 
Too rashly spill'd — we st)on shall know, 
Whether they come as friend or foe." 

XIX. 

Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ; — 
Still less they pleased the Monai-ch's eye 
Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-look'd, unwilling to be seen ;' 
They moved with half-resolved pace, 
A.nd bent on earth each gloomy fiice. 
The foremost two were fair array'd, 
W^ith brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid. 
And bore the arms of mountaineers, 
Daggers and broadswords, bows and speara. 
The thret that bgg'd small space behind, 
Seem'd serfs o/ more degraded kind ; 
Goat skins or deer-liides o'er them cast. 
Made a rude fence against the blast ; 
Tlieir arms and feet and heads were bare. 
Matted their beards, unshorn their hair ; 
For arm-!, the caitiffs bore in hand, 
A cluo, an axe, a rusty brand. 

And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
Round liim are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
Contending tempests on his naked head, 

And thus reward the toils which to those snmmits led. ' 

C'lilde Harold, Canto iii. 

See Appendix. Note 2 H. 



XX. 

Onward, still mute, they kept the track •,— 
" Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 
Said Bruce : "in deserts when they meet, 
Men pass not as in peaceful street." 
Still, at his stern command, they stood, 
And proffer'd greeting brief and rude, 
But acted courtesy so ill. 
As seem'd of fear, and not of wiU. 
" Wanderers we are, as you may be , 
Men liither driven by wind and sea, 
Who, if you list to taste our cheer. 
Will share with you this fallow doer." — 
" If from the sea, where lies your bark r- - 
" Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 
Wreck'd yesternight : but we are men. 
Who Uttle sense of peril ken. 
The shades come down — the day is shut- 
Will you go with us to our hut ?" — 
" Our vessel waits us in tlie bay ;" 
Thanks for yotir proffer — have good-day." — 
" Was that your galley, then, which rode 
Not ftir from shore when evenmg glow'd ?"— ' 
" It was." — " Then spare your needless pain, 
There will she now be sought in vain. 
We saw her from the mountain head. 
When, with St. George's blazon red, 
A southern vessel bore in sight, 
And yom-s raised sail, and took to flight"— 

XXL 

"Now, by the rood, unwelcome news 1" 
Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce ; 
" Nor rests there light enough to show 
If this their tale be true or no. 
The men seem bred of churlish kind, 
Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; 
We will go with them — food and fire* 
And sheltering roof our wants require. 
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep. 
And watch by turns our comrades' sleep.— 
Good fellows, thanks ; yoiir guests we'll be^ 
And well will pay the courtesy. 
Come, lead us where your lodging lies,— 
— Nay, soft ! we mix not companies. — 
Show us the path o'er crag and stone,* 
And we will follow you ; — lead on." 

XXIL 

They reach'd the dreary cabin, made 
Of sails against a rock display'd, 
And there, on entering," found 

' MS. — " Onr bolt and vessel cannot stay." 

' MS. — " Deep in the bay when evening' glow'd. 

* MS. — " Yet rupged brows have bosoms kind ; 

Wend we witli them — lor food and fin. 
6 MS. — " Wend you the first o'er stock and iUhm. 
MS.—" Enuance." 



C- NTO in. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4S« 



A slender boy, whose form and mien 
111 suited with such savage scene, 
In cap and cloak of velvet gre'a, 

Low seated on the ground. 
His gart was such as minstrels wear, 
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
}1a~ youthful cheek was raarr'd by care, 

His eyes in sorrow drown' d. 
" V\lioi»ce this poor boy ?" — As Ronald spoke, 
rL» «"jice his trance of anguish broke ; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream, 
He raised liis head with start and scream. 

And wildly gazed around ; 
Then to the wall his face he tum'd, 
^ nd his dark neck with blushes burn'd. 

XXIII. 

" Whose is tliis boy ?" again he said. 

" By chance of war our captive made ; 

He may be yours, if you should hold 

That music has more charms than gold ; 

For, though from earliest chddlifjod mute, 

The lad can deftly touch the lute, 
And on the rote and viol play, 
And well can drive the time away 
For those who love such glee ; 
For me, the favoi"ing breeze, when loud 
It pipes upon the galley's shroud, 
Makes blither melody." — ' 

"• Hath he, then, sense of spoken soimd ?"— 
" Aye ; so his mother bade us know, 

A crone in our late shipwreck drown'd, 
And hence the silly stripling's woe. 

More of the youth I cannot say. 

Our captive but since yesterday ; 

When wind and weather wax'd so grim, 

We littie listed tliink of him. — 

But why waste time in idle words ? 

Sit to your cheer^unbelt your sworda." 

Sudden the captive turn'd his head. 

And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 

It was a keen and warning look, 

And well the Chief the signal took. 

XXIV. 

" Kind host," he said, " our needs require 
A separate board and separate fire; 
For know, that on a pilgi'image 
Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
And, sworn to vigU and to fast. 
Long as this hallow'd task shaU last, 



MS. — " But on the clairshoch he can play, 
And h^lp a wearv nipht awav. 

With those who love such glee. 
To me, the favoring breeze, when lond 
It pipes throngh on my galley's shrond, 

Makei better nelody." 



We never doff the plaid" or sword. 
Or feast us at a stranger's board ;* 
And never share one common sleep, 
But one must still liis vigil keep. 
Thus, for our separate use, good friend 
We'U hold this hut's remoter end." — 
" A churlish vow," the eldest said, 
" And hard, methinks, to be obey'd. 
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh return. 
We should refuse to share oui meal?" — 
" Then say we, that our swords are steel ! 
And oiu" vow binds us not to fast. 
Where gold or force may buy repast." — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell, 
His teeth are clench' d, liis features swell • 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire, 
Nor could his craven courage brook 
The Monarch's calra and dauntless look. 
With laugh constrain'd, — " Let every man 
Follow the fashion of his clan 1 
Each to his separate quarters keep. 
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep." 

XXV. 
Their fire at separate distance burns. 
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns ; 
For evil seem'd that old man's eye, 
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
StRl he avoided forward look, 
But slow and circumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance. 
By doubt and cunning mark'd at once, 
Which shot a mischief-boding ray,' 
From under eyebrows shagg'd and gray. 
The younger, too, who seem'd his son. 
Had that dark look the timid shun ; 
The half-clad serfs behind them sate, 
And scowl'd a glare 'twixt fear and hate — 
Till all, as darkness onward crept, 
Couch'd down, and seem'd to sleep, or slep 
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue 
Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong, 
A longer watch of sorrow made. 
But stretch'd his limbs to slumber Liid.* 

XXVL 

Not in his dangerous host confiJes 
The King, but wary watch provides 
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past, 



s MS,—' 



MS.- 



, . , , . \ sainted ) 

' And we have nwom to , , ^ t>owa» 
I holy » 

While lasts this hallow'd task of onis, 

Never to doff the plaid or sword, 

Nor feast us at a stranger's board." 

" an ill foreboding ray." 



* MS. — " But seems in senseless slumber laid." 

. » 



i36 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO lU 



Th(!n wakes the King, youug Allan last ; 

Tims rank'd, to give the youthful piige, 

The rest required by tender age. 

What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought, 

To chase the languor toil had brought ?- 

(For deem not that he deign'd to throw 

Much care upon such coward foe,) — 

He thinks of lovely Isabel, 

WLi'D at her foeman's feet she fell. 

Nor less when, placed in princely sella, 

She glanced on him with favoring eyes, 

At Woodstocke when he won the prize. 

Nor, fail- in joy, in sorrow fair, 

In pride of place as 'mid despair, 

Must she alone engross his care. 

His thoughts to his betrothed bride,' 

To Edith, turn — O how decide, 

When here his love and heart are given. 

And there his faith stands phght to Heaven 1 

No drowsy ward 'tis liis to keep, 

For seldom lovers long for sleep. 

TLU sung his midnight hymn the owl, 

Answer'd the dog-fox with his howl, 

Tlien waked the King — at his request, 

Lord Ronald stretch'd himself to rest. 

XXVIL 
What spell was good King Robert's, say, 
To drive the weary night away ? 
His was the patriot's burning thought. 
Of Freedom's battle bravely fought, 
Of castles storm'd, of cities freed, 
Of deep design and daring deed, 
Of England's roses reft and torn. 
And Scotland's cross in triumph worn, 
Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 
As heroes tliink, so thought the Bnice. 
No marvel, 'mid such musings liigh. 
Sleep shunn'd the Monarch's thoughtful eye. 
Now over Coolin's eastern head 
The grayish light" begins to spread. 
The otter to his cavern drew. 
And clamor'd slu-ill the wakening mew ; 
Then watch'd the page — to needful rest 
TLe King resign'd his anxious breast. 

XXVIIL 
To Allan's eyes was harder task, 
Tlie weary watch their safeties ask. 
Be trimm'd the fire, and gav<! to shine 
With bickermg light the splinter'd pine • 

• MS. — " Must she alone his musings share. 

They tnm to his betrothed hride.' 
« MS.—" The cold bine light." 

• See Appendix, Note 2 I. 

' MS. " with empty dream. 

Mingled the captive's real scream." 
' YoDng Allan's turn (to watch) comes last, which givet 



Then gazed awhile, where silent laid 
Then- hosts were .shrouded by the 'jlaid. 
But httle fear waked in his mind, 
For he was bred of martial kind. 
And, if to manhood he arrive. 
May match the boldest knight ahve. 
Then thought he of his mother's towerj 
His little sisters' greenwood bower. 
How there the Easter-gambols pass. 
And of Dan Joseph's lengthen'd mass. 
But still before his weary eye 
In rays prolong'd the blazes die — 
Again he roused him — on the lake 
Look'd forth, where now the twilight-flike 
Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furl'd. 
The mornuig breeze the lake had curl'd. 
The short dark waves, heaved to the land. 
With ceaseless plash kiss'd cliff or sand ;— 
It was a slimabrous sound — he tum'd 
To tales at which his youth had burn'd, 
Of pilgrim's path by demon cross' d. 
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost. 
Of the wild witch's baneful cot, 
And mermaid's alabaster grot, 
Who bathes her limbs in simless well. 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.' 
Tliither in fancy rapt he flies, 
And on his sight the vaults arise ; 
That hut's dark walls he sees no more, 
His foot is on the marble floor, 
And o'er his head the dazzlmg spars 
Gleam Uke a firmament of stars ! 
— Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak 
Her anger in that thriUing shriek ! — 
No ! all too late, with Allan's dream 
Mingled the captive's warning scream.* 
As from the ground he strives to start. 
A rufiian's dagger finds his heart 1 
Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, . . . 
Muimurs his master's name, . . . and dies 

XXIX. 

Not so awoke the King ! his hand 
Snatch'd from the flame a knotted bran:!, 
The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
With tliis he cross'd the murderer's path, 

And venged young Allan well ! 
The spatter'd brain and bubbhng blood 
Hiss'd on the half-extinguish'd wood, 

The miscreant gasp'd and fell !' 

the poet the opportunity of marking, in the most natural $ai 
happy manner, that insensible transition from the reality of 
waking thoughts, to the fanciful visions of slumber, and tbai 
delusive powerof the imagination Wijjich so blends the confines of 
these separate states, as to deceive and sport with the efforts evoi 
of determined vigilance." — British CriCic, February, 1815 
• MS.—" What time the miscreant fell." 



<;AHT0 17. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



131 



Nor rose in peace the Island Lord I 
One caitiff died upon his sword, 
And one beneath his grasp Ues prone, 
In mortal grapple overthrown. 
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank 
The hfe-blood from his panting flank, 
The Father-ruffian of the band 
Behind him rears a coward hand ! 

— for a moment's aid, 
TiU Bruce, who deals no double blow * 
Dash ti the earth another foe, 

Above his comrade laid ! — 
And it is gain'd — the captive sprung 
On the raised arm, and closely clung. 

And, ere he shook him loose, 
The master'd felon press'd the ground, 
And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound. 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 

XXX. 

' Miscreant ! while lasts thy flitting spark, 

(live me to know the purpose dark, 

That arm'd thy hand with murderous knife, 

Against ofFenceless stranger's Ufe ?" — 

" No stranger .thou !" with accent fell, 

Murmur'd the wretch ; " I know thee well ; 

And know thee for the foeman sworn 

Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn." — 

" Speak yet again, and speak the truth 

For thy soul's sake 1 — from whence this youth ? 

His country, birth, and name declare. 

And thus one evU deed repair." — 

— " Vex me no more ! . . . my blood runs cold . . . 

No more I know than I have told. 

We foimd him in a bark we sought 

With different purpose . . . and I thought" .... 

Fate cut him short ; in blood and broil, 

As he had Uved, died Cormac DoiL 

XXXL 
Then resting on his bloody blade, 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, 
" Now shame upon us both ! — that boy 

Lifts liis mute face to heaven,' 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high. 

For strange dehverance given. 
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid. 
Which our free tongues have left unsaid 1" 
He raised the youth with kindly word. 
But mark'd him shudder at the sword : 

1 "On witnessing tbe ^disinterment of Bruce's remains at 

■>niiferraIino, in 1822," says Sir Walter, " many people slied 
cars ; for there was the wasted skull, which once was the 
lead ihaj thought so wisely and boldly for his country's de- 
liverance ^nd there was the dry bone, which had once been 
Uie sturdy arm that killed Sir Henry de Bohun, between the 
wo armies, at a single blow, on the evening before the battle 
•f Wajinockbam." — TaleF of a Qrandfather. 



He cleansed it from its hue of death, 
And plunged the weapon in its sheath. 
" Alas, poor child ! unfitting part 
Fate doom'd, when with so soft a heart, 

And form so slight as thine, 
She made thee first a pirate's slave, 
Then, in his stead, a patron gave, 

Of wayward lot like mine ; 
A landless prince, whose wandering life 
Is but one scene of blood and strife — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be. 
But he'll find resting-place for thee.— - 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
And well has Allan's fate been wroke I 
Come, wend we hence — the day has broke 
Seek we our bark — I trust the tale 
Was false,' that she had hoisted sail" 

XXXIL 

Yet, ere they left that charnel-ceU, 
The Island Lord bade sad farewell 
To Allan :— " Who shall tell this tale," 
He said, " in halls of Donagaile ! 
Oh, who his widow'd mother teU, 
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! — 
Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust my car-i 
For mass and kneU and funeral prayer ; 
WMle o'er those caitiffs, where they lie, 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry !" 
And now the eastern mountain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and pm-ple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak — 
(So earthly power at distance shows ; 
Reveals his splendor, hides liis woes). 
O'er sheets of granite, dark, and broad,* 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In sad discourse the warritjrs wind. 
And the mute captive moves behind.* 



^l)e Corli of tlje IsUs 



CANTO FOURTH. 



L 

Steanger ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traceo 
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 

' MS. — " Holds np his speechless face to heaven. 

s MS. — '' Along the lake's rude margin slow, 

O'er terraces of granite black tliey go. 

* MS. — " And the mute page moves slow behind. 

" This canto is full of beauties ; the firs' part of it, cORtAftr 
ing the conference of the chiefs in^ruce's chamber, migl't 
perhaps have been abrid'»e<l l)ecause tlie disonsnon of a m>-r' 



(38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OAlfTO r?. 



^^'liere tlio proud Queen of "Wilderness hath 

placed, 
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ; 
Subliuie but pad dehglit tliy soul hath known, 
Gazing on pathless glen and mountains high, 
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown 
iliiigle theft- echoes witli the eagle's cry, [sky. 
A i^i] with the sounding lake, and with the moaning 



\'es ! 'twas sublime, but sad. — The loneliness 
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye ; 
Asid strange and awful fears began to press 
Tliy bosom with a stern solemnity. [nigh, 

Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage 
Somethuig that show'd of hfe, though low and 

meau ; 
Glad siglit, its curling wreath of smoke to spy. 
Glad sound, its cock's bUthe carol would have 

been, [green, 

r cliildren whooping wild beneath the willows 



Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur 

wakes 
An awful thrill that softens into sighs ; 
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's 

lakes, 
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : 
Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies, 
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 
Of desert dignity to that dread shore, 
lliat sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.' 

IL 

Tlirough such wild scenes the champion pass'd. 
When bold halloo and bugle-blast 
Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 
" There," said the Bruce, " rung Edward's horn 1 
"Wliat can have caused such brief return? 
And see, brave Ronald, — see him dart 
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart, 
Precipitate, as is the use, 



.Tiai^er of business is unsuited for poetry ; but the remainder 
•f tlie canto is unol)jectionable ; tile scenery in which it is laid 
ixtites tlie imaf,'ination ; and the cave scene affords many op- 
.)Ortuniti<'s for tlie poet, of which Mr. Scott has very success- 
fcillv ^vailed iiimself. The descriutioii of Allan's watch is 
M^nonlaily pleasing ; inneea, the manner in which he is made 
lo fall asleep, mingling the scenes of which he was thinking, 
w'xih the scene around him, and then mingling with his dreams 
the captive's sudden scream, is, we think, among the most 
happy passages of the whole poem." — (Quarterly Heview. 

*' We scarcely know whether we could have selected a pas- 
lape from the ])Oi'in that will more fairly illustrate its general 
Bierits and pervading lileinishes than the one which we have 
;U9t quoted (stanzas xxxi. and xxxii.) The same liappy mix- 
'nre of moral remark and vivid painting of dramatic situations, 
freiiueiitly occurs, and is as tVeijuently debased by jirosaic cx- 
oressiois and couplets, aij^by every variety of ungrammatical 
iueiise or even barbarism Our readers, in short, will imme- 



In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 
— He marks us, and liis eager cry 
Will tell his news ere he be nigh." 

in. 

Loud Edward shouts, " What make ye bura 
Warring upon the mountain-deer. 

When Scotland wants her King ? 
A baik from Lennox cross'd our track. 
With her in speeil I hiu-ried back, 

These joyful news to bring — 
Tlie Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale ; 
Thy storm-toss'd fleet hath won its way 
With httle loss to Brodick-Bay, 
And Lennox, with a gallant baud, 
Waits but thy coming and command 
To waft tlticm o'er to Carrick strand. 
There are bUthe news ! — but mark the close I 
Edward, the deadliest of our foes, 
As with his host he northward pass'd, 
Hath on the Borders breathed his last." 

IV. 

Still stood the Bruce — his steady cheek 
Was little wont liis joy to speak, 

But then his color rose : 
" Now, Scotland ! shortly shalt thou see, 
With God's high will, thy children free. 

And vengeance on thy foes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, 
Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier ;' 
I took my knighthood at liis hand. 
And lordship held of him, and laud, 

And well may vouch it here. 
That, blot the story from his page, 
Of Scotland ruin'd in his rage, 
You read a monarch brave and sage, 

And to his peo])le dear." — 
" Let London's burghers mourn her lord, 
And Croydon monks his praise record," 

diately here discover the powerful hand that has so oAen pr» 

sented tliem with descriptions calculated at once tj exalt anil 
animate their thoughts, and to lower and deaden the lriiiguag« 
which is their vehicle ; but, as we have before obeeived agaig 
and again, we believe Mr. Scott is inaccessible eien to \ii0 
mildest and the most just reproof on this subject. ^Ve reall) 
believe that lie cannot, write correct English , and we tlierefor6 
dismiss him as an incurable, with unfeignea conijiassion for 
this one fault, and with the highest admiration of his many 
redeeming virtues." — Monthly Heview. 

1 " That Mr. Scott can occasionally clothe the grandeur of 
his thougbt in the majesty of expression, unobscured with the 
jargon of anti(|uated billads, and unencumbered by the awk- 
wardness of rugged expression, or harsh involution, we can 
with pleasure acknowledge ; a finer specimen cannot ;ierl)a;» 
be exhibited than in this passage." — British Critic. 

n See Appendix, Note 2 K 



"lANTO IV.' 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



43V 



The eager Edward said ; 
" Eternal as his own, my hate 
Surmount-a the bounds of mortal fate, 

And dies not with the dead ! 
riuch hate was his on Solway's strand, 
\Vlie»^ "t-.iguance clench'd his palsied hand, 
Thii V pointe ^ et to Scotland's land,' 

As liis Itst accents pray'd 
Disgrace and curse upon his heir, 
If lie one Scottish head should spare, 
Till stretch'd upon the bloody lair 

Each rebel corpse was laid 1 
Such hate was his, when his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of death, 
And bade his bones to Scotland's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host. 
As if his dead and stony eye 
Could still enjoy her misery 1 
Such hate was his — dark, deadly, long; 
Mine, — as endm-ing, deep, and strong 1"— 



"* Let women, Edward, war with words. 

With curses monks, but men with swords: 

Nor doubt of Hving foes, to sate 

Deepest revenge and deadliest hate.' 

Now, to the sea ! behold the beach. 

And see the galleys' pendants stretch 

Their fluttering length down favoring gale 1 

Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the saiL 

Hold we our way for Arran first, 

Where meet in arms our friends dispersed ; 

Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, 

And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 

I long the hardy band to head, 

And see once more my standard spread.— 

Does noble Ronald share our course, 

Or stay to raise his island force V — 

" Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side," 

Rephed the Chief, " will Ronald bide. 

And since two galleys yonder ride, 

Be mme, so please my Uege, dismiss'd 

To wake to arms the clans of Uist, 

And all who hear the Minche's roar, 

On the Long Island's lonely shore. 

The nearer Isles, with shght delay. 

Ourselves may summon in our way ; 

And soon on Arran's shore shall meet, 



1 See Appendix, Note 2 L. 

' " T'.ie Bruce was, unquestionably, of a temper netrer sur- 
passed tor its humanity, munificence, and nobleness; yet to 
(epreeent hina sorrowing over tlie death of the first Plantage- 
aet, after the repeated and tremendous ills inflicted by that 
man on Scotland — the patriot Wallace murdered by his order, 
ks well as the royal race of Wales and the very brothers of 
The Bruce, slaughtered by his command — to re])resent the 
'nst aaJ generous Robert we repeat, feeling an instant's com- 
'.aswun for ihe sudden fate of a miscreant like this, is, we are 



With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet, 
If aught avails their Chieftain's heat 
Among the islesmen of the west." 

VL 

Thus was their venturous council said. 
But, ere then sails the gaUeys spread, 
Coriskin dark and Coohn high 
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry. 
Along that sable lake pass'd slow, — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe, — 
The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore 
The murder'd Allan to the shore. 
At every pause, with dismal shout, 
Then coronach of grief rung out. 
And ever, when they moved again, 
The pipes resumed their clamorous straiix 
And, with the pibroch's slirilling wail, 
Mourn'd the young heir of Donagaile. 
Roimd and around, from clifl' and cave. 
His answer stern old Coolin gave. 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languish'd the mournful notes, and di«fl 
For never sounds, by mortal made, 
Attain'd liis high and haggard head. 
That echoes but the tempest's moan. 
Or the deep thimder's rending groan. 

VIL 

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark, 

She bounds before the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Beu-na-darcb 

Is joyous in her sail 1 
With fluttering soimd like laughter hoarse, 

The cords and canvas strain, 
The waves, divided by her force, 
In rippling eddies chased her com*se, 

As if they laugh'd again. 
Not down the breeze more bUthely flew, 
Skimming the wave, the hght sea-mew. 

Than the gay galley bore 
Her course upon that favoring wind. 
And CooUn's crest has sunk behind. 

And Slapin's cavern'd shore.' 
'Twas then that warlike signals wake 
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake, 
And soon, from Cavilgarrigh's head. 
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread , 



compelled to say it, so monstrous, and in a Scottish poet, 
unnatural a violation of truth and decency, not to say patriot- 
ism, that we are really astonished that the author conld havii 
conceived tlie idea, much more that he could sufl'er liis pen to 
record it. This wretched abasement on the jiart of Th« 
Bruce, is farther heightened by the King's half-reprehension of 
Prince Edward's noble and stern exjjression of undying hatn>4 
against his country's spoiler, and his family't wwassio -—Crit* 
cal Review 

3 MS. " {qoiu)t:aiii-slr ua " 



140 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



A summons tlicao of wjir and wrath 
To the brave chins of Sleat and Strath, 

Anil, ready at the sight, 
Each warrior to liis weapons sprung, 
AikI targo u]Jon liis shoulder ilung, 

Impatient for the figlit. 
Mac-Kiunon's chief, m warfare gray, 
Hail charge to muster their array, 
And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay, 

VIIL 

Sipml of Ronahl's high command, 
A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land, 
From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray 
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.' 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb, 
To view the turret scathed by time ; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught but goat or mountain-deer. 

But rest thee on the silver beach, 

And lot the aged herdsman teacli 
His tale of former day ; 

His cur's wild clamor he shall chide, 

And for thy seat by ocean's side, 
His varied plaid display ; 

Then toll, how with their Chieftain came, 

In ancient times, a foreign dame 
To yontler" turi-et gray.' 
Stern was her Lord's suspicious mind, 
"Who hi so rude a jail contined 
So soft and fair a thrall 1 
And oft, when moon on ocean slept, 
That lovely lady sate and wept 

Ujion the castle-wall. 
And turn'd her eye to southern climes, 
And thought perchance of happier times, 
And touch'd her lute by fits, and smig 
Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
ju\i\ still, when on the cliff and bay 
riucitl and pale the moonbeiuns plaj; 

And every breeze is mute. 
Upon the lone Ilebridoan's ear 
Steals a strange ])leasure niix'd with fear, 
While from that cliff he seems to hear 

The murmur of a lute. 
And souiid& as of a captive lone, 

Bet Appoiidix Note 2 M. 

MS — " To Caniia 8 turret gray." 

• " T^e alaiizas which follow are, we think, tonchingly 
wauufti-, anil brcuthc a sw(u>t anil inulaiicholy tciulernexs, 
jerfi'ctly Bciitnble to the sad talo which they record." — Criti- 
ml liiniew. 

* MS. — " That crag with crest of ruins gray." 

6 Sec Appendix, Note 2 N. » Ibid. Note 2 O. 

' MS.—" Till in their smoke," &c. 

" " And so also ' merrily, nicrrily, goes the bark,' in a sno- 
,e.<i.sion of merriment, wliich, like Dojibcrry's tediousnese, he 
finds it in his heart to bestow wholly and entirely on us, 
ifctonjjh page al\er page, or wave after wave of his voyage. 



Tliat mourns her woes in tongue unknown.- 
Strange is the talo — but all too long 
Already hath it stiud the song — 

Yet who may pass them by. 
That crag and tower in ruins gray,* 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

The tribute of a sigh ! 

IX. 

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark 

O'er the broad oviean driven 
Her path by Renin's mountains dark 

The steersman's hand hath givea 
And Ronin's mountains dark have seat 

Their hunters to the shore,' 
And each his ashen bow unbent, 

And giive his pa*!time o'er. 
And at the Island Lord's commaml. 
For hunting spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scooreigg next a warning light 
Summon'd her warriors to the fight ; 
A numerous race, ere stern MacLeod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,* 
When all in vain the ocean-cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 
The Chief, relentless in his wrath, 
With blazing heath blockades the path; 
In dense and stifling volumes roU'd, 
The vapor fill'd the cavern'd hold I 
The warrior-threat, the uifant's plain, 
llie mother's screams, were heard in vain; 
The vengeful Chief maintains his fires, 
Till in the vault' a tribe exjiircs ! 
The bones which strew that cavern's gloom, 
Too well attest their dismal doom. 

X. 

Merrily, merrily goes the bark' 

On a breeze from the nortlnrtrird fi-ee, 

So shoots through the morning sky flu- lark, 
Or the swan through the summer sea. 

The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, 

And Ulva dark and Colonsay, 

And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Stada round.* 

Then all unknown its coliunns rose. 

We could almast be tempted to believe that no was min\ *!• 
turn from Skye when he wrote this portion ol his poem : — fiOB 
Skyc, the depository of the ' mif-hty enp of royal Somerled,' 
as well as of ' Rorie More's' comparatively moden: • horn'- 
anil that, as lie says himself of a minstrel who eeleliralcd Ihl 
hos{iit:ililies of Dunvefjan-eastle in that island, ' il i.s prt'tiy 
plain, that when tfii.i tribute of poelieal praise was bestowed, 
the lioin of Rorie More had not been inactive.'" — Monthly 
Review. See Appendix, Note M. 

» " Of the prominent beauties which abonnil in the poem, 

the most magnilicent we consider to be the description of th« 

celebrated Cave of Fingal, which is conceived in a mislitj 

mind, and is expressed in a strain of poetry, clear, simui* 

I and sublime." — British Critic. 



MiTTO IV. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 441 


Wliere dark and undisturbed repose' 


His bright and brief career is o'er, 


Tlie cormorant had found, 


And mute his timeful strains ; 


And the shy seal had quiet home, 


Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore. 


And welter'd in that woudrous dome, 


That loved the light of song to pour : 


Where, as to shame the temples deck'd 


A distant and a deadly shore 


By skill of earthly arcliitect, 


Haa Lbyden's cold remains ! 


Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise 




A Minster to her Maker's praise !' 


XIL 


Not for a meaner use ascend 


Ever the breeze blows merrily, 


Her columns, or her arches bend ; 


But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 


Nor of a theme less solemn tells 


Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they meet 


Tliat mighty surge that ebbs and swells, 


The southern foeman's watchful fleet. 


And still, between each awful pause. 


Tliey held unwonted way : — 


From the liigh vault an answer draws, 


Up Tarbat's western lake they bore, 


In varied tone prolong'd and high, 


Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er * 


That mocks the organ's melody. 


As far as liilmaconnel's shore. 


Nor doth its entrance front in vain 


Upon the eastern bay. 


To old lona's holy fane, 


It was a wondrous sight to see 


That Nature's voice might seem to say. 


Topmast and pennon glitter free, 


« Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay I 


High raised above the greenwood tree, 


Thy humble powers that stately shrine 


As on dry land the galley moves, 


Tftsk'd high and bard — but witness mine 1"* 


By cliff and copse and alder groves. 




Deep import frt)m that selcouth sign. 


XL 


Did many a mountain Seer divine. 


Merrily, merrily goes the bark, 


For ancient legends told the Gael, 


Before the gale she bounds ; 


That when a royal bark should sail 


So darts the dolphin from the shark. 


O'er Kilmaconnel moss. 


Or the deer before the hounds. 


Old Albyn should m fight prevail. 


They left Loch-Tua on their lee, 


And every foe should faint and quail 


And thev waken'd the men of the wild Tiree, 


Before her silver Cross. 


And the Cliief of the sandy Coll ; 




They paused not at Columba's isle. 


XIIL 


Though peal'd the bells from the holy pile 


Now launch'd once more, the inland a«»fl 


With long and measur'd toll ;* 


They furrow with fair augury. 


No time for matin or for mass. 


And steer for Arran's isle ; 


And the sounds of the holy summons pass 


Tlie sun, ere yet he sunk behind 


Away in the billows' roll. 


Ben-Ghoil, " the Mountain of the Wind," 


Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord 


Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind. 


Their signal saw, and grasp'd liis sword. 


And bade Loch Ranza smile." 


And verdant Hay call'd her host, 


Thither their destined course they drew 


And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 


It seem'd the isle her monarch knew, 


Lord Ronald's caU obey. 


So brilliant was the landward view. 


And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore 


The ocean so serene ; 


Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, 


Each pimy wave in diamonds roll'd 


And lonely Colonsay ; 


O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold 


- Scenes simg by him who smgs no more I* 


With azure strove and green. 


• MS.— " Where niched, his nndistnrb'd repose." 


would be foolish, if it were possible. Whatever withdrawn u 


» Pee Appendix, Note 2 P. 


from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, th« 


« Tne MS. adds, 


distant, or the future predominate over the present, advancer 


" Which, when the ruins of thy pil« 


ns in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from 


6umber the desolated isle. 


my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us indif 


Firm and imnrutable shall stand. 


ferent and unmoved over any ground which has been !ignifiea 


'Gainst winds, and waves, and spoiler's hand." 


by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to *>e en- 




vied, whose patriotism would not g ;n force upon the plain o. 


* " We were now treading that illustrious island, which was 


Marathon, or whose piety wcuid » t grow warcvsr uuung tfa* 


»nce the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage 


ruins of lona." — Johnson. 


elans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge, 


6 See Appendix, Note 2 Q. 


knd the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from all 


8 MS. — " His short but bright, fte. 


ocal emntiou vould be impossible if it were endeavored, and 


See Appendix, Note 2 R. * Ibid. NoUt t S 



442 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAI7T0 If 



The liill, the vale, the tree, the tower, 
Glow'd with the tints of evening's hour, 

The beach was silver sheen, 
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, 
And, oft reuew'd, seem'd oft to die, 

Witli breathless pause between. 

who, with speech of war and woes, 
Would wish to break the soft repose 

Of such enchanting scene 1 

XIV. 
Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks ? 
Tlie blush that dyes his manly cheeks, 
The timid look and downcast eye. 
And faltering voice the theme deny. 

And good King Robert's brow express'd, 
He ponder'd o'er some high request, 

As doubtful to approve ; 
Yet in his eye and lip the while. 
Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile^ 
Wliich manhood's graver mood beguile, 
When lovers talk of love. 
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; 
— " And for my bride betrothed," he said, 
" My liege has heard the rumor spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate — I claim no right' 
To blame her for her hasty flight ; 
Be joy and happiness her lot 1 — 
But she hath fled the bridal-knot, 
And Lorn recall'd his promised phght, 
In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 
Wlien, to fulfil our fathers' band, 
I proffer'd all I could — my hand — 

I was repulsed with scorn ; 
Mine honor I should ill assert. 
And worse the feelings of my heart, 
If I should ploy a suitor's part 
Again, to pleasuie Lorn." — 

XV. 

" Young Lord," the Royal Bruce" replied, 
"That question must the Church decide: 
Yet seems it hard, since rumors state 
Editli takes Clifford for her mate. 
The very tie, which she hath broke, 
To thee should still be binding yoke. 
But, foi my sister Isabel — 
The mood of woman who can tell ? 

1 guess the Champion of the Rock, 
Victorious in the tourney shock, 

That knight unknown, to whom the prize 
She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ; 
But since our brother Nigel's fate, 



»MS. 



-" no tongue is mine 



To blame her," &c. 
» MS.—" The princely Brace.' 



Our ruin'd house and hapless state. 
From worldly joy and hope estranged, ' 
Much is the hapless mourner changed. 
Perchance," here smiled the noble King, 
" This tale may other musings bring. 
Soon shall we know — yon mountains hide 
The little convent of Saint Bride ; 
There, sent by Edward, she must stay, 
Till fate shall give more prosperous day ■• 
And thither will I bear thy suit. 
Nor will thine advocate be mute." 

XVL 

As thus they talk'd in earnest mood. 

That speechless boy beside them stood 

He stoop'd his head against the mast. 

And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 

A grief that would not be repress'd. 

But seem'd to burst his youthful breast. 

His hands, against his forehead he\d, 

As if by force his tears repell'd. 

But through his fingers, long and slight. 

Fast trill'd the drops of crystal bright. 

Edward, who walk'd the deck apart. 

First spied this conflict of the heart. 

Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness iind 

He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind ; 

By force the slender hand he drew 

From those poor eyes that stream'd with de^ 

As in his hold the stripling strove, — 

('Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love), 

Away his tears the warrior swept. 

And bade shame on liim that he wept.* 

" I would to heaven, thy helpless tongue 

Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong 

For, were he of our crew the best, 

Tlie insult went not unredress'd. 

Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age 

To be a warrior's gallant pagre , 

Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair 

O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear, 

To hold mj bow in hunting grove. 

Or speed on errand to my love 

For well I wot thou wilt not tell 

The temple where my wishes dwelL" 

XVIL 
Bruce interposed, — " Gay Edward, Qo, 
This is no youth to hold thy bow. 
To fill thy goblet, or to bear . 

Thy message hght to lighter fair. 
Tliou art a patron all too wild 
And thoughtless, for this orphan child. 
See'et thou not bow apart he steals, 

» MS. — " Thither, by Edward sent, she 8lav« 

Till fate shall lend more prosperous dairi 

♦ MS. — •' And as away the tf-ars he swept. 

He l)ade shame on liim that he wept 



CANTO IV. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 44» 


Keeps lone, y couch, and lonely meals ? 


The heavy sword or bossy shield. 


Fitter by far in yon calm cell 


Men too were there, that bore the scars 


To tend our sister Isabel, 


Impress'd m Albyn's woeful wars. 


With father Augustin to share 


At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight. 


The peaceful change of convent prayer, 


Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven'a 


Tiian wander wild adventures through, 


flight; 


With such a reckless guide as you." — 


The might of Douglas there was seen. 


• Tliaxiks, brother !" Edward answer'd gay 


There Lennox with his graceful mien ; 


" For the high laud thy words convey 1 


Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Kmght ; 


But we may Jeain some future day. 


The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light ; 


[f thou or I can tliis poor b(^ 


The Heir of mm-der'd De la Haye, 


Protect the best, or best employ. 


And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay. 


Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand ; 


Around their King regain'd they press'd, 


Laimch we the \ lat, and seek the land." 


Wept, shouted, clasp'd him to their breast, 




And yoimg and old, and serf and lord, 


XVIII. 


And he who ne'er unsheathed a sword^ 


To land King Rol ert lightly sprung, 


And he in many a peril tried. 


And tlirice aloud liis bugle rung 


Alike resolved the brunt to bide, 


With note prolong'd and varied strain. 


And live or die by Bruce's side 1 


Till bold Ben-Glioil replied again. 




Good Douglas then, and De la Haye, 


XX. 


Had in a glen a hart at bay, 


Oh, War ! thou hast thy fierce delight. 


And Lennox cheer'd the laggard hounds. 


Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright 1 


When waked that horn the greenwood 


Such gleams, as from thy polish'd shield 


bounds. 


Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field 1 


" It is the foe !" cried Boyd, who came 


Such transports wake, severe and high, 


In breathless haste with eye of flame, — 


Amid the pealing conquest cry ; 


" It is the foe ! — Each vahaut lord 


Scarce less, when, after battle lost, 


Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword I" — 


Muster the remnants of a host, 


" Not so," replied the good Lord James, 


And as each comrade's name they tell 


" That blast no EngUsh bugle claims. 


Who in the well-fought conflict fell. 


Oft have I heard it fire the fight, 


Knitting stern brow o'er flasliing eye, 


Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 


Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 


Dead were my heart, and deaf muie ear. 


Warriors !^ — and where are warriors found 


If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear 1 


If not on martial Britain's ground ?' 


Each to Loch Ranza's margin spring ; 


And who, when waked with note of fire. 


That blast was winded by the King 1"* 


Love more than they the British lyri} ? 




Know ye not, — hearts to honor dear 1 


XIX. 


That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe. 


Fast to their mates the tidings spread. 


At which the heart-strings vibrate high. 


And fast to shore the warriors sped. 


And wake the fouutams of the eye ?* 


Bursting from glen and greenwood tree, 


And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace 


High waked their loyal jubilee ! 


Of tear is on his manly face, 


Around the royal Bruce they crowd. 


Wlien, scanty relics of the train 


And clasp'd his hands, and wept aloud. 


That haii'd at Scone his early reign, 


Vetfrans of early fields were there, 


Tills patriot band around liim hizng, 


Whose helmets press'd their hoary hair. 


And to his knees and bosom dung ? — 


Wliose swords and axes bore a stain 


Blame ye the Bruce ? — liis brother blamed. 


From Ufe-blood of the red-ha'Vd Dane ;* 


But shared the weakness, while ashamed. 


And boys, whose hands scarce brook'd to 


With haughty laugh his hf id he tum'd. 


wield 


A nd dash'd away the tear ne soim'd. 


t See Appendix, Note 2 T. 


• In the red cup that crowns our memory ; 


1 MS,—" Impress'd by !ife-Uood of the Dane." 


And the brief epitaph in danger's day. 




When those who win at length divide the prey. 


» MS "If not on Britain's wzirlike ground." 


And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, 


• " Ours are the tears, thoush few, sincerely shed, 


How had the brave who ell exulted now 1" 


<Vhen Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead. 


Btron'b Certak 


For us. even banquets fond regret supply 


» See Appcidix, Note 2 17 



Hi 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ciuro n 



XXI. 


Bestow'd thy high designs to aid. 


lis morning, and the Convent bell 


How long, Heaven 1 how long delay'd f— 


Long time had ceased its matin knell. 


Haate, Mona, haste, to introduce 


Within thy walls, Saint Bride ' 


My darling brother, royal Bruce 1" 


An aged Sister sought the cell 




Aseign'd tc Lady Isabel, 


XXIIL 


And l.mriedly she cried. 


They met like friends who part in pain, 


" Haste, gentle Lady, haste — there waits 


And meet in doubtful hope again. 


A noble stranger at the gates ; 


But when subdued* that fitful swell. 


Sajat Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen 


The Bruce survey 'd the humble cell ;— 


A Fnight of such a princely mien ; 


" And this is thme, poor Isabul ! — 


ir? errand, as he bade me teU, 


That pallet-couch, and naked wall, 


Is with the Lady Isabel" 


For room of state, and bed of pall ; 


The princess rose, — for on her knee 


r.>r costly robes and jewels rare. 


Low bent she told her rosary, — * 


A string of beads and zone of hair ; 


" Let him by thee his purpose teach : 


And for the trumpet's sprightly call 


I may not give a stranger speech." — 


To sport or banquet, grove or hall. 


" Saint Bride forefend, thou royal Maid 1" 


The bell's grim voice divides thy care, 


The portress cross'd herself, and said,-— 


'Twixt hours of penitence and prayCT I— 


" Not to be prioress might I 


iU for thee, my royal claim 


Debate his will, his suit deny." — 


From the First David's sainted name ! 


" Has earthly show then, simple fool. 


woe for thee, that while he sought 


Power o'er a sister of thy rule. 


His right, thy brother feebly fought !"— 


And art thou, like the worldly train, 




Subdued by splendors light and vain ?"— • 


XXIV. 


• 


"Now lay these vain regrets aside. 


XXIL 


And be the unshaken Bruce !" she cried 


" No, Lady I in old eyes like mine, 


" For more I glory to have shared 


Gauds have no glitter, gems no sliine ; 


The woes thy venturous spirit dared, 


Nor grace his rank attendants vain, 


W hen raisbg first thy valiant band 


One youthful page is all his train 


In rescue of thy native land. 


It is the form, the eye, the word, 


Than had fair Fortune set me down 


The bearing of that stranger Lord ; 


The partner of an empire's crown, 


His stature manly, bold, and taU, 


And grieve not that on Pleasm-e's sCieim 


Built Uke a castle's battled wall. 


No more I drive in giddy dream, 


Y'et moulded in such just degrees. 


For Heaven the erring pilot knew. 


His giant strength seems lightsome ease. 


And from the gulf the vessel drew. 


Close as the tendrils of the vine 


Tried me with judgments st-iru and great, 


His locks upon his forehead twine. 


My house's ruin, thy defeat, 


Jet-black, save where some touch of gray 


Poor Nigel's death, tUl, tamed, I own, 


Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 


My hopes are fix'd on Heaven alone ; 


Weather and war then- rougher trace 


Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win 


Have left on that majestic face ; — 


My heart to this vain world of sin." — 


But 'tis his dignity of eye ! 




There, if a suppliant, would I fly. 


XXV. 


Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grie^ 


" Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice, 


Ot sympathy, redress, relief — 


First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice , 


That glance, if giulty, would I dread 


Then ponder if in convent scene 


More than the doom that spoke me dead."— 


No softer thoughts might intervene — 


" Enough, enougli," the princess cried. 


Say they were of that unknown Knight, 


" 'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride 1 


Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight— 


To meaner front was ne'er assign'd 


Nay, if his name such blush you owe, 


Such mastery o'er the common mmd — 


Victorious o'er a fairer foe 1" 


• " Mr. Scott, we have said, contradicts hirmelf. How will 


we discover the princess counting her beads and reading Lorn 


•e explain the following (acts to his reader's satisfaction 1 


lies in the cloister of St. Bride, in the Island of Arr^n I W 


the third canto informs us that Isabel accompanies Edward 


hnmbty beseech the ' Mighty Minstrel' to clear w ihii »*»l 


Ireland there to remain till the termination of the war; 


ter." — Critical Review. 


•%<i in the fourth canto, the second day after her departure. 


a MS — " But when subsides." &c 



;anto IV. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



441 



Truly his penetrating eye 

Hath caught that blush's passing dye, — 

Liye the last beam of evening thrown 

On a white cloud, — just seen and gone.' 

Soon with calm cheek and steady eye, 

The princess made composed reply : — 

** I guess my brother's meaning well ; 

For not so silent is the cell, 

But we have heard the islesmen all 

Arm in thy causae at Ronald's call, 

And mine eye proves ■'hat Knight unknown' 

And the brave Island Lord are one. — 

Had then his suit been earlier made, 

In his own name, with thee to aid 

(But that his plighted faith forbade),^ 

I know not But thy page so near ? — 

This is no tale for menial's ear." 

• XXVI. 

Still stood that page, as far apart 

As the small cell would space afford ; 

"With dizzy eye and bursting heart. 
He leant his weight on Bruce's sword, 

The monarch's mantle too he bore,* 

And drew the fold his visage o'er. 

" Fear not for him — in murderous strife," 

Said Bruce, " his warning saved my life ;* 

Full seldom parts he from my side, 

And in liis silence I confide. 

Since he can tell no tale again. 

He is a boy of gentle strain. 

And I have purposed he shall dwell 

In Augustin the chaplain's cell. 

And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 

Mind not his tears ; I've seen them flow, 

As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 

'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 

Unfit against the tide to pull. 

And those that with the Bruce would sail. 

Must learn to strive with stream and gale. — ■ 

But forward, gentle Isabel — 

My answer for Lord Ronald teH" — 

XXVIL 
' This answer be to Ronald given — 
The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven." 

I " We would bow with veneration to the powerful and 

agged genius of Scott. We would style him above all others. 
Homer and Shakspeare excepted, the Poet of Nature — of 
Nature in all her varied beauties, in all her wildest haunts. 
No a: >-«ari»nce, however minute, in the scenes around him, 
»scap<« h s penetrating eye ; they are all marked with the 
Hc^f discrimination ; are^ introduced with the happiest effect. 
Hence, in his similes, both the genius and the judgment of 
the poet are peculiarly conspicuous ; his accurate observation 
•f the appearances of natnre, which others have neglected, 
nnparts an < riginality to those allusions, of which the reader 
immediately recognizes the aptness and projjtiety ; and only 
wonders that what must have been so often witnessed should 

wvo been so nnifonuly passed unregarded bv. Such is the 



My love was like a summer flower. 

That wither'd in the wintry hour, 

Born but of vanity and pride. 

And with these sunny visions died. 

If further press his suit — then say, 

He should his pUghted troth obey, 

Troth plighted both with ring and wcai\ 

And sworn on crucifix and sword. — 

Oh, shame thee, Robert 1 I have seen 

Thou haft a woman's guardian been I 

Even in extremity's dread hour. 

When press'd on thee the Southern po-wer, 

And safety, to all human sight. 

Was only found in rapid flight. 

Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 

In agony of travail-pain. 

And thou didst bid thy little band 

Upon the instant tiu-n and stand. 

And dare the worst the foe might do 

Rather than, like a knight watrue. 

Leave to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress.' 

And wilt thou now deny thine aid 

To an oppress'd and injured maid. 

Even plead for Ronald's perfidy, 

And press his fickle faith on me ! - 

So witness Heaven, as true I vow, 

Had I those earthly feelings now, 

Which could my former bosom move 

Ere taught to set its hopes above, 

Fd spurn each proffer he could bring. 

Till at my feet he laid the ring. 

The ring and spousal contract both. 

And fair acquittal of his oath, 

By her who brooks his perjured scorn, 

The ill-requited Maid of Lorn 1" 

XXVIIL 
With sudden impulse forward sprung 
The page, and on her neck he himg ; 
Tlien, recollected instantly. 
His head he stoop' d, and bent his knee, 
Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel, 
Arose, and sudden left the cell — 
The princess, loosen'd from his hold, 
Blush'd angi V at his bearing boilJ-; 

simile applied to the transient blush observed by lli««« o 
the countenance of Isabel upon his menilon of Ronila.''-* 
British Critic. 
2 MS. — " And well I judge that Knight nnknowB.' 

s MS.—" But that his \ ^"''^'' I plight forlade." 
( former ) 

* MS. — " The Monarch's brand and cloak he bore." 

* MS. — " Answer'd the Bruce, ' he saved my life.' " 
« The MS. has,— 

" Isabel's thoughts are fix'd oi heaven ;" 
and the two couplets which follow are intef lolated on th4 
blank page. 
' S«e Appendix, Note 2 V. 



<4i) 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAXWO ▼ 



But good King Robert cried, 
" Chafe not — by signs lie speaks liis mind. 
He heard the plan my care design' d, 

Nor could his transports hide. — 
But, sister, now bethink thee well ; 
No easy choice the convent cell ; 
Trust, I shall play no tyrant part, 
Either to force thy hand or heart, 
Oi sutYer that Lord Ronald scorn, 
Or wrong for thee, tlie Maid of Lorn. 
But tliink, — not long the time has been, 
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen. 
And wouldst the ditties best approve, 
That told some lay of hapless love. 
IVow are thy wishes in thy power, 
And tliou art bent on cloister bower I 
! if our Edward knew the change, 
How would his busy satire range, 
With many a sarcasm varied still 
On woman's wish, and woman's will 1"— 

XXIX. 

" Brother, I well believe," she said, 

" Even so would Edward's part be play'd. 

Kindly in heart, in word severe, 

A foe to thought, and grief, and fear, 

He holds his humor uncontroU'd ; 

But thou art of another mould. 

Say then to Ronald, as I say. 

Unless before my feet he lay 

The ring which bound the faith he swore, 

By Edith freely yielded o'er. 

He moves his suit to me no more. 

Nor do I promise, even if now 

He stood absolved of spousal vow. 

That I woidd change my purpose made, 

To shelter me in holy shade. — 

Brother, for little space, farewell I 

To other duties warns the belL" — 

XXX. 

" Lost to the world," King Robert said, 
When he had left the royal maid, 
" Lost to the world by lot severe, 
O what a gem lies buried here, 
Nipp'd by misfortime's cruel frost, 
TVe buds of fair affection lost ! — * 



> tlr' MS. here adds :— 

" She yields one shade of empty hope ; 
But well I guess her wily scope 
Is to elude Lord Ronald's ))lea, 
And still my importunity." 
Tnis and t^-e tw<» "<» -icceeding lines are interpolated on the 
» ank page of the MS. 

s " The fourih canto cannot be very greatly praised. It 
lontains. indteo, many plnasing passages ; but the merit which 
Jkej possess is too much detached from the general interest 
•f the poem. The ooly business is Bruce's arrival at the isle 
tl Anvn The voyage is certainly described with spirit ; bnt 



But what have I with love to do? 

Far sterner cares my lot pursue. 

— Pent in this isle we may not lie,' 

Nor woidd it long our wants supply. 

Right opposite, the mainland towers 

Of my own Turnberry court our powers— 

— Might not my father's beadsman hoar, 

Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore, 

Kindle a signal-flame, to show 

The time propitious for the blow ? 

It shall be so — some friend shall I'ear 

Our mandate with despatch and cure • 

— Edward shaU find the messenger. 

That fortress om-s, the island fleet 

May on the coast of Carrick meet— 

O Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 

To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line, 

To raise my victor-head, and see 

Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free,— 

That glance of bliss is all I crave, 

Betwixt my labors and my grave !" 

Then down the liill he slowly went, 

Oft pausing on the steep descent. 

And reach'd the spot where his bold train 

Held rustic camp upon the plain.* 



®l)c £ort of tl)e Islc0. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



On fair Loch-Ranza stream'd the early day, 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward ciul'a 
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
And circUng mountains sever from the world. 
And there the fishennan his sail unfurl'd. 
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spindle twhl'd, 
Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil,— 
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care 
and toil. 

But other duties caU'd each convent maid, 
Roused by the summons of the moss-grown beD 

the remainder of the canto is rather tedious, and might, with- 
ont any considerable inconvenience, have been left a good 
deal to the reader's inr.agiiiation. A'r. Scott ought to reserve, 
as much as possible, the interlocutory part of his narrative, 
for occasions which admit rf I'igli and animated sentiment, ot 
the display of powerful emotions, because tnis is almost tha 
only poeticii! beauty of vhich gpeeche? are srsceptible. But 
to fill np three-fourths of a canto with a lover's asking a 
brother in a quiet and friL'iully innnncr f,yr permission to addresi 
his sister in marriage, and a brother's asking his sister whetii* 
she has any objections, is, we think, somewhat injadiciow 
— Quarterly Hevieto. 



OANTO V. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



447 



Sung were the matins, and the mass was said, 
And every sister sought her separate cell, 
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. 
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer 
The Bunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell 
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair, 
kt etoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion there. 

IL 

She raised her eyes, that duty done, 
When glanced upon the pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring, 
Bound to a scroU with silken string,* 
With few brief words inscribed to tell, 
" 'fhis for the Lady Isabel." 
Withhi, the writing farther bore, — 
" "I\vas with this ring his plight he swore; 
With this his promise I restore ; 
To her who can the heart command. 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And O ! for better fortune born. 
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn !" 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced fi'om Isabel's dark eyes, 
But vanish'd in the blush of shame, 
That, as its penance, instant came. 
" thought unworthy of my race I 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
A moment's throb of joy to own,'' 
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown ! — 
Thou pledge of vows too well beheved. 
Of man ingrate and maid deceived, 
Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
Another heart to hope in vain 1 
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud, 
^Tiere worldly thoughts are overawed, 
And worldly splendors sink debased." 
Then by the cross the ring she placed. 

IIL 

Next rose the thought, — its owner far, 

How came it here through bolt and bar!— 

Bu'' the dim lattice is ajar. — 

She looks ab- ad, the morning dew 

A light short step had brush'd anew. 

And there were foot-prints seen 
On the carved buttress rising still, 
Till ("^ ^he mosiif window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. 
The ivy twigs were torn and fray'd^ 
As if some climber's steps to aid. — 
But who the hardy messenger, 
Whose venturous path these signs infer ?— 



MS.- 



• anng of gold. 



\ scroll around the jewel roU'd, 
'liad few brief words," Sac. 
MS — " A sjpgle throb of joy to own." 



" Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona. draw nigh 

— Naught 'scapes old Monas curious eye — 

What strangers, gentle mother, say, 

Have sought these holy walls to-day ?"— 

" None, Lady, none of note or name ; 

Only your brother's foot-page came, 

At peep of dawn — I pray'd him pass 

To chapel where they said the mass ; 

But like an arrow he shot by, 

And tears seem'd bursting from his eye." 

IV. 
The truth at once on Isabel, 
As darted by a sunbeam, fell. — 
"'Tis Edith's self!' — her speechless woe. 
Her form, her looks, the secret show I 
— Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 
And to my royal brother say, 
I do conjure him seek my cell. 
With that mute page he loves so welL"— ' 
" What ! know'st thou not his warlike h\jsl 
At break of day has left our coast ?* 
My old eyes saw them from the tower. 
At eve they couch'd in greenwood bower, 
At dawn a bugle signal, made 
By their bold Lord, their ranks array'd ; 
Up sprung the spears through bush and 

tree, 
No time for benedicite I 
Like deer, that, rousing from their lair. 
Just shake the dew-drops from their hair, 
And toss their armed crests aloft, 
Such matins theirs 1" — " Good mother, soft— 
Where does my brother bend his way ?" — * 
" As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay, 
Across the isle — of barks a score 
Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er, 
On sudden news, to Carrick-shore." — 
" If such their purjDose, deep the need," 
Said anxious Isabel, " of speed ! 
Call Father Augustine, good dame." 
The nun obey'd, the Father came. 

V. 
" Kind Father, hie without delay, 
Across the hills to Brodick-Bay, 
This message to the Bruce be given ; 
I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven 
That, till he speak with me, he staj ! 
Or, if his haste brook no delay, 
That he deliver, on my suit. 
Into thy charge that stripUng mute. 
Thus prays liis sister Isabel, 
For causes more than she may tell— 

8 MS.—" 'Tig she herself " 

* MS. — " What I know'st thou n'/t in sndaen haste 

The warriors from our woods have psss'd t 
» MS. — " Canst tell where they liave ben* ♦heir w«» * 



HH 



«UUTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO ▼ 



A. way, good father ! and take heed, 
That life and death are on thy speed." 
His cowl the good old priest did on, 
Took his piked staff and saodall'd shoon, 
And, like a palmer bent by eld. 
O'er moss and moor his journey held.' 

VI. 

Heavy and dull the foot of age. 
And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 
But none was there beside, whose care 
Might such important message bear. 
Through birchen copse he wander'd slow, 
Stunted and sapless, tliin and low ; 
By many a mountain stream he pass'd, 
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, 
Dashing to foam their waters dun, 
And sparkling in the summer sun. 
Round his gray head the wild curlew 
In many a fearless circle flew. 
O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride ;* 
He cross'd his brow beside the stone 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan,* 
And at the cairns upon the wild, 
O'er many a heathen hero piled,* 
He breathed a timid prayer for those 
Who died ere Sliiloh's sun arose. 
Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid. 
There told his hours witliin the shade, 
And at the stream his thirst allay'd. 
Tlience onward journeying slowly still. 
As evening closed he reach'd the hill, 
Where, rising through the woodland green, 
Old Brodick's gothic towers were seen, 
From Hastings, late their Enghsh lord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword.* 
The sun that sunk beliind the isle, 
Now tinged them with a parting smfle. 

vn. 

But though the beams of light decay, 
'Twas bustle all in Brodick-Bay. 
The Bruce's followers crowd the shore, 
And boats and barges some unmoor. 
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar* 
Their eyes oft turn'd where ghmmer'd far 
What might have seem'd an early star 
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light 
Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. 

Far distant in the south, the ray 

Shone pale amid retiring day, 

• MS. — " And cross the island took his way. 

O'er hill and holt, to Brodick-Bay." 

• Sec Appendix, Note 2 W. 

• MS. — " He cross'd him by the Druids' stone. 

That heard of yor» the viotim's groan." 

• Bee Appendix, Note 2 X. 



But as, on Carrick-shore, 
Dim seen m outline famtly blue. 
The shades of evening closer drew,' 
It kindled more and more. 
The monk's slow steps now press the sandt 
And now amid a scene he stands. 

Full strange to churchman's eye ; 
Warriors, who, arming for the fight. 
Rivet and clasp their harness light. 
And twmkling spears, and axes bright, 
And helmets flasliing high. 
Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears, 
A language much immeet he hears,' 

Wliile, hastening all on board. 
As stormy as the swelling surge 
That mix'd its roar, the leaders urge 
Their followers to the ocean verge, 
With many a haughty word. 

VIII. 
Through that wild throng the Father paaa'<^ 
And reach'd the Royal Bruce at last. 
He leant against a stranded boat. 
That the approaching tide must Boat, 
And covmted every rippling wave, 
As higher yet her sides they lave. 
And oft the distant fire he eyed, 
And closer yet his haubork tied, 
And loosen'd in its sheath his brand. 
Edward and Lennox were at hand, 
Douglas and Ronald had the care 
The soldiers to the barks to share. — 
The Monk approach'd and homage paid ; 
" And art thou come," King Robert said, 
" So far to bless us ere we part ?" — 
— " My Liege, and with a loyal heart I — 
But other charge I have to tell," — 
And spoke the hest of Isabel. 
— " Now by Saint Giles," the monarch cried 
" This moves me much ! — this morning tide, 
I sent the stripling to Saint Bride, 
With my commandment there to bide."— 
— " Thither he came the portress show'd. 
But there, ray Liege, made brief abode."— 

IX. 

" "Twas I," said Edward, " found employ 

Of nobler import for the boy. 

Deep pondering in my anxious mind, 

A fitting messenger to find. 

To bear my written mandate o'er 

To Cuthbert on the Carrick-shore, 

» See Appendix. Note 2 Y. 
• MS. — " The shados of "ven more closely drew 
It brighten'd more and more. 

Now print his sanduU'd feet the tandi. 

And now amid," Sio. 
V See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 



■ANTO V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 449 


I chanced, at early dawu, to pass 


That when by Bruce's side I fight. 


The chapel gate to suatch a mass. 


For Scotland's crown and Freedom's right 


I found the striplir "^ on a tomb 


The princess grace her knight to bear 


Low-seated, weepi sg for the doom 


Some token of her favoring care ; 


That gave his youth to convent gloom. 


It shall be shown where England's best 


I told my purpose, and his eyes 


May shrink to see it on my crest. 


Flash'd joyful at the glad surprise. 


And for the boy — since weightier care 


H ! bounded to the skiff, the sail 


For royal Bruce the times prepare. 


W as spread before a prosperous gale, 


The helpless youth is Ronald's charge. 


And well my charge he hath obey'd; 


His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." 


For, see ! the ruddy signal made, 


He ceased ; for many an eager hand 


That CHfford, with his merry-men all, 


Had urged the barges froiL the strand. 


Guards carelessly our father's hall," — ' 


Their number was a score and ten, 




Tliey bore thrice threescore chosen mea 


X. 


With such small force did Bruce at last 


•* wild of thought, and hard of heart I" 


The die for death or empire cast 1 


Ar.swer'd the Monarch, " on a part 




Oi such deep danger to employ 


XII. 


A mute, an orphan, and a boy !' 


Now on the darkening main afloat. 


Unfit for flight, unfit for strife, 


Ready and mann'd rocks every boat ; 


Without a tongue to plead for life 1 


Beneath their oars the ocean's might 


Now, were my right restored by Heaven, 


Was dash'd to sparks of gUmmering hght. 


Edward, my crown I would have given. 


Faint and more famt, as off they bore. 


Ere, tlirust on such adventure wQd, 


Their armor glanced against the shore 


I peril'd thus the helpless child." — 


And, mingled with the dashing tide, 


— Oifended half, and half submiss, 


Their murmuring voices distant died. — 


" Brother and Liege, of blame like this," 


" God speed them !" said the Priest, as dark 


Edward replied, " I little dream'd. 


On distant billows gUdes each bark ; 


A stranger messenger, I deom'd. 


" Heaven ! when swords for freedom sbiaa. 


Might safest seek the beadsman's cell, 


And monarch's right, the cause is thiie 1 


Where all thy squires are known so welL 


Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 


Noteless his presence, sharp his sense 


Beat down the banners of the foe ! 


His imperfection his defence. 


And be it to the nations known. 


If seen, none can his errand guess ; 


That Victory is fi-om God alone !'" 


If ta'en, his words no tale express — 


As up the hill his path he drew, 


Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 


He tum'd his blessings to renew, 


Might expiate greater fault than mine." — 


Oft tum'd, till on the darkeii'd coast 


" Rash," said lUng Robert, " was the deed — 


All traces of their course were lost ; 


But it is done. — Embark with speed ! — 


Then slowly bent to Brodick tower. 


Good Father, say to Isabel 


To shelter for the evening hour. 


How this luihappy chance befell ; 




If well we thrive on yonder shore. 


XIII. 


Soon shall my care her page restore. 


In night toe fairy prospects sink. 


Our greeting to our sister bear, 


Where Cimiray's isles with verdant link 


And thmk of us in mass and prayer." — 


Close the fair entrance of the Clyde ; 




The woods of Bute, no more descried. 


XI. 


Are gone* — and on the placid sea 


" Aye 1" said the Priest, " while this poor hand 


Tlie rowers ply their task with glee, 


Oan chalice raise or cross conmaand. 


While hands that knightlj ances bore. 


Wliilj my old voice has accents' use. 


Impatient aid the laboriag oar. 


Can Augustine forget the Bruce !" 


The half-faced moon shone dim and pa'e, 


Then to liis side Lord Ronald press'd. 


And gliinced against the whiten'd sail* 


And whisper'd, " Bear thou this request, 


But on that ruddy beacon-Ught 


» The MS. reads :— 


Of snch deep peril, to emptor 


" Keeps careless guard in Tumberry hall." 


A mate, a stranger, and a bov ' " 


See Appendix, Note 3 A. 


. « MS. " is thine alone '" 


' MS. -" Said Robert, ' to assign a part 


« MS — " Have sunk " 



450 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto ^ 


Each steer<^man kept the helm aright, 


Or would thy dauntless heart endure 


And oft, for such the King's command, 


Once more to make assurance sure ?" — 


That all at once might reach the strand 


" Hush !" said the Bruce, " we soon shall know 


from boat to boat loud shout and hail 


If this be sorcerer's empty show,* 


Warn'd them to crowd or slacken sail 


Or stratagem of southern foe. 


South and by west the armada oore. 


The moon shines out — upon the sand • 


Ajid near at 'ength the Carrick-shore. 


Let every leader rank his band " 


And less and less the distance grows. 




High and more high the beacon rose ; 


XV. 


rbo light, that seem'd a twinkling star, 


Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 


Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far. 


That ruddy Ught's umiatural dye ; 


Dark-red tlie heaven above it glow'd, 


The dubious cold reflection lay 


Dark-red the sea beneath it flow'd. 


On the wet sands and quiet bay. 


Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim, 


Beneath the rocks Kling Robert drew 


In blood-red light her islets swim ; 


His scatter'd file^ to order due, 


Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave, 


Till shield compact and serried speai 


Dropp'd from their crags on plashing waTe.* 


In the cool hght shone blue and clear. 


The deer to distant covert drew, 


Then down a path that sought the tide. 


The black-cock deem'd it day, and crew. 


That speechless page was seen to glide ; 


Like some tall castle given to flame. 


He knelt liim lowly^ on the sand. 


O'er half the land the lustre came. 


And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 


■ Now, good my Liege, and brother sage, 


"A torch," the Monarch cried, " What, ho. 


"WTiat tliink ye of mine elfin page ?" — 


Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings know." 


" Row on !" the noble King rephed, 


But evil news the letters bare, 


' We'll learn the truth whate'er betide ; 


The Clifford's force was strong and ware, 


Ye' -ure the beadsman and the child 


Augmented, too, that very morn. 


Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild." 


By mountaineers who came with Lorn. . 




Long harrow'd by oppressor's liand. 


XIV. 


Courage and faith had fled the land. 


With that the boats approach'd the land,' 


And over Carrick, dark and deep. 


But Edward's grounded on the sand; 


Had smik dejection's iron sleep. — 


The eager Knight leap'd in the sea 


Cuthbert had seen that beacon-flame, 


Waist-deep, and first on shore was he. 


Unwitting from what source it came. 


Though every barge's hardy band 


Doubtful of perilous event, 


Contended wliich should gam the land. 


Edward's mute messenger he sent, 


When that strange light, which, seen afar, 


If Bruce deceived should venture o'er. 


Seem'd steady as the polar star, 


To warn him from the fatal shore. 


Now, like a prophet's' fiery chair. 




Seem'd travelling the realms of air. 


XVL 


Wide o'er the sky the splendor glows. 


As roimd the torch the leaders crowd, 


As that portentous meteor rose ; 


Bruce read these chilling news aloud. 


Helm, axe, and falchion ghtter'd bright. 


" What council, nobles, have we now !■ — 


And hi the red and dusky light 


To ambush us in greenwood bough. 


His comrade's face each warrior saw. 


And take the chance which fate may send 


Nor marvell'd it was pale with awe. 


To bring our enterprise to end. 


Then high in air tlie beams were lost, 


Or shall we turn us to the main 


And darkness sunk upon the coast. — 


As exiles, and embark again ?"' — 


U(inald to Heaver, a prayer address'd 


Auswer'd fierce Edward, " Hap what may, 


♦ And Douglas cross'd his dauntless breast; 


In Carrick, Carrick's Lord must stay. 


" Saint Jame:^ protect us !" Lennox cried, 


I would not minstrels told tlie tale, 


But reckless Edward spoke aside. 


Wildfire or meteor' made us quail." — 


" Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick in that flame 


Answer'd tne Douglas, " If my Liege 


Red Comyn's angry spirit came. 


May win yon walls by storm or siege, 


» MS. — And from their crags ilash'd in tlie wave.' 


Said Brnce, ' if this be Borcer<»'8 show. • 


• M .— Witii tliat the bargea .leai'd the land." 


' MS. " on the moisten'd sand." 


MS.— A wizard's." 


8 MS.—" That Clifford's force in watch w«>r? r«M " 


MS — " ' Gallar>ts be hush'd ; we soon shall know 


' MS.—" A wildfire meteor," «to. 



OANTO > 



THE Lord of the isles. 



15. 



Then vrere each brave and patriot heart 

Kindled of new for loyal part." — ' 

Answer'd Lord Ronald, " Not for shame 

Would I that aged Torquil came 

.And found, for all our empty boast, 

Without a blow we fled the coa&v 

I will not credit that this land, 

So famed for warlike heart and hanA, 

Tlie nurse oi Wallace and of Bruce, 

Will long with tyrants hold a truce." — 

" Prove we our fate — the brunt we'll bide 1" 

.So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; 

So said, so vow'd, the leaders all ; 

So Bruce resolved : " And in my hall 

Since the Bold Southern make their home, 

Tlie hour of payment soon shall come,* 

When with a rough and rugged host 

CUfford may reckon' to his cost. 

Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell, 

I'll lead where we may shelter well." 

XVIL 
Now ask you whence that wondrous light, 
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight ? — 
It ne'er was known* — yet gray-haiir'd eld 
A superstitious credence held, 
That never did a mortal hand 
Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; 
Nay, and that on the self-same night 
When Bruce cross'd o'er, still gleams the light. 
Vearly it gleams o'er mount and moor, 
And glittering wave and crimson'd shore — 
But whether beam celestial, lent 
By Heaven to aid the King's descent. 
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath, 
To lure him to defeat and death. 
Or were it but some meteor strange. 
Of such as oft through midnight range, 
StartUng the traveller late and lone,* 
I know not — and it ne'er was known, 

XVIIL 
Now up the rocky pass they drew. 
And, Ronald, to his promise true. 
Still made his arm the stripling's stay. 
To aid him on the ru^ed way. 
' Now cheer thee, simple Amadine ! 
Why throbs that silly heart of thine ?"— 
— ^Tliat name the pirates to their slave 
(It G-aoUc 'tis the Changeling) gave — 



• MS. 
IMS. 



-" to play their part." 



' f<ince Clifford needs will make his horns, 
The hoar of reckoning soon shall come." 
» MS.— "The Knighi shall reckon," &c. 
' See Appendi.x, Note 3 B. 
MS. — " Such as through midnight ether range, 
Affrightening oft the traveller lone." 
MS.--" Sounds sadly over land and sea." 



" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm ? 
Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm ? 
Hath not the wild-buU's treble hide 
This targe for thee and me supplied ? 
Is not Clan-CoUa's sword of steel ? 
And, trembler, canst thou terror feel ? 
Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart , 
From Ronald's guard thou shalt not part." 
— 1 many a shaft at random sent. 
Finds mark the archer Uttle meant I 
And many a word, at random spoken, 
May soothe or wound a heart that's bi oken 
Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified. 
Close drew the page to Ronald's sido 
A wild delirious thrill of joy 
Was in that hour of agony. 
As up the steepy pass he strove. 
Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love I 

XIX. 

The barrier of that iron shore. 
The rock's steep ledge, is now climb'd o'er; 
And from the castle's distant waU, 
From tower to tower the warders call : 
The sound swings over land and sea,* 
And marks a watchful enemy. — 
They gain'd the Chase, a wide domam 
Left for the Castle's silvan reign' 
(Seek not the scene — the axe, the plough. 
The boor's dull fence, have marr'd it now), 
But then, soft swept in velvet green 
The plain with many a glade between, 
Whose tangled alleys far invade 
The depth of the brown forest shade. 
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn, 
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 
There, tufted close with copsewood green, 
Was many a swelling hillock seen ; 
And all around was verdure meet 
For pressure of the fairies' feet 
The glossy holly loved the park. 
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark,* 
And many an old oak, worn and bare. 
With all its shiver'd boughs, was there. 
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. 
The gallant Monarch sigh'd to see 
These glades so loved in childhood fret 
Bethinkmg that, as outlaw, now. 
He ranged beneath the forest bough.* 



1 See Appendix, Note 3 C. 

8 MS. — " The dark-green holly loved the down. 

The yew-tree lent its shadow brown.'' 

9 " Their moonlight muster on the beach, after the snddai 
extinction of this portentous flame, and their midnight marcl 
through the paternal fields of their royal leader also display 
much beautiful painting (stanzas 15 and 19). After the fa» 
tie is won, the same strain is pursued." — Jeffrey 



162 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto y 


XX. 


XXII. 


Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped. 


Thus strangely left, long sobb'd and wept 


Well kiiew the band that measured tread. 


The page, till, wearied out, he slept — 


When, in retreat or in advance, 


A rough v(jice waked his dream — " Nay, her«^ 


The serried -warnors move at once ; 


Here by tliis tliicket, pass'd the deer — 


And evil were the luck, if dawn 


Beneath that oak old Ryno staid — 


Descried them on the open lawn. 


Wliat have we here ? — a Scottish plaid. 


Copses they traverse, brooks they cross, 


And in its folds a stripling laid ? — 


Strain up the bank and o'er the moss. 


Come forth ! thy name and business tell 1 — 


From the exhausted page's brow* 


What, silent ? — then I guess thee well 


Cold drops of toil are streaming now ; 


The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell, 


With effort faint^ and lengthen'd pause, 


Wafted from Arran yester morn — 


His wea^-y step the stripling draws. 


Come, comrades, we will straight return. 


" Naj', droop not yet !"' the wan-ior said ; 


Our Lord may choose the rack should teach 


" Come, let me give thee ease and aid 1 


To this young Itircher use of speech. 


Strong are mine arms, and little care 


Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast."— 


A weight so slight as thine to bear. — 


" Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast ; 


What ! wilt thou not ? — capricious boy ! 


Unbomid we'll lead him, fear it not ; 


Tlien thine own hmbs and strength employ. 


'Tis a fan- stripling, though a Scot." . 


Pass but this night, and pass thy care, 


The hunters to the castle sped. 


I'll place thee with a lady fair. 


And there the hapless captive led. 


Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell 




How Ronald loves fair Isabel !" 


XXIIL 


Worn out, dishearten'd, and dismay'd. 


Stout Clifford in the castle-court 


Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 


Prepared him for the morning sport ; 


His trembling limbs their aid refuse,* 


And now with Lorn held deep discourse, 


He sunk among the midnight dews !* 


Now gave command for hound and horse.' 




War-steeds and palfreys paw"d the ground, 


XXI. 


And many a deer-dog howl'd around. 


VV hat may be done ? — the night is gone — 


To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word 


The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 


Replying to that Southern Lord, 


Eternal shame, if at the brunt 


Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem 


Lord Ronald grace not battle's front ! — 


The phantasm of a fever'd dream. 


" See yonder oak, witliin whose trunk 


The tone upon his ringing ears 


Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk ; 


Came like the soimds wliich fancy hears, 


Enter, and rest thee there a space. 


When in rude waves or roarmg winds 


Wrap in my plaid thy Umbs, thy face.* 


Some words of woe the muser finds, 


T will not be, beheve me, far ; 


Until more loudly and more near, 


But must not quit the ranks of war. 


Their speech arrests the page's ear.* 


Well will I mark the bosky bourne, 




And soon, to guard thee hence, return.— 


XXIV. 


Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy 1 


" And was she thus," said Clifford, " lost 1 


But sleep in peace, and wake in joy." , 


The priest should rue it to his cost I 


[r silvan lodging close bestow'd,' 


Wliat says the monk !"— " The holy Sire 


He placed the page, and onward strode 


Owns, that in masquer's quaint attire 


With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook, 


She sought his skiff, disguised, unknowu 


And soon th«- marching band o'ertook. 


To all except to him alone 


' M3 — " From Amadyne's exhausted brow." 


poem, and contains some touches of great pathos and ^«aity 




— Quarterly Review. 


« iVS -" And double toil," &c. 


8 MS. — " And mantle in my plaid thy face." 


3 MS.--" Nay fear not yet," &c. 


' MS. — " In silvan castle warm bestow'd. 


' **^ " Tiii n-nirht rffllTf* " 


He left the page." 


■ H ) ,3 , Ills WtJlcIlL rCl U5C 


» " Tliis canto is not distinguished by many passages of ex- 


e MS. — " And row with Lorn he spoke aside, 


raordinary merit ; as it is, however, fnll of business, and com- 


And now to squire and yeoman cried. 


laratively free from those long rhyming dialogues which are so 


War-horse and palfrey," &o. 


frequent in the poem, it is, upon the whole, spirited and pleas- 


» MS. " or roaring wind. 


ng. The scene in which Ronald is described sheltering Edith 


Some words of woe his musings find. 


inder his plaid, for the love which he bears to [sabel, is, we 


Till spoke more loudly and more jear 


link more poetically conceived than any other in the whole 


These words arrest the page's eat " 



SiNTO V 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



463 



Sut, says the prifist, a bark fi-om Loru' 


His nerves hath strung — ^he will not yield 1 


Laid them aboard that very morn, 


Since that poor breath, that little word. 


Ajid pirates seized her for theb" prey. 


May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. — ' 


He proffer'd ransom-gold to pay, 


Clan-Colla's dhge is pealing wide. 


And they agreed — but ere told o'er, 


The griesly headsman's by his side • 


Tlie winds blow loud, the billows roar ; 


Along the greenwood Chase they bend. 


They sever'd, and they met no more. 


And now their march has ghastly end I 


He deems — such tempest vex'd the coast — 


That old and shatter'd oak beneath, 


Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 


They destine for the place of death.* 


So let it Le, wiih the disgrace 


— What thoughts are his, while all in vaiu 


And scandal of her lofty race 1" 


His eye for aid explores the plain ? 


Thrice better she had ne'er been born, 


What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear, 


Tlian brought her infamy on Lorn 1" 


He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near 1 




And must he die such death accurst, 


XXV. 


Or will that bosom-secret burst ? 


J .ord Clifford now the captive spied ; — 


Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew. 


" Whom, Herbert, hast thou there ?" he cried. 


His trembling hps are livid blue ; 


" A spy we seized within the Chase, 


The agony of parting life 


A hollow oak his lurking place." — ' 


Has naught to match that moment's strife 1 


" What tidings can the youth afford ?" — 




** He plays the mute." — " Then noose a cord — 


XXVIL 


Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom 


But other witnesses are nigh, 


For his plaid's sake."—" Clan-CoUa's loom," 


Who mock at fear, and death defy I 


Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 


Soon as the dire lament was play'd, 


Ilather the vesture than the face, 


It waked the lurking ambuscade. 


" Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine ; 


The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied 


Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 


The cause, and loud in fury cried,' 


Give him, if my advice you crave, 


" By Heaven, they lead the page to die. 


His own scathed oak ;* and let him wave 


And mock me in liis agony ! 


In air, unless, by terror wrung. 


They shall abye it !" — On his arm 


A frank confession find his tongue. — * 


Bruce laid strong grasp, " They shall lo*- L'»rn 


Nor shall he die without his rite ! 


A ringlet of the stripling's hair; 


— Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight, 


But, till I give the word, forbear. 


And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath, 


— Douglas, lead fifty of our force 


As they convey him to his death." — 


Up yonder hollow water-course, 


" brother ! cruel to the last !" 


And couch thee midway on the wold. 


Through the poor captive's bosom pass'd 


Between the flyers and their hold ; 


The thought, but, to his purpose true. 


A spear above the copse disj^lay'd, 


He said not, though he sigh'd, " Adieu 1" 


Be signal of the ambush made. 




— Edward, with forty spearmen, str;iight 


XXVL 


Through yonder copse approach the gate, 


And will he keep liis pm-pose still, 


And, when thou hear'st the battle-din, 


In sight of that last closing ill,° 


Rush forward, and the passage win. 


When one poor breath, one single word, 


Secm-e the drawbridge — storm the port, 


May freedom, safety, Ufe, afford ? 


And man and guard the castle-court. — 


Can he resist the instinctive call, 


The rest move slowly forth with me. 


For life that bids us barter aU ? 


In shelter of the forest-tree, 


Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd, 


Till Douglas at his post I see." 


MS. — " To all save to himself alone. 


* MS.— " Yon scathed oak." 


Then, says he, that a bark from Lorn 


' MS. " by terror wrung 


Laid him aboard," &c. 


To speech, confession finds his tongue." 


In place of the couplet which follows, the MS. has :— 


8 " last human ill." 


" For, stood she there, and should refuse 


' MS. — " Since that one word, thjt little breath. 


Tie choice my better purpose views, 


May speak Lord Ronald's doom of death. ' 


I'd spurn her like a bond-maid tame, 


6 MS. — " Beneath that shatter'd old oak-tree, 


Lost to ^ '^*'^"^™''""'"'^ '" ! shame" 


Design'd the slaughter-place to oe 


LMSi lo < r • I it o^i^^'ne. 
f each sense ol ])nde and ' 


• MS. — " Soon as the due lament was play'd 


M?. — " A spy, whom, guided by our hound. 


The Island Lord in fury said. 


Loiking conceal'd this morn we found." 


' By Heaven they lead ' '' iio. 



♦ 54 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO % 



XXVIII. 
Like war-horse eager to rusli on, 
CompeU'd to wait the signal blown,' 
Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough, 
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now, 
And in hiB grasp liis sword gleams blue, 
Soon to be dyed with deadher hue. — 
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye, 
V Sees the dark^ death-train moving by, 
And, heedful, measures oft the space 
nie Douglas and his band must trace. 
Ere thej can reach their destined ground, 
K'ow sinks tte dirge's wailing sound, 
Now cluster round the direful tree 
That slow and solemn company. 
While hymn mistuned and muttei-'d prayer 
The victmi for his fate prepare. — 
What glances o'er the greenwood shade ? 
The speax that marks the ambuscade ! — 
" Now, noble Chief ! I leave thee loose ; 
Upon them, Ronald 1" said tl e Bruce. 

XXIX. 
' The Bruce, the Bruce !" to weU-known cry 
Jlis native rocks and woods reply. 
" The Bruce, the Bruce !" in that dread word 
The knell of hundred deaths was heard. 
The astonish'd Southern gazed at first, 
Wiiere the wild tempest was to burst, 
That waked in that presaging name. 
Lefr re, behir.d, around it came 1 
Half-arm'd, siu"prised, on every side 
Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died. 
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged. 
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged 1 
Full soon the few who fought were sped, 
No better was their lot who fled, 
And met, 'mid terror's wild career, 
The Douglas's redoubted spear ! 
Two hundred yeomen on that morn 
The castle left, and none return. 

XXX. 

Vot on their flight press'd Ronald's brand, 
A gentler duty claun'd his hand. 
fle raised the piige, where on the plain 
His feai bad sunk him with the slain : 



MS. — " Yet waiting for the trumpet tone." 
• MS — " See the slow dealli-train." 
MS. — " And scarce his recollection," &c. 
MS. — " A harder task fierce Edward waits, 

Whose ire assail'd the castle gates." 
MS. — " Where sober thought ha<l fail'd. 

Upon the bridge himself he threw." 
MB. — " His axe was steel of teinper'd edge. 

That truth the warder well might pledge. 

He sank upon tiie threshold ledge I 
The gate," &c. 



And twice, that morn, surprise well near 
Betray'd the secret kept by fear; 
Once, when, with hfe retm-ning, tame 
To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's tame. 
And hardly recollection' drown'd 
The accents in a murmuring soimd ; 
And once, when scarce he could resist 
The Chieftain's care to loose the vest. 
Drawn tightly o'er his laboring breast. 
But then the Bruce's bugle blew. 
For martial work was yet to do. 

XXXL 

A harder task fierce Edward waits. 
Ere signal given, the castle gates 

His fiu-y had assail'd ;* 
Such was his wonted reckless mood. 
Yet desperate valor oft made good. 
Even by its daring, venture rude. 

Where prudence might have fail'd. 
Upon the bridge his strength he threw,* 
And struck the iron chain in two. 

By which its planks arose ; 
The warder next his axe's edge 
Struck down upon the tlu-eshold ledge, 
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge 1* 

The gate they may not close. 
Well fought the Southern in the fray, 
Clifi'ord and Lorn fought well that day. 
But stubborn Edward forc'd his way' 

Against a himdred foes. 
Loud came the cry, " The Bruce, the Bruce !* 
No hope or in defence or truce. 

Fresh combatants pour in ; 
Mad with success, and drunk with gore. 
They drive the struggling foe before. 

And ward on ward they win.' 
Unsparing was the vengeful sword, 
And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd, 
The cry of death and conflict roar'd. 

And fearful was the din ! 
The startling horses plunged and flting, 
Clamor'd the dogs till turrets rmig, 

Nor sunk the fearful cry, 
Till not a foeman was there found 
Alive, save those who on the ground 

Groan'd in their agony 1* 



' MS. — " Well fought the English ye«men then. 
And Lorn and CliiTord play'd the men. 
But Edward mann'd the pass he won ■ 
Against," &c. 

8 The concluding etan/.a of "The Siege of Corinth" coo 
tains an obvious, though, no doubt, an unconscious imitatiot 
of the preceding nine lines, magnificently expanded through ai 
extent of about thirty couplets ; — 

" All the living things that heard 
That deadly earth-shock disappear'd ; 
The wild birds flew ; the wild do^ fled, 



0AN1O VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4bt, 



XXXIL 

The valiant Clifford is no more ;' 

On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his gore. 

But better hap had he of Lorn, 

W^ho, by the foemen backward borne, 

fet gaia'd with slender train the port, 

WThere laj liis bark beneath the fort, 

At A cut the cable loose.* 
Short were his shrift in that debate, 
that hour of fury and of fate, 

If Lorn encounter'd Bruce !' 
rheu long and loud the victor shout 
From tmret and from tower rung out, 

The rugged vaults rephed ; 
And from the donjon tower on high, 
The men of Carrick may descry 
Saint Andi'ew's cross, in blazonry 

Of silver, waving wide ! 

XXXIIL 

The Bruce hath won his father's hall 1* 

— " Welcome, brave friends and comrades all, 

Welcome to mirth and joy 1 
The first, the last, is welcome here, 
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer, 

To this poor speechless boy. 
Great God ! once more my she's abode 
Is mine — behold the floor I trode 

In tottering infancy 1 
And there' the vaulted arch, whose sound 
Echoed my joyous shout and bound 
In boyhood, and that rung around 

To youth's mithinking glee ! 
first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven, 
Then to my friends, my thanks be given 1" — 
He paused a space, liis brow he cross' d — 
Then on the board his sword he toss'd, 
Yet steaming hot ; with Southern gore 
From hilt to point 'twas crimson'd o'er. 

XXXIV. 

" Brmg here," he said, " the mazers four. 
My noble fathers loved of yore.' 
Thrice let them circle round the board. 



And howling left the unburied dead : 
The camels from their keepers broke ; 
The distant steer forsoolj the yoke — 
The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain, 
And burst his girth, and tore his rein," &o. 

• It point of fact, Clifford fell at Bannockbum. 

• MS. — " And swiftly hoisted sail." 

• MS. — " Short were his shrift, if in that hour 

Of fate, of fury, and of power, 

He 'counter'd Edward Bruce I" 

• See Appenilix, Note 3 D. 

» MS.—" And see the vaulted arch," &c. 

• See Appendix, Note 3 E. 

' MS.—" Be lasting infamy his lot, 

And brand of * disloyal Scot I" 



The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored 1 
And he whose hp shall touch the wine, 
Without a vow as true as mine, 
To hold both lands and hfe at naught, 
Untn her freedom shall be bought, — 
Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 
And lasting infamy his lot P 
Sit, gentle friends ! our hoiur of glee 
Is brief, we'll spend it joyously 1 
BUthest of all the sun's bright beams, 
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 
Well is our country's work begun, 
But more, far more, must yet be done. 
Speed messengers the country through 
Arouse old friends, and gather new f 
Warn Lanark's knights to gird thefr mail. 
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 
Let Ettrich's archers sharp their darts, 
The fairest forms, the truest hearts I 
Call aU, call aU ! from Reedswair-Path, 
To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath ; 
Wide let the news through Scotland ring. 
The Northern Eagle claps his wing 1" 



Sl)£ Corb of tl}£ isl£0 



CANTO SIXTH. 



L 

O WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget* 
The emotions of the spuit-rousing time. 
When breathless in the mart the couriers mot. 
Early and late, at evening and at prime , 
When the loud cannon and the merry chime 
Hail'd news on news., as field on field wai 

won,'" 
When Hope, long doubtful, soai-'d at length 

sublime, 
And our glad eyes, awake as day begvm, 
Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the n»- 

ing sun!" 



8 See Appendix, Note 3 F. 

» MS. — " Hast thou forgot t — No ! who can e'er fpr?et." 
10 " VVho can avoid conjuring npthe ideaof men with 'fooo 
sheets of foolscap scored with victories rolled round their nats 
and horns blowing loud defiance in each other's mouth, from 
the top to the bottom of Pali-Mall, or the Haymarkel, whec 
he reads such a passage ? We actually hear the Park ant 
Tower^uns, and the clattering of ten thousand hells, as w« 
read, and stop our ears from the close and sudden intrusion o 
the clamors of some hot and hornfisted patriot, blowing oup 
selves, as well as Bonaparte, to the devil ! And what has i 
this to do with Bannockburn ?" — Monthly Review. 

n MS. — " Watch'd Joy's broad bannei rise, watch*') 
Triumph's flashing gau." 



456 



SCOlTrf POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and 

feai's 1 
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed. 
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the 

tears 
Tliat track'd with terror twenty rolling years. 
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee 1 
Tier d iwncast eye even pale Affliction rears, 
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee. 
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and 

liberty I 

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode, 
Wben 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's 

scale, 
When Bruce's banner had victorious flow'd 
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale ;* 
When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale," 
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,' 
Wlien Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern 

gale,* 
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was 

won, 
LnJ Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of 

glory done. 

II. 
Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower, 
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower. 
And waked the solitary cell. 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwelL 
Princess no more, fair Isabel, 

A vot'ress of the order now, 
Say did the rule that bid thee wear 
Dim ved and woollen scapulaire, 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair, 

That stern and rigid vow, 
Did it condemn the transport high, 
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye. 
When minstrel or when palmer told 
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold ?— 
And whose the lovely form, that shares 
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers ? 
Net sister she of convent shade ; 
S^o say these locks in lengthen'd braid, 
So say the blushes and the sighs. 
The tremors that imbidden rise. 
When mingled with the Bruce's fame. 
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came. 

IIL 

Believe, his father's castle won, 
A.nd his bold enterprise begun. 



Bee Appendix, Note 3 6. 
Ibid. Note 3 I. 
ISid. Note 3 L. 



a Ibid. Note 3 H. 
•1 Ibid. Note 3 K. 
• Ibid. Note 3 M. 



That Bruce's earliest Ciires restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore: 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes ; 
And sister-like in love they dweU 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Bruce's slow assent allows 
Pair Isabel the veil and vows ; 
And there, her sex's dress regain'd. 
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd. 
Unnamed, miknown, wliile Scotland far 
Resounded with the din of war ; 
And many a month, and many a day, 
In calm seclusion wore away. 

IV. 

These days, these months, to years had won^ 
When tidings of high weight were borne 

To that lone island's shore ; 
Of all the Scottish conquests made 
By the First Edward's ruthless blade, 

His son retain'd no more. 
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers, 
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce,' 
If England's King should not relieve 
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve, 

To yield them to the Bruce. 
England was roused — on every side 
Courier and post and herald liied. 

To summon prince and peer. 
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,* 
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege. 

With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh — they muster'd fast, 
By beacon and by bugle-blast 

Forth marshall'd for the field ; 
There rode each knight of noble iiamo, 
There England's hardy archers came. 
The land they trode seem'd all on flame, 

With banner, blade, and shield ! 
And not famed England's powers alone, 
Renown'd in arms, the summons own; 

For Neustria's knights obey'd, 
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen got)d,' 
And Cambria, but of late subdued, 
Sent forth her mountain-multitude,* 
And Connoght pour'd from waste an<l \^ood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre r'id.<>. 

Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.* 



V. 



Right to devoted Caledon 

The storm of war rolls slo^'v on," 



' The MS. has not this line. 

« See Appecdix, Note 3 N. » Ibid. Note 3 O. 

'0 MS -" The gatherioff storiD of war rolls on.' 



'JAKTO TI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



4V 



With menace deep and dread ; 
So the dark clouds, with gathering power, 
Suspend awhile the threaten'd shower, 
Till every peak and summit lower 

Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye 
King Robert mark'd the tempest nigh ! 

Resolved the brunt to bide, 
His royal summons warn'd the land, 
Tliat all who own'd their liing's command 
Sbculd instant take the spear and brand,' 

To combat at his side. 
O who may tell the sons of fame. 
That at King Robert's bidding came, 

To battle for the right 1 
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 
Fron: Solway-Sands to Marshal's-MosB,* 

All boun'd them for the fight. 
Such news the royal courier tells, 
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells ; 
But farther tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel in secret hear. 
These in her cloister walk, next morn. 
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn. 

VL 

■♦ My Edith, can I tell how dear 
@ur intercourse of hearts sincere 

Hath been to Isabel ? — 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart, 
When I must say the words. We part I 

Tlie cheerless convent-reU 
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee ; 
Go thou where thy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell. 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd. 
Though Robert knows that Lorn's liigh Maid 
And his poor silent page were one. 
Versed in the fickle heart of man,* 
Earnest and anxious hath he look'd 
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd 
That gave him, with her last farewell. 
The charge of Sister Isabel, 
To think upon thy better right, 
And keep the faith his promise plight. 
Forgive him for thy sister's sake. 
At first if vain repinings wake — * 

Long since that mood is gone : 
Now dwells he on thy juster claims, 

• MS. — " Should instant belt them with the brand." 

• MS. — " From Solway's sands lo wild Cape-Wrath, 

From Ilav's Rinns to Colbrand's Path." 

• MS — " And his mute page were one. 

For, versant in the heart of man." 

• MS. — *' If brief and vain repinings wake." 

• MS. — " Her lover's alter'd mood to try." 

' MS. — " Her aged sire had own'd his reign." 
' The MS. here presents, erased — 

"But all was overraled — a band 
.58 



And oft his breach of faith he blames — 
Forgive him for thine own !" — 

VII. 
" No 1 never to Lord Ronald's bower 

, Will I again as paramour" 

" Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid, 

UntU niy final tale be said ! — 

The good Kmg Robert would engage 

Edith once more his elfin page, 

By her own heart, and her own eye, 

Her lover's penitence to try — ' 

Safe in his royal charge and free. 

Should such thy final purpose be. 

Again unknown to seek the cell, 

And hve and die with Isabel." 

Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eye 

Might have some glance of policy ; 

Dunstaffnage had the monarch ta'en. 

And Lorn had own'd King Robert's reign •• 

Her brother had to England fled. 

And there in banishment was dead ; 

Ample, through exile, death, and flight. 

O'er tower and land was Edith's right ; 

This ample right o'er tower and land 

Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand. 

VIIL 
Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek 
Pleasure and shame, and fear bespeak I 
Yet much the reasoning Edith made : 
" Hef sister's faith she must upbraid. 
Who gave such secret, dark and dear. 
In council to another's ear. 
Why should she leave the peaceful cell?— 
How should she part with Isabel ? — 
How wear that strange attire agen ? 
How risk herself 'midst martial men ?— 
And how be guarded on the way ? — 
At least she might entreat delay." 
Kind Isabel, with secret smile. 
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile, 
Reluctant to be thought to move 
At the first call of truant love.* 

IX, 
Oh, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake. 
The aspen's trembUng leaves must shake ; 
When beams the sma tlu-ough April's showei 
It needs must bloom, the violet flower ■ 

From Arran's mountains left the land ; 
Their chief, MacLouis, had the care 
The speechless Amadine to bear 

To Bruce, with ) J^'^'^^/^^^^ j as behooved 

To page the monarch dearly loved." 
With one verbal alteration these lines occur hereafter — Uk 
poet having postponed them, in order to apologize mora H 
length for Edith's acquiescence in an urangpment not, om 
tainly, at first sight, over delicate 



458 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



And Love, howe'er the maiden strive, 

Must with reviving hope revive 1 

A thousand soft excuses came, 

To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame. 

Pledged by theu- sires in eai'liest youth, 

He had her plighted faith and truth — 

Then, 'twas her Liege's strict command, 

And she, beneath his royal hand, 

A ward in person and in land : — 

And, last, she was resolved to stay 

Only brief space — one Uttle day — 

Close hidden in her safe disguise 

From all, but most from Ronald's eyes — 

But once to see him more 1 — nor blame 

Her wish — to hear him name her name 1— 

Then, to bear back to solitude 

The Ihought he had his falsehood rued 1 

But Isabel, who long had seen 

Her paUid cheek and pensive mien, 

And well herself the cause might know. 

Though innocent, of Edith's woe, 

Joy'd, generous, that revolving time 

Gave means to expiate the crime. 

High glow'd her bosom as she said, 

" Well shall her suffermgs be repaid 1" 

Now came the parting hour — a band 

From Arran's mountains left the land ; 

Their chief, Fitz-Louis,' had the care 

The speechless Amadine to bear 

To Bruce, with honor, as behooved 

To page the monarch dearly loved. 



The King had deem'd the maiden bright 
Should reach liim long before the fight. 
But storms and fate her com'se delay: 
It was on eve of battle-day, 
When o'er the Gillie's-liill she rode. 
The landscape like a furnace glow'd. 
And far as e'er the eye was borne, 
The lances waved like autumn-cora 



See Appendix, Note 3 P. 

* MS. — " Nearest and plainest to the eye." 

• See Appendix, Note 3 Q.. 

* MS — " One close beneath the hill was laid." 
6 See Apprndix, Note 3 R. 

• " As a reward for the loyalty and distinguished bravery of 
the men of Ayr on the occasion referred to in the text, King 
Robert the Bruce granted them uj) wards of 1300 Scots acres 
»f land, part oi the baillicry of Kyle Stewart, his patrimonial 
mheritance, lying in the immediate vicinity of the town of 
Ayr, which grant King James VI. confirmed to their succes- 
lors by two charters ; one to the freemen of Newton-upon-Ayr, 
Ihe other to the freemen of Prestwick, both boroughs of barony 
\d the same oarish, with all the peculiarities of the original 
jonstitution. 

" The former charter contains forty-eight freedoms or baro- 
lies — as these subdivisions are called — and the latter thirty- 
Ix. The right of succession to these freeholds is limited. A 
Ata sncceeda his father, nor can his right of succession be any- 



In battles four beneath their eye,' 
The forces of King Robert he." 
And one below the liill was laid,* 
Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 
And tliree, advanced, form'd vaward-line, 
'Twixt Bannock's brook and Niniau's shrina, 
Detach'd was each, yet each so nigh 
As well might mutual aid supply. 
Beyond, the Southern host appears,' 
A boundless wilderness of spears. 
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam. 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam ; 
And where the heaven join'd with the hiU, 
Was distant armor flashuig still, 
So wide, so far the boundless host 
Seem'd in the blue horizon lost. 

XL 
Down from the hill the maiden pass'd. 
At the wUd show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward host. 
Reserved for aid where needed most. 
The men of Carrack and of AyV, 
Lennox and Lanark, too, were there,' 

And all the w estern land ; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chieftains rank'd their files, 

In many a plaided band. 
There, in the centre, proudly raised, 
The Bruce's royal standard blazed. 
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore 
A galley driven by sail and oar. 
A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made 
Warriors in mail and plate array d. 
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid 

By these Hebrideans worn ; 
But ' imseen for three long years. 
Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 



wise affected by the amount of his father's debts. A widow 
having no son may enjoy her husband's freehold as long as sh* 
lives, but at her death it reverts to the community, the femal* 
.ine being excluded from the right of succes.sion. Nor can anj 
freeman dispose of his freehold except to the community, wh« 
must, within a certain time, dispose of it to a neutral person 
as no freeman or baron can possess more than one allotment 
whereby the original number of freemen is always kept up. 

" Each freeholder has a vote in the election of the baillie* 
who liave a jurisdiction over the freemen for the recovery o* 
small debts. But though they have the power of committing 
a freeman to prison, they cannot, in right of their office, lock 
the prison uoors on him, but if he leaves the prison without 
the proper liberation of the baillies, he thereby forfeits hit 
baronsbipor freedom." — Inquisit. Special, pp. 72, 555, 792. — 
Sir Jo/in Sincliiir's Statistical Account of Scotland, vol. ii 
pp. 263,264, 581.— CAa/mers' Caledtnia, vol. iii. pp. 501 
508. — J^ote from Mr. Joseph Train (li**0). 

1 See Appendix, Note 3 S. 



SANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



45)1 



For one she look'd — ^but he was far 

Busied amid the ranks of war — 

Yet with affection's troubled eye 

bhe mark'd his banner boldly fly, 

Ga^ e on the countless foe a glance, 

And thought on battle's desperate chance. 

XII. 

To centre of the vaward-hne 

Fitz-L-juis guided Amadine.* 

Ai'm'd all on foot, that host appears 

A serried mass of glimmering spears. 

There stood the Marchers' warlike band. 

The warriors there of Lodon's land ; 

Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 

A band of archers fierce, though few ; 

The men of Nith and Annan's vale. 

And the bold Spears of Teviotdale ;— 

The dauntless Douglas these obey 

And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 

Northeastward by Saint Niui.m's shrine, 

Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine 

The warriors whom the hardy North 

From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 

The rest of Scotland's war -array 

With Edward Bruce to westward lay, 

Where Bannock, with his broken bank 

And deep ravine, protects their flank. 

Behind them, screen'd by sheltering wood, 

The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood: 

His men-at-arms bear mace and lance, 

And plumes that wave, and helms that glance. 

Thus fair divided by the King, 

Centre, and right, .lud left-ward wing. 

Composed his front , nor distant far 

Was strong reserve to aid the war. 

And 'twas to front of this array. 

Her guide and Edith made their way. 

XIII. 
Here must they pause ; for, in advance 
As far as one might pitch a lance, 
The Monarch rode along the van,* 
The foe's approaching force to scan. 
His line tc marshal and to range. 
And ra^ika to square, and fronts to change. 
AJoDe he rode — from head to heel 
Sheathed in his ready arms of steel ; 
Nor laou ited yei on war-horse wight, 
But, till more near the shock of fight, 
Reimng a palfrey low and light. 
A diadem of gold was set 
Above his bright steel basinet. 
And clasp'd within its glittering t^vine 

1 MS. — " Her guard conducted Amadine.' 
» See Appendix, Note 3 T. 



Was seen the glove of Argentine ; 

Truncheon or leading staff he lacks, 

Bearmg, instead, a battle-axe. 

He ranged his soldiers for the fight, 

Accoutred thus, in open sight 

Of either host. — Three bow-shots far, 

Paused the deep front of England's war, 

And rested on their arms awhile. 

To close and rank their warlike file, 

And hold high council, if that night 

Should view the strife, or dawning light. 

XIV. 

gay, yet fearful' to behold, 
Flashing with steel and rough with gold. 

And bristled o'er with bills and speara^ 
With plumes and pennons waving fair, 
Was that bright battle-front ! for there 

Rode England's King and peers : 
And who, that saw that monarch ride, 
His kingdom battled by his side. 
Could then his direful doom foretell ! — 
Fair was his seat in knightly selle, 
And in lus sprightly eye was set 
Some spark of the Plantageuet. 
Though fight and wandering was his glance, 
It flash'd at sight of sliield and lance. 
" Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine, 
Yon knight who marshals thus their line ?"— 
" The tokens on his helmet tell 
The Bruce, my Liege : I know him weU.."— 
" And shall the audacious traitor brave 
The presence where our banners wave V' - 
" So please my Liege," said Argentine, 
" Were he but horsed on steed like mine; 
To give him fair and knightly chance, 

1 would adventure forth my lance." — 
" In battle-day," the King replied, 

" Nice tourney rules are set aside. 
. — Still must the rebel dare our wrath ? 
Set on him — sweep him from our path f 
And, at King Edward's signal, soon 
Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune. 

XV. 

Of Hereford's high blood* he came, 

A race reno-\vn'd for knightly fame. 

He burn'd before his Monarch's eye 

To do some deed of chivalry. 

He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lanec, 

And darted on the Bruce at once. 

— As motionless as rocks, that bide 

The wrath of the advancing tide. 

The Bruce stood fast. — Each breaet beat liigl^ 

> MS.—" O \ '^"'" I yet leartnl " Slo 

( bright, ) 

« MS.—" Princely bloou," &o 



t63 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



And dazzled was each gazing eye — 
The hear* had hardly time to think, 
Tlie eyebl scarce had time to wink,* 
While on the King, like flash of flame, 
Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came 1 
Tlie partridge may the falcon mock. 
If that slight palfrey stand the shock- 
But, swerving from the Knight's career, 
Just as they met, Bruce shunn'd the spear. 
Onward the baffled warrior bore 
His course — but soon his course was o'er 1— 
High in his stirrups stood the King, 
And gave his battle-axe the swing. 
Right on De Boune, the whiles he pass'd. 

Fell that stern dint — the first — the last 1 

Such strength upon the blow was put, 
The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut ; 
The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, 
Was shiver'd to the gamitlet grasp. 
Springs from the blow the startled horse, 
Drops to the plain the Ufeless corse ; 
— First of that fatal field, how soon. 
How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune I 

XVI. 

One pitying glance the Monarch sped, 

Where on the field his foe lay dead ; 

Then gently turn'd his palfrey's head. 

Ami, pacing back his sober way, 

Slowly he gain'd his own array. 

Tliere round their King the leaders crowd 

And blame his recklessness aloud, 

Tliat risFd 'gamst each adventurous spear 

A life so valued and so dear. 

His broken weapon's shaft survey'd 

The King, and careless answer made, — 

" My loss may pay my folly's tax ; 

I've broke my trusty battle-axe." 

Twas then Fitz-Louis, bending low. 

Did Isabel's commission show ; 

Edith, disguised, at distance stands. 

And hides her blushes with her hands. 

The Monarch's brow has changed ita 

hue, 
Away the gory axe he threw, 
While to the seeming page he drew, 

Clearing war's terrors from his eye. 
Her hand with gentle ease he took, 
With such a kmd protecting look. 

As to a weak and timid boy 
Might speak, that elder brother's care 
And elder brother's love were there 



' MS.—" The heart took hardly time to think, 
The eyelid scarce had space to wink." 
MS.—" Jast as they closed in fall career, 

Bmce swerved the palfrey from the spear.' 
^8- " her wonted pranks, I gee." 



XVII. 

" Fear not," he said, " young Amadine I" 

Tlien whisper'd, " Still that name be thine. 

Fate plays her wonted fantasy,' 

Kmd Amadine, with thee and me, 

And sends thee here in doubtful hour 

But soon we are beyond her power ; 

For on this chosen battle-plain, 

Victor or vanquish'd, I remain 

Do thou to yonder hill repair ; 

The followers of our host are there, 

And all who may not weapens bear.— 

Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care. — 

Joyful we meet, if all go well ; 

If not, in Arran's holy cell 

Thou must take part with Isabel , 

For brave Lord Ronald, too, hath sworn, 

Not to regain tlie Maid of Lorn 

(The bliss on earth he covets most), 

Would he forsake his battle-post. 

Or shun the fortune that may fall 

To Bruce, to Scotland, and to aU. — 

But, hark ! some news these trumpets tell ; 

Forgive my haste — farewell ! — farewell !"— 

And in a lower voice he said, 

" Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet maid !"— 

XVIIL 
" What train of dust, with trimipet-sotmd 
And glimmering spears, is wheeling roimd 
Our leftward flank ?"* — the Monarch cried. 
To Moray's Earl who rode beside. 
" Lo ! round thy station pass the foes I* 
Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." 
The Earl his visor closed, and said, 
" My wreath shaU bloom, or hfe shall fade.— 
Follow, my household !" — And they go 
Like lightiung on the advancing foe. 
" My Liege," said noble Douglas then, 
" Earl Randolph has but one to ten :* 
Let me go forth his band to aid !" — 
— " Stir not. The error he hath made, 
Let him amend it as he may ; 
I will not weaken mine array." 
Then loudly rose the conflict-cry, 
And Douglas's brave heart swell'd high,— 
" My Liege," he said, " with patient ear 
I must not Moray's death-kneU hear 1" — 
" Then go — but speed thee back agaia"— 
Forth sprung the Douglas with his train: 
But, when they won a rising hill. 
He bade his followers hold them still — 



* See Appendix, Note 3 U 

» MS.—" Lo ! \ '°"'"' ^ { thy post have pass'd the To 
' through ) 

• M . — " Earl Randolph's strength is one to ten." 



CANTO VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 46 


" See, see ! the routed South era fly ! 


No ! — distant, but increasing still. 


The Earl hath won the victory. 


Tlie trumpet's sound swells up the hill, 


Lo ! where yon steeds run masterless, 


With the deep murmur of the drum 


His banner towers above the press. 


Responsive from the Scottish host, 


Rein up 1 our presence would impair 


Pipe-clang and bugle sound were toss'd,* 


The fame we come too late to share." 


His breast and brow each soldier cross'd. 


Back to the host the Douglas rode, 


And started from the ground ; 


And soon glad tidings are abroad,' 


Arm'd and array'd for instant fight. 


That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain, 


Rose archer, spearman, squire and knight, 


His followers fled with loosen'd rein. — 


And m the pomp of battle bright 


That skumish closed the busy day, 


The dread battalia frowu'd.* 


And couch'd in battle's prompt array, 




Each army on their weapons lay. 


XXI. 




Now onward, and in open view. 


XIX. 


The countless ranks of England drew,* 


Tt was a night of lovely June, 


Dark rolUng like the ocean-tide. 


Ffitjh rode in cloudless blue the moon, 


Wlien the rough west hath chafed his pridfl, 


Demayet smUed beneath her ray ; 


And his deep roar sends challenge wide 


Old Stu-ling's towers arose in hght, 


To all that bars his way 1 


And, twined in hnks of silver bright, 


In front the gallant archers trode. 


Her winding river lay." 


The men-at-arms behmd them rode, 


Ah, gentle planet ! other sight 


And midmost of the phalanx broad 


Shall greet thee next returning night, 


The Monarch held his sway. 


' Of broken arms and banners tore, 


Beside him many a war-horse fumes, 


And marshes dark with human gore. 


Around him waves a sea of plumes. 


And piles of slaughter' d men and horse. 


Where many a knight in battle known. 


And Forth that floats the frequent corse, 


And some who spurs had first braced on, 


And many a woimded wretch to plain 


And deem'd that fight should see them won 


Beneath thy silver light in vain 1 


King Edward's bests obey. 


But now, from England's host, the cry 


De Argentine attends his side. 


Tliou hear'st of wassail revelry. 


With stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride 


Wliile from the Scottish legions pass 


Selected champions from the train, 


The murmur'd prayer, the early mass ! — 


To wait upon his bridle-rein. 


Here, numbers had presumption given ; 


Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 


There, bands o'er-match'd sought aid from 


— At once, before his sight amazed. 


Heaven. 


Sunk banner, spear, and sliield ; 




Each weapon-point is downward sent, 


XX. 


Each warrior to the ground is bent. 


Vn Gillie's-hill, whose height commands 


" The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 


The battle-field, fau- Edith stands, 


For pardon they have kneel'd." — • 


With serf and page unfit for war. 


" Aye ! — but they bend to other powers, 


To eye the conflict from afar. 


And other pardon sue than ours ! 


! with what doubtful agony 


See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands, 


She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 


And blesses them with Ufted hands !' 


Now on the Ochils gleams the sun, 


Upon the spot where they have kneel'd. 


And ghstens now Demayet dun ; 


These men wUl die, or win the field." — 


Is it the lark that carols shi-ill. 


— " Then prove we if they die or win ! 


Is it the bittern's early hum ? 


Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begm." 


MS. — " Back to his post the Douglas rode. 


fertile poetical powers of a writer, who had before so greas. j 


And soon the tidings are abroad." 


excelled in this species of description." — Monthly Reviiw. 


' The MS. here interposes the couplet — 


"The battle, we think, is not comparable to the lattle ii 


" Glancing by fits from hostile line, 


Marmion, though nothing can be finer than the «cene of co& 


Armor and lance return'd the shine." 


trasted repose and thoughtful anxiety by which it is intiodnoi^ 


• See Appendix, Note 3 V. 


(stanzas xix. xx. xxi.)" — Jeffrey. 


« " Although Mr. Scott retains that necessary and charac- 


6 See Appendix, Note 3 W. 


teristic portion of his peculiar and well-known manner, he is 


6 MS. — " De Argentine 1 the cowards repent 1 


free, we think, from any faulty self-imitation ; and the battle 


For mercy they have kneel'd." 


•f Bannockburn will remain forever as a monument of the 


1 See Appendix, Note 3 X. 



169 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAirro Ti 



XXIL 
Earl Gilbert -waved his truncheon high, 

Just as the Northern ranks arose, 
Signal for England's archery 

To halt and bend their bowa. 
Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pace, 
Glanced at the intervening space, 

And raised liis left hand high ; 
To the right ear the cords they bring — ' 
— At once ten thousand bow-strings ring. 

Ten thousand arrows fly 1 
Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
Tlie ceaseless fury of their shot ; 

As fiercely and as fast, 
Fortii whistling came the gray-goose wing 
As the wild hailstones pelt and ring 

Adown December's blast. 
Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide, 
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide ; 
Woe, woe to Scotland's banner'd pride. 

If the fell shower may last 1 
Upon the right, behind the wood. 
Each by his steed dismounted, stood 

The Scottish chivalry ; — 
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane. 
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
His own keen heart, his eager train. 
Until the archers gain'd the plain ; 

Then, " Mount, ye gallants free !" 
He cried ; and, vaulting from the ground, 
Hi? saddle every horseman found. 
On high their glittering crests" they toss, 
As springs the wild-fire from the moss ; 
The shield hangs down on every breast. 
Each ready lance is in the rest, 

And loud shouts Edward Bruce, — • 
" Forth, Marshal ! on the peasant foe 1 
We'll tame the terrors of their bow. 

And cut the bow-string loose 1"* 

XXIII. 
Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks, 
They rush'd among the archer ranks. 
No spears were there the shock to let. 
No stakes to turn the cliarcre were set. 
And how shall yeoman's armor slight, 
Stand the long lance and mace of might ? 
Or what may their short swords avail, 
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail ? 
Amid Iheir ranks the chargers sprung, 
High o'er their heads the weapons swung, 
And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 
Give note of triumph and of rout I , 

1 MS. — " Drew to his ear the silken strinp •• 
« MS.—" Their bran(li_sh'<i spears." 
8 See Appendix, Note 3 Y 
< Ibid. Note 3 Z. 
♦MS.— "An arm'd foe." 



Awhile, with stubborn hardihood, 

Their English hearts the strife made good. 

Borne down at length on every side, 

Compell'd to flight, they scatter wide.— 

I.et stags of Sherwood leap for glee, 

Aii'd bound the deer of Dallom-Lee I 

The broken bows of Bamiock's shore 

Shall in the greenwood ring no more 1 

Round Wakefield's merry May -pole n tw. 

The maids may twine tlie summer bough. 

May northward look with longing glance, 

For those that wont to lead the dance, 

For the bhthe archers look in vain ! 

Broken, dispersed, in fliglit o'erta'en, 

Pierced through, trode down, by thousand* s'aio 

They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 

XXIV. 
The King with scorn beheld then- flight. 
" Are these," he said, " our yeomen wight 
Each braggart chiu-l could boast before, 
Twelve Scottish lives his baldrick bore I* 
Fitter to plunder chase or park. 
Than make a manly foe* their mark. — 
Forward, each gentleman and k night I 
Let gentle blood show generous might. 
And chivalry redeem the fight !" 
To rightward of the wild affray 
The field show'd fair and level way; 

But, in mid space, the Bruce's care 
Had bored the grouni with many a pit. 
With turf and brushwood hidden yet,* 

That form'd a ghastly snare. 
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came. 
With spears in rest, and hearts on flame, 

Tliat panted for the shock ! 
With blazing crests and banners spread. 
And trumpet-clang and clamor dread, 
The wide plain thunder'd to their tread, 

As far as Stirling rock. 
Down I down in headlong overthrow. 
Horseman and horse, the foremost go.' 

Wild floundering on the field I 
The first are in destruction's gorge, 
Their followers wildly o'er them lu^ge ',— 

The knightly helm and sliield. 
The mail, the acton, and the spear, 
Strong hand, higli heart, are useless here . 
Loud from the mass confused the cry 
Of dying warriors swells on high, 
And steeds that shriek in agony !' 
They came Uke mountain-torrent red, 
That thimders o'er its rocky bed ; 

« MS. — " With many a pit the gronnd to hot*, 
With turf and brusliwood ♦evorV c « 
Had form'd," &c. 
' See Appendix, Note 4 A. 
8 ibid. Note 4 B. 



4 



p 



OANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



458 



rhey broKe like that nsime torrent's wave* 
Wlien 8wallow'd by a darksome cave. 
Billows on billows burst and boil, 
Maintaining stiU the stern turmoil, 
And to their wild and tortured groan 
Each adds new terrors of his own 1 

XXV. 
Too strong in courage and in might 
Was England yet, to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here ; 
Names that to fear were never known, 
Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton, 

And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
There Gloster plied the bloody sword, 
Anc' Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came,' 
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame— 
Pfames known too welP in Scotland's war, 
At Falku-k, Methven, and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after years, 
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
With caution o'er the ground they tread, 
Shppery with blood and piled with dead. 
Till hand to hand in battle set, 
The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side, 
Raged the full contest far and wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas tried, 
Then proved was Randolph's generous pride 
And well did Stewart's actions grace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmly they kept their ground ; 
As firmly England onward press'd. 
And down went many a noble crest, 

s The MS. has- 

" When plunging down some darksome cave, ^ 

Billow on billow rushing on, 
Follows the path the first had gone." 

' U impossible not to recollect our author's own lines,— 

As Bracklinn'e chasm, so black and steep. 

Receives her roaring linn, 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in; 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass." 

Ladij of the I^ake, Canto vi. stanza 16 

• M ' -" Bos*, Tybtot. Neville, Mauley, came." 

• MS — " Names known of yore," &o. 

• MS.— "Unshifting^foot," &c. 

'" All these, life's rambling journey done. 

Have found thkir home, the grave." -CowPKR. 

e " The dramatic, and even Shakspearian spirit of much of 
Jiis l>atlle, mufC. we think, sirike and delight the reader. We 
»as9 over much alternate an \ much stubborn and ' nnflinch- 
ng' conteir— 



And rent was many a valiant breast, 
And Slaughtei revell'd round. 

XXVI. 

Unflincliing foot* 'gainst foot was set. 
Unceasing blow by blow was met ; 

The groans of those who fell 
Were drown'd amid the shriller clang 
That from the blades and harness rang. 

And in the battle-yell. 
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot. 
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot ; 
And 1 amid tliat waste of life. 
What various motives fired the strife 1 
Tlie aspiring Noble bled for fame. 
The Patriot for his country's claim , 
This knight his youthful strength to prova^ 
And that to win his lady's love ; 
Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood. 
From habit some, or hardihood. 
But ruffian stern, and soldier good. 

The noble and the slave. 
From various cause the same wild road, 
On the same bloody morning, trode. 

To that dark inn, the grave !° 

XXVII. 

The tug of strife to flag begins, 
Though neither loses yet nor wins.' 
High rides the sun, thick roUs the dust,* 
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
And Randolph wipes liis bloody brow ; 
Nor less had toil'd each Southern knight, 
From morn till mid-day in the fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
Beauchamp undoes his visor clasp. 
And Montague must quit his spear, 

' The tug of strife to flag begins. 
Though neither loses yet nor wins ;' 

but the description of it, as we have ventured to propheiT, 
will last forever. 

" It will be as unnecessary for the sake of our readers, as it 
would be useless for the sake of the author, to point out vtanf 
of the obvious defects of these splendid passages, or of otnsR 
in the poem. Such a line as 

' The tug of strife to flag begins,' 

mnst wound every ear that has the least pretension to judge o) 
poetry ; and no one, we should think, can miss the ridioulow 
point of such a couplet as the subjoined, — 

' Each heart had caught the patriot spark 
Old man and stapling, priest and clerk.' " 

Monthly Revtera 

T " The adventures of the day are versified rather too Uterai. 
ly from the contemporary chronicles. The following passage 
however, is emphatic ; and exemplifies what this author basso 
often exemplified, the power of well-chosen and well-arrange< 
names to excite lofty emotions, with little aid either from mt 
timent or description."— Jeffrbv. 



,64 yCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 




And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere I 


XXX. 


Tlie blows of Berkley fall less fast, 


Tlie multitude that watch'd afar, 




Anc gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast 


Rejected from the ranks of war, 




Hatli lost its lively tone ; 


Had not immoved beheld the fight, 




Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word, 


When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right 




nd Percy's shout was fainter heard. 


Each heart had caught the patriot spark 




" My mcrrv-men, fight on 1" 


Old man and striphng, priest and clerk. 
Bondsman and serf; even female hand 




XXVIII. 


Stretch'd to the hatchet or the brand ; 




nee, with tu^ pilot's wary eye. 


But, when mute Amadine they heard 




De slackening' of the storm could spy. 


Give to their zeal his signal-word. 




" One effort more, and Scotland's free ! 


A phrensy fired the throng ; 




Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 


" Portents and miracles impeach 




Is firm as Ailsa Rock , 


Our sloth — the dumb our duties teach—. 




Rush on with Highland sword and targe, 


And he that gives the mute his speech. 




I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge ;' 


Can bid the weak be strong. 




Now, forward to the shock !'" 


To us, as to our lords, are given 




At once the spears were forward thrown, 


A native earth, a promised heaven ; 




Against the sun the broadswords shone ; 


To us, as to our lords, belongs' 




The pibroch lent its maddening tone, 


The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 




And loud King Robert's voice was 


The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, warmt 




known — 


Our breasts as theirs — To arms, to arms 1" 




•' Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail ! 


To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — 




Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 


And mimic ensigns high they rear,* 




The foe is famting fast ' 


And, like a banner'd host afar. 




Each strike for parent, child, and -wife, 


Bear down on England's wearied war. 




For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 






The battle cannot last 1" 


XXXL 

Already scatter'd o'er the plain, 




XXIX. 


Reproof, command, and counsel vain. 




The fresh and desperate onset bore 


The rearward squadrons fled amain, 




The foes three furlongs back and more, 


Or made but doubtful stay ; — '' 




Leaving their noblest in their gore. « 


But when they mark'd the seeming show 




Alone, De Argentine 


Of fresh and fierce and marshall'd foe, 




Yet bears on high his red-cross shield, 


The boldest broke array. 




Gathers the relics of the field, 


give their hapless prince hi? due !* 




Renews the ranks where they have reel'd, 


In vain the royal Edward threw 




And still makes good the line. 


His person 'niid the spears, 




Brief strife, but fierce, — his efforts raise 


Cried, " Fight !" to terror and despair, 




A briglit but momen+iry blaze. 


Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair,' 




Fair E((ith heard the Southron shout. 


And cm-sed their caitiff fears ; 




Beheld them turning from the rout. 


TiU Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein. 




Heard tne wild call their ti-umpets sent, 


And forced him from the fatal plain. 




In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 


"With them rode Argentine, until 




That rallying force, combined anew, 


They gain'd the summit of the hill, 




Appear'd in her distracted view 


But quitted there the train : — 




To hem the Islesmen round ; 


" In yonder field a gage I left, — 




" God ! the combat they renew, 


1 must not live of fame bereft ; 




And is no rescue found ! 


I needs must turn again. 




And ye that look thus tamely on, 


Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace 




And see your native land o'erthrown, 


The fiery Douglas takes the chase, 




O ! are your heart«« of flesh or stone ?"* 


I know his banner welL 




» MS.—" The sinking," &o. 


• See Appendix, Note 4 D. 




ii See Appendix, Note 4 C. 


' MS. — " And rode in bands away." 




8 MS.—" Then hurry to the shock I" 






4 MS. " of lead or stone." 


• See Appendix, Note 4 E. 




» MS.—" To n«, as well as them, delongs." 


» MS.—" Ana hade them dope amid deapalr. 





7ANT0 VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 46.-, 


God send my Sovereign joy and bliss, 


Yet, as he saw the King advance. 


And many a happier field than this 1 — 


He strove even then to couch his lance— 


Once more, my Liege, farewell." 


The effort was in vain ! 




The spur-stroke faU'd to rouse the horse ; 


XXXII. 


Wounded and weary, in mid course 


4.gain he faced the battle-field, — 


He stumbled on the plain. 


Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield.' 


Then foremost was the generous Bruce 


^ Now then," he said, and couch'd his spear, 


To raise his head, his helm to loose ; 


" My course is run, the goal is near ; 


" Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 


One effort more, one brave career, 


My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fat^ 


Must close this race of mine." 


Have made our meeting aU too late ; 


Then in his stirrups rising high. 


Yet tliis may Argentine, 


He shouted loud his battle-cry. 


As boon from ancient comrade, crave— 


" Saint James for Argentine 1" 


A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave." 


And, of the bold pursuers, four 




The gallant knight from saddle bore ; 


XXXIV. 


But not imharm'd — a lance's point 


Bruce press'd his dying hand — its grasp 


Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint, 


Kindly replied ; but, m liis clasp. 


An axe has razed his crest ; 


It stiffen'd and grew cold — 


Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord, 


" And, farewell !" the victor cried. 


Who press'd the chase with gory sword, 


" Of chivaliy the flower and pride, 


He rode with spear in rest. 


The arm in battle bold. 


And through his bloody tartans bored, 


The courteous mien, the noble race. 


And tlu-ough his gallant breast. 


The stainless faith, the manly face ' — 


Nail'd to the earth, the mountaineer 


Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine, 


Yet writhed him up against the spear. 


For late-wake of De Argentine. 


And swung his broadsword round ! 


O'er better knight on death-bier laid, 


— Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way, 


Torch never gleam'd nor mass was said '" 


Beneath that blow's tremendous sway. 




The blood gush'd from the woimd ; 


XXXV. 


And the grim Lord of Colonsay 


Nor for De Argentine alone, 


Hath turn'd him on the ground. 


Through Ninian's church these torcy.x's saimn, 


And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade 


And rose the death-prayer's awfui .0 iv.* 


The mortal thrust so well repaid. 


That yellow lustre glimmer'd pul^.-, 




On broken plate and bloodied ^i-ail. 


XXXIIL 


Rent crest and shatter'd coro, y.,, 


Now toil'd the Bruce, the battle done, 


Of Baron, Earl, and Banner*, 1, ; 


To use his conquest boldly won ;" 


And the best names that L inland knew 


And gave command for horse and spear 


Claim'd in the death-pra", er dismal due * 


To press the Southron's scatter'd rear. 


Yet mourn not, Lf.1i i of Fame ! 


Nor le'. his broken force combine. 


Though ne'er the Ifoj/a ds on thy shield 


— Wlien the war-cry of Argentine 


Retreated from so ,a j a field. 


FeU faintly on his ear ; 


Since NoniJj«o WiUiam Cime. 


•* Save, save his Ufe," he cried, " sare 


Oft may tiling ^ruials justly boasi 


The kind, the noble, and the brave I" 


Of battles a' jrj by Scotland lost; 


The squadrons round free passage gave. 


Grudge not her victory. 


The wounded knight drew near ; 


When f/f her freeborn rights she strove, 


He I aised his red-cross shield no more, 


Rip^it J dear to all who freedom love,' 


Helm, cuish, and breastplate stream'd with gore. 


To none so dear as thee !* 


> The MS. has not the seven lines which follow. 


•r a sting— though we think that the author hat jazaraei, 


• MS. — " Now toil'd the Bruce as leailers ought, j 


afier too little embellishment in recording the adventures ut 


To use his conquest boldly bought." i 


the Bruce. There are many places, at least, in which he hai 


» See Appendix, Note 4 F. 


evidently given an air of heaviness and flatness to his narration 


MS — " And the best names that England owns 


by adhering too closely to the authentic history ; and has low 


f well the sad death-prayer's dismal tones 


ered down the tone of hi.=. poetry to the tame level ol ihe rnd% 


' MS. — " When for her rights her sword was barev 


chroniclers by whom the incidents were originally record'id. 


Rights dear to all who freedom share." 


There is a more serious and general fault, however, in the coo 


• ' The fictitious oart of the story is, on the who tin >a8t 
.TO 


dnct of all th's par* nf th<s story, — and that is. that it in no« 



466 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CATTTO n 



XXXVI 
Turn ■we to Bruce, wlidse curious ear 
Must from P^itz-Louis ticliiigs hear; 
With liini. a liundretl voices tell 
Of prodii,'y and mu'acle, 

" For tlwj mute page had spoke " — 
" Page !" said Fitz-Louij, " rathei say, 
An angel sent from realms of day, 

To burst the English yoke. 
1 saw his plume and bonnet drop, 
When hurrying from the mountain top; 
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave, 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A. step as light upon the green, 
As if liis pmions waved unseen !" 
■' Spoke he with none ?" — " With none — o le 

word 
Burst when he saw the Island Lord,' 
Returning from the battle-field." — 
"What answer made the Cliief?" — "He 

kneel'd, 
Durst .'ot look up, but mutter'd low. 
Some muigled sounds that none might know,' 
And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear. 
As bfino- of superior sphere." 

XXXVII. 

Ev*!* upon Bannock's bloody plain, 
Heap'd then with thousands of the slain, 
'M.'' victor monarch's musings high. 
Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye 
" And bore he such angelic air. 
Such noble front, such waving hair ? 
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him ?" he said, 
" Then must we call the church to aid — 



it.fllcientty national — and breathes nothing either of that ani- 
mosity towards England, or tliat exultation over her defeat, 
which must have animated all Scotland at the period to which 
he rel'ers ; and ought, conseijuently, to have been the ruling 
pas'^ioii of his poem. Mr. Scott, however, not only dwells 
fon My on the valor and generosity of the invaders, but actually 
viakcs an elaborate apology to the English for having ventured 
to select for his theme a story which records their disasters. 
We hope this extreme courtesy is not intended merely to ap- 
pease critics, and attract readers in the southern part of the 
i»'and — and yet it is diflRenlt to see for what other purposes it 
ciiiii>' be assumed. Mr. Scott certainly need not have been 
afr.ii I either of exciting rebellion among his countrymen, or of 
•r.pging his own liberality and loyalty into (juestion, although, 
in •[.'•akiiii' of th" eve'its of that remote period, where an over- 
:je<i' Mg conqueror wa.-. overthrown in a lawless attempt to sub- 
doe an independent kingdom, he had given full expression to the 
hatred and exultation which must have prevailed among the 
victors and are indeed the only passions which can be supposed 
U> b» excited by the story of their exploits. It is not natural, 
»nd we are sure it is not poetical, to represent the agents in 
locli tremtndons scenes as calm and indulgent judges of the 
motives or merits of their opponents ; and, by lending such a 
eharai ter to the leaders of his host, the author has actually 
lessened the interest of the miglitv fight of Bannockbnm, to 
ihai which might be supposed to belong to a well-egulated 
loanament among friendly rivals. ' — Jeffrey. 



Our will be to the Abbot known. 
Ere these strange news are wider blown. 
To Cambuskeuneth straight ye pass. 
And deck the church for solemn mass,* 
To pay for high deliverance given, 
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. _ 
Let him array, besides, such state. 
As should on princes' nuptials wviit. 
Ourself the cause, through ftirtunc s spite, 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will grace, with early morn. 
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."" 



CONCLUSION, 



Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way ; 
Go boldly forth; nor yet thy master. blame, 
Wlio chose no patron for his humble lay, 
And graced thy numbers with no ftiendlj 

name. 
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path tfl 

fame. 
There tms — and ! how many sorrows crowd 
Into these two brief words ! — there was a claim 
By generous friendship given — had fate allow'd 
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of tlir 

proud ! 

All angel now — ^yet little less than aU, 
Wliile still a pilgrim in our world below I 
Wliat 'vails it us that patience to recall, 
Wliich hid its own to soothe all other woe . 
What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest gl jw 

1 MS. — " Excepted to the Island Lord, 

When turning," &c. 

2 MS. — " Some mingled sounds of joy and woe." 
8 The MS. adds :— 

" That priests and choir, with morning beams, 
Prepare, with reverence as beseems, 
To pay," &c. 

4 " l?rnce issues orders for the celebration of the nuptials , 
whether they were ever solemnized, it is impossible tc say. At 
critics, we should certainly have forbidden the banns ; be 
cause, although it is conceivable that the mere lapse of timi. 
might not have eradicated the passion of Editi, yet how snci 
a circumstance alone, without even the assistancn "* an n 
terview, could have created one in the bosom ot Ronald i» 
alttgether inconceivable. He must have proposed to marn 
her merely from compassion, or for the sake of her lands 
and, upon either supposition, it would have "imported wit* 
the delicacy of Edith to refuse his prultered hand." — Qua? 
ter/y Review. 

" To Mr. .James Ballantyne. — Dear Sir, — Yon have now 
the whole affair, excepting two or three concluding stanzaa 
As your taste for bride's-cake may induce yon to desire t« 
kiiov Tiore of the -vedi'ing, I will save you some criticism by 
saying, I have settled to stop short as above. — Witness nu 
hand. • W. S" 



CANTO VI. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



+6^ 



SLvAie yet more lovely in a form so fair :' 
And, least of all, vliat Vails the world should 
icr.-iw. 

' The rfailor is referred to Mr. Hogg's " Pilgrims of the 
Bun" for some beautiful lini'S, and a highly interesting note, 
en the (ieatli of the Duchess of Buecleuch. See ante, p. 412. 

'■i The Edniburg-h Rcoicwer (Mr. Jeffrey) says, " The story 
»f thf Lorl of the Isles, in so far as it is fictitious, is palpably 
Jefii:ieut both in interest and ;irobability ; and, in so far as it is 
founned on historical truth, seems to us to be objectionable, 
!ioiii for want of incident, and want of variety and connection 
in the incidents that occur. There is a romantic grandeur, 
nowr /er, in the scenery, and a sort of savage greatness and 
rude antiquity in many of the characters and events, which 
telle VPS the insipidity of the narrative, and atones for many 
delec*'' in the execution." * 

Af'ei giving copious-citations from what he considers as 
" the better parts of the poem," the critic says, " to give a 
complete and impartial idea of it, we ought to subjoin some 
from its more faulty passages. But this is but an irksome task 
It all times, and, with such an author as Mr. Scott, is both in- 
vidious and unnecessary. Kis faults are nearly as notorious as 
his beauties ; and we have announced in the outset, that they 
are equally conspicuous in this as in his other productions. 
There are innumerable harsh lines and uncouth expressions, — 
passages of a coarse a»d heavy diction, — and details of unin- 
teresting minuteness and oppressive explanation. It is need- 
less, after this, to quote such couplets as 

' A damsel tired of midnight bark. 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark,'— 

'Tis d kind youth, bnt fanciful. 
Unfit against the tide to pull ;' — 

or to recite the many weary pages which con'Ain M' A^ t- 
quies of [sabel and Edith, and set forth the jnir'.dll'jibl' /ea- 
Bons of their unreasonable conduct. The cf icer .« r. t' <se 
two young ladies, indeed, form the hea /ies' p? v of Jie ^opti. 
The mawkish generosity of the on';, a'J t' <. pi'.eoi's fidelity 
of the other, are equally oppressive to tht re-.der, and do not 
tend at "U to put him in good humor wi'.n Lord Ronald, — 
who, tnough the beloved of both, ai.d tKe nominal hero of the 
work, is certainly as far as possible f'om an interesting person. 
The lovers of poetry have a particular aversion to the incon- 
stancy of other lovers,— and especially to that sort of incon- 
stancy which is liable to the suspicion of being partly inspired 
by worldly ambition, and partly abjared from considerations 
of a still meaner selfishness. We suspect, therefore, that they 
»vill have but little indulgence for the fickleness of the Lord of 
/he isles, who brealfs the troth he had pledged to the heiress of 
JiOrn, as soon as w sees a chance of succeeding with the 
King's sister, and comes back to the slighted bride, when his 
loyal mistress takes the vows in a convent, and the heiress 
U»t« i-ito possession of her lands, by the forfeiture of her bro- 
Siei These characters, and this stoiy, form the great blemish 
»t' tne poem , bnt it has rith;r less fire and flow and facility, 
in think, on the whol?, than some of the author's other per- 



The Monthly Reviewer thus assails the title of the '^oeni :— 
The li< id of the Isles himself, selon les regies of I»Ir. ^crtt'« 
lOin )Ositions, being the hero, is not the first per.jn in the 
f,oem. The attendant here is always in whif m'.slir, ar.a 
rilburina herself in white linen. Still, p-moLg 'lie 'jeriero- 
pro.oi (or second best) of Jbe antlior, ^.jrd AciaW holus a re- 
<;*'!a'le rank. He is not so Jie , f .«»^ic-'..nt';rn figure, 
o'.c'" si^n ^n b>wp» ard o-.ce "n ' el'', i»" Lot J Canstoun ; he 
>at »\ceei'f that Same raU >it hoileu tu rp^gs without onion or 



That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hail 
Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop ^ud withei 
there !' 

other sauce, De Wilton ; and although he certainly falls in 
finitely short of that accomplished swimmer Malcolm Grienie, 
yet he rises proportionably above the red-haired BedmonV. 
Lord Ronald, indeed, bating his intended marriage wiih 0'r!4 
woman while he loves another, is a verv noble felluw ; i:i(i, 
were he not so totally eclipsed by ' The Bruce.' he would rivj 
served very well to give a title to any octosyllabic epic, wereil 
even as vigorous and poetical as the present. Neverth 'li s^s ii 
would have been just as proper to call Virgil's divine poeii? 
'The Jlnchiseid,' as it is to call this 'The Lord of the Isles.' 
To all intents and purposes the aforesaid quarto is, and oughi 
to be. ' The Bruce.' " 

The Monthly Reviewer thus concludes his article: — "In 
some detached passages, the present poem may challenge any 
of Mr. Scott's compositions; and perhaps in the Abbc'.'s in 
voluntary blessing it excels any single part of any one of then; 
The battle, too, and many dispersed lines besides, have trans- 
cendent merit. In point of fable, however, it has not the grac^ 
and elegance of ' The Lady of the Lake,' nor the general clear 
ness and vivacity of its narrative ; nor the unexpected happi 
ness of its catastrophe ; and still less does it asjiire to the praise 
of the complicated, but very ptoper and well-managed stor\ 
of 'Rokeby.' It has nothing so pathetic as 'The Cypress 
Wreath ;' nothing so sweetly touching as the last evening scene 
at Rokeby, before it is broken by Bertram ; nothing (with the 
exception of the Abbot) so awfully melancholy as much o; 
Mortham's history, or so powerful as Bertram's farewell to 
Edmund. It vies, as we have already said, with ' Marmion, 
in the generally favorite part of that poem ; bnt what has ii 
(with the exception before stated) equal to the immurement ol 
Constance ? On the whole, however, we prefer it to ' Mai-- 
mion ;' which, in spite of much merit, always had a sort ol 
noisy royal-circus air with it ; a clap-trcppery, if we may ver. 
ture on such a word. ' Marmion,' in short, has become quit* 
identified with Mr. Brahain in our minds ; and we are there 
fore not perhaps unbiased judges of its perfections. Finally, 
we do not hesitate to place ' The Lord of the Isles' below bctl 
of Mr. Scott's remaining longer works ; and as to ' The Lay ol 
the Last Min'^trel,' for numerous commonplaces and separate 
beauties, that poem, we believe, still constitutes one of tlu 
highest steps, if not the very highest, in the ladder of the au- 
thor's reputation. The characters of the present tale (with 
the exception of 'The Bruce,' who is vividly painted (Voir 
history — and of some minor sketches) are certainly, in pointA' 
invention, of the most nnvel, that is, of the most Minerva-pres 
description ; and, as to the language and versification, th 
poem is in its general course as inferior to ' Rokeby' (by mud 
the most correct and tlie least justly appreciated of the author'i 
works) as it is in the construction and conduct of i's fabls 
It supplies whole pages of the most jirosaic narrative ; but, U 
we conclude by recollecting, it displays also whole paige* 
the noblest poetry.' 



The British C^iHc says : " No poti. . Mr, Scott »a3 ye 
appeared with fairer claims to the public attention. If it l.avf 
less pathos than the Lady of the Lake, or less display of chat 
acter than Marmion, it surpasses them both in grandeur o' 
conception, and ilignity of versification. It is in every respec, 
decidedly superior to Rokeby ; and though it may not reatl 
the Lay of the Last Minstrel in a few splendid passages, it U 
far more perfect as a whole. The fame of Mr. Scott, amon| 
those who are capable of distinguishing the rich ore of poew. 
from the dross which surrounds it, will receive no small advanco- 
ment by this last effort of his genius. We discover in it s 
brilliancy in detached expressions, and a power of language ft 



1(38 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



• oe 'ombination of images, which has never yet appeared in 
»ny of his previous publications. 

" VVe would also believe that as his strength has increased, 
so his glaring errors have been diminished. But so imbedded 
ind ingraineil are these in the gems of his excellence, that no 
olinrlness can overlook, no art can divide or destroy their con- 
aec'ion. Th;y must bo tried together at the ordeal of time, 
tnd descend unseparateo 'o posterity. Could Mr. Scott but 
endow his |)ur|)Oses with words' — could he but decorate the 
■nsiice and tiie splendor of his conceptions with more unal- 
loyed aptness of expression, and more uniform strength and 
harmony of I'umbers, he would claim a place in the highest 
rank among the poets of natural feeling and natural imagery. 
Uven as it is, with all his faults, we love him still ; and when 
le shall cease to write, we shall find it difficult to supply his 
vlace with a better." 



The Quarterly Reviewer, after giving his outline of the story 
af the Lord of the Isles, thus jiroceeds : — " In whatever point 
■)f view it be regarded, whether with reference to the incidents 
it contains, or tlie agents by whom it is carried on, we think 
;hat one less calculated to keep alive the interest and curiosity 
of the reader couL not easily have been conceived. Of the 
characters, we cannot say much ; they are not conceived with 
tny great degree of originality, nor delineated with any par- 
icular spirit. Neither are we disposed to criticise with mi- 
nuteness the incidents of the story ; but we conceive that the 
ivhole poem, considering it as a narrative poem, is projected 
upon wrong principles. 

" The story is obviously composed of two independent plots, 
lonneoted with each other merely by the accidental circum- 
■tances of time and place- The liberation of Scotland by 
iJruce has not naturally any more connection with the loves of 
Ronald and the Maid of Lorn, than with those of Dido and 
(Eneas ; nor are we able to conceive any possible motive which 
• hould have induced Mr. Scott to weave them as he has done 
into the same narrative, except the desire of combining the ad- 
>antages of an heroical, with what we may call, for want of an 
appropriate word, an ethical subject ; an attempt which we 
I'eel assured he never would have made, had he duly weighed 
ihe very different principles upon which these dissimilar sorts 
jf poetry are founded. Thus, had Mr. Scott introduced the 
loves of Ronald and the Maid of Lorn as an episode of an 
I'pic poem upon the subject of the battle of Bannockburn, its 
want of connection with the main action might have been ex- 
cused, in favor of its intrinsic merit; but, by a great singa- 
j|'ity of judgment, he has introduced the battle of Bannockburn 
u an e.)i«ode, in the loves of Ronald and the Maid of Lorn. 
To say nothing of the obvious preposterousness of such a de- 
>ijn. abstractedly considered, the effect of it has, we think, 
locidedly been to destroy that interest which either of them 
.a gilt separately have created : or, if any interest remain re- 
. pelting the fate of the ill-requited Edith, it is because at no 
•nonent of the poem do we feel the slightest degree of it, re- 
vei ting 'he enterprise of Bruce. 

' '*'hi nnanr beautiful passages which we have extracted 



from the poem, combined -"vith me brief ren^iffes B<^bjoined U 
each canto, will sufficient!, .thov , hat aithon;!, tlie lK)Td a( 
the Isles is not likely to add very nr.uch ts. the •'.pu.'ation o> 
Mr. Scott, yet this must be imputed rather to the greatness o< 
his previous reputation, than to the absolute inferiority of th* 
poem itself. Unfortunately, its merits are merely incidental, 
while its defects are mi.xed up with the very elements of th» 
poem. But it is not in the power of Mr. Scott to write with 
tameness ; be the subject what it will (and he could not easily 
have chosen one more impracticable), lif^ impresses upon what- 
ever scenes he describes, so much movement and activity, — he 
infuses into his narrative such a flow of life, and, if we may 
so express ourselves, of animal spirits, that without satisfying 
the judgment, or moving the feelings, or elevating the mind, on 
even very greatly interesting the curiosity, he is able to seiz9 
upon, and, as it were, exhilarate the imagination of his readers, 
in a manner which is often truly unaccountable. This quality 
Mr. Scott possesses in an admirable degree ; and supposing that 
he had no other object in view than to convince the world ol 
the great poetical powers with which he is gifted, the poem 
before us would be quite s-ifiicient for his purpose. Bnt this 
is of very inferior importance to the public ; what they want 
is a good poem, and as exf,^rience has shown, this can only be 
constructed upon a solid foundation of taste and judgment 
and meditation." 

" These passages [referrinj; to the preceding extract from the 
Quarterly, and that from the Edinburgh Review, at the 
commencement of the poem] appear to me to condense the 
result of deliberate and candid reflection, and I have therefore 
quoted them. The most important remarks of either Essayist 
on the details of the plot and execution are annexed to the last 
edition of the poem ; and show such an exact coincidence of 
judgment in two masters of their calling, as had not hitherto 
been exemplified in the professional criticism of his metrical 
romances. The defects which both point oat, are, I presume, 
but too completely explained by the preceding statement of 
the rapidity with which this, the last of those great perfor- 
mances, had been thrown off; — [see Life, vol. v. pp. 13-15] 
— nor do I see that either Reviewer has failed to do suflScient 
justice to the beauties which redeem the im])eri'ections of the 
Lord of the Isles — except as regards the whole character of 
Bruce, its real hero, and the picture of the Battle of Bannock 
burn, which, now that one can compare these works frora 
something like the same point of view, does not appear to me 
in the slightest particular inferior to the Flodden of Marmion. 

" This poem is now, I believe, about as popular as Rokeby ; 
bnt it has never reached the same station in general favor with 
the Lay, Mannion, or the Lady of the Lake. The first edition 
of 1800 copies in quarto, was, however, rapidly disposed of, 
and the separate editions in 8vo, which ensued before his po- 
etical works were collected, amounted together to 15,250 copies 
This, in the case of almost any other author, would have been 
splendid success ; but, as compared with what he had pre 
viously experienced, even in his Rokeby, and still more so ai 
compared with the enormons circulation at once attained by 
Lord Byron's early tales, which were then following each o'hei 
in almost breathless succession, the falling rT Iras decided. — 
Lockhart, vol, V. p. 37. 



— . ■-^■y..,-.. — ■ ■ -■.^.^,— ^ -^ -.- -.- — 



APPENBIX, 



Note A. 
Thy rugged halls, jirtornish I rung.-~T. 415. 

1ii« ruins of the Castle of Artornish are situated upon a 
(iromontory, on the Morven, or mainland side of the Sound of 
MaU, ? name given to the deep arm of the sea, which divides 
that island from the continent. The situation is wild and ro- 
Biantie in the highest degree, having on the one hand a high 
and precipitous cliain of rocks overlianging the sea, and on the 
other the narrow entrance to the beautiful salt-water lake, 
called Loch AUine. which is in many jjlaces finely fringed with 
copsewood. The ruins of Artornish are not now very consid- 
erable, and consist chiefly of the remains of an old keep, or 
tower, with fragments of outward defences. But, in former 
days, it was a place of great consequence, being one of the 
principal strongholds, which the Lords of the Isles, during the 
period of their stormy independence, possessed upon the main- 
land of Argyleshire. Here they assembled what popular tra- 
dition calls their parliaments, meaning, I suppose, their cour 
pleniere, or assembly of feudal and patriarchal vassals and de- 
pendents. From this Castle of Artornish, upon the 19lh day 
of October, 1461, John de Yle, designing himself Earl of Ross 
and Lord of the Isles, granted, in the style of an independent 
sovereign, a commission to his trusty and well-beloved cousins, 
Ronald of the Isles, and Duncan. Arch-Dean of the Isles, for 
empowering them to enter into a treaty with the most excellent 
Prince Edward, by the grace of God, King of France and 
England, and Lord of Ireland. Edward IV., on his part, 
named Laurence, Bishop of Durham, the Earl of Worcester, 
the Trior of St. John's, Lord VVcnIock, and Mr. Robert Stil- 
lington, keeper of the privy seal, his deputies and commission- 
ers, to confer with those named by the Lord of the Isles. The 
conference terminated in a treaty, by which the Lord of the 
Isles agreed to become a vassal to the crown of England, and 
■o assist Edward IV. and James, Earl of Douglas, then in ban- 
■•bment, in subduing the realm of i'-'cotland. 

The first article provides, that John de Isle, Earl of Ross, 
nrith his son Donald Balloch, and his grandson John de Isle, 
with all their subjects, men, people, and inhabitants, become 
vassals and liegemen to Edward IV. of England, and cissist 
him in his wars in Scotland or Ireland ; and then follow the 
allowances to be made to the Lord of the Isles, in recompense 
of his military service, and the jirovisions for dividing such 
conquests as their united arms should make upon the main- 
land of Scotland among the cOLifederates. These appear such 
surious illustrations of the period, that they are here sub- 
[orned : 

" Item, The seid John Erie of Rosse shall, from the seid fest 
«f VVhittesoiityde next comyng, yerely, duryng his lyf, liave 
tnd lake, for fees and wages in tyme of peas, of the seid most 
iiigh and Christien prince c. marc sterlyng of Englysh money ; 
ind in tynre of werre, as long as he shall entende with his 
myght and power in the said werres, in manner and fourme 
ibovesaid, he shall have wages of ccc. lb. sterlyng of English 
Tioney yearly ; and after the rate of the tyme that he shall be 
occupied in the seid werres. 

" Item, The seid Donald shall, from the seid feste of Whit- 
tesontyde, have and take, during his lyf, yerly, in tyme of 
peas, for his fees and wages, xx I. sterlyng of Englysh money : 
and, when he sha'l be occupied and intend to the werre, with 
H« myght and power, and in inanik:>r and lirme aboveseid. 



he shall have and take, for his wages yearly, si l. sterlyuge • 
Englysli money ; or for the rate of the tyme of werre 

" Item, The seid John, sonn and heire ajiparant of vne ta 
Donald, shall have and take, yerely, from tlie seid fest, for hi 
fees and wages, in the tyme of peas, x 1. sterlynge of Englysl 
money ; and for tyme of werre, and his intendyng thereto, it 
manner and fourme aboveseid, he shall have, for his fees ane 
wages, yearly xx 1. sterlynge of Englysh money ; or after th« 
rate of the tyme that he shall be occupied in the werre .•knrf 
the seid John, th' Erie Donald and John, and eche jf tnem, 
shall have good and snfiiciaunt painient of the seid fees and 
wages, as wel for tyme of peas as of werre, accordyng to theei 
articules and appoyntements. Itirm, It is appointed, accorded, 
concluded, and finally determined, that, if it so be that here- 
after the said reaume of Scotlande, or the more part thereof, 
be conquered, subilued, and brought to the obeissance of the 
seid most high and Christien prince, and his heires, or succes- 
soures, of the seid Lionell, in founne aboveseid descendyng, be 
the assistance, heljie, and aide of the said John Erie of Rosse, 
and Donald, and of James Erie of Douglas, then, the said 
fees and wages for the tyme of peas cessying, the same erles and 
Donald shall have, by the graunte of the same most Christien 
prince, all the possessions of the said reaume beyonde Scottishe 
see, they to be departed equally betwix them : eche of them, 
his heires and successours, to liolde his parte of the seid mosi 
Christien prince, his heires and successours, for evermore, in 
right of his eroune of England, by homage and feaute to bt 
done therefore. 

" Item, If so be that, by th' aide and assistence of the seid 
James Erie of Douglas, the said reaume of Scotlande be con- 
quered and subdued as above, then he shall have, enjoie, am! 
inherite all his own possessions, landes, and inheritaunce, on 
this syde the Scottishe see ; that is to saye, betwixt the seid 
Scottishe see and Englande, such he hath rejoice<l and be pos 
sessed of before this ; there to holde them of the said most high 
and Christien prince, his heires, and successours, as is above 
said, for evermore, in right of the coroune of Englonde, as wee! 
the said Erie of Douglas, as his heires and successours, by 
homage and feaute to be done therefore." — Rymer's Fcbti'^'i 
Conventiones lAtcras et cujuscunqiie generis Acta Publica 
fol. vol. v., 1741. 

Such was the treaty of Artornish : but it does not aiipeat 
that the allies ever made any very active effort to realize tlieii 
ambitious designs. It will serve to show both the power of 
these reguli, and their independence upon tlje crown of Scot- 
land. 

It is only farther necessary to say of the Castle of Artornirii 
that it is almost opposite to the Bay of Aros, in the Island at 
Mull, where there was another castle, the occasional residenc* 
of the Lords of the Isles. 



Note B. 



Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark, 
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark. — P. 416. 

Tvie sea. displays a taste for music, which could si^arcely D< 
expected from his habits and local predilections. They wiL 
long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played 
and even a tune simply whistled has ^ttractirn3 for them 



(70 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



'f l>e Dean of the Isles saj « of Heiskar, a small uninhabited 
rook, about twelve (Scottish) miles from the isle of Uist, that 
an inlinile slaughtp' of seals takes place there. 



Note C. 

a turret's a.ry head 



Slender and steep, and battlei' round, 

O'erluo/c'd, dark .Mull ! thy mighty Sound. — P. 417. 

te Sound of Mull, whicl divides that island from the con- 
itpnt of Scotland, is one of the most striking scenes which the 
Hebrides :tflord to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, 
ir Tubermorj, 'hrongb a narrow channel, yet deep enough to 
lear vessels of tne laigest burden, he has on his left the bold 
and mountainous shores of Mull ; on the right those of that 
liistr'?' of Argyleshire, called Morven, or Morvern, succes- 
iively indented by deep salt-water lochs, running up many 
miles inland. To the southea;-tward anse a prodigious range 
)f mountains, among which Cruachan-Ben is pre-eminent. 
And to the northeast is the no less huge and picturesque range 
lif the Ardnamurchan hills. Many ruinous castles, situated 
generally upon cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest to the 
fcene. Those of Donolly and Dunstaffnage are first passed, 
then that of Duart, formerly belonging to the chief of the war- 
like and powerful sept of Macleans, and the rcene of Miss 
Baillie's beautiful tragedy, entitled the Family Legend. Still 
passing on to the northward, Artornish and Aros become vis- 
ible upon the opjiosite shores ; and, lastly, Mingarry, and other 
ruins of less distlnguislied note. In fine weather, a grander 
and more impressive scene, both from its natural beauties, and 
associations with ancient history and tradition, can hardly be 
imagined. When tlie weather is rough, the passage is both 
rtitficult and dangerous, from the narrowness of the channel, 
and in part from the number of inland lakes, out of which sally 
forth a number of conflicting and thwarting tides, making tlie 
navigation perilous to open boats. The sudden flaws and 
gusts of wind which issue without a moment's warning from 
'.he mountain glens, are equally formidable. So that in un- 
settled weather, a stranger, if not much accustomed to the 
lea, may sometimes add to the other sublime sensations ex- 
eited by the scene, that feeling of dignity which arises from a 
lense of danger. 



Note D. 



" these sens behold, 

Round twice a hundred islands roll'd. 
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, 
To the green I/ay's fertile shore." — P. 417. 

The number of the western isles of Scotland e.xceeds two 
nandred, of which St. Kilda is the most northerly, anciently 
^Ik'd Hirth, or Hirt, probably from "earth," being in fact 
the whole globe to its inhabitants. Hay, which now belongs 
almost entirely to Walter Campbell,, Esq., of Shawfield, is by 
far the most fertile of the Hebrides, and has beeu greatly im- 
proved under the spirited and sag.icious management of the 
iresent proprietor. This was in ancient times the princii)al 
ibcde of the Lords of the Isles, being, if not the largest, the 
most important island of their archiiH.'lago. In Martin's time, 
wme relics of their grandeur were yet extant. " Loch-Fin- 
iSfui. about three miles in circumference, affords salmon, 
jouts. and eels : this lake lies in the centre of the isle. The 
'sle Finl.-igan, from which tliis lake hath its name, is in it. It's 

amou- for being once the court in which the great Miic-Don- 
tld, Knig of the Isles, ha.l his residence; his houses, chapel, 
kc are nou runious. His guards de corps, called Luchttach, 
te,ii guard on the lake side nearest to the isle ; the walls of 

Aeii hmsej <ue still to be seen there. The high court of judi- 



cature, consisting of fourteen, sat always hers ; and there WB< 
an appeal to them from all the courts in the isles : the eleventh 
share of the sum in debate was due to the principal judge. 
There was a big stone of seven foot square, in which there was 
a deep impression made to receive the feet of Mac-Donald ; 
for he was crowned King ot the Isles standing in this stone 
and swore that he would continue his vassals in the possession 
of their lands, and do exact justice to all his subjects ; and 
then his father's sword was put into his iiand. The Bishojf 
of Argyle and seven priests anointed him king, in presence of 
all the heads of the tribes in the isles and continent, and were 
his vassals ; at whicli time the orator rehearsed a catalogue of 
his ancestors," &c.— Martin's .Account of the JVettern lilet 
8vo. London, 1716, p. 240, 1. 



Note E. 



Mingarry sternly placed, 

O'erawes the woodland and the waste. — P. 117. 

The Castle of Mingarry is situated on the sea-coast of tl.« 
district of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, which are tolerably 
entire, are surrounded by a very high wall, forming a kind of 
polygon, for the purpose of adapting itself to the projecting 
angles of a precipice overhanging the sea, on which the castle 
stands. It was anciently the residence of the Mac-Ians, a 
clan of Mac-Donalds, descended froai Ian, or John, a grand 
son of Angus Og, Lord of the Isles. The last time that Min- 
garry was of military importance, occurs in the celebrated 
Leabhar de.trg, or Red-book of Clanonald, a MS. renowned 
in the Ossianic controversy. Allaster Mae-Donald, commonly 
called Colquitto, wno commanded the Irish auxiharies, sent 
over by the Earl of Antrim, during the great civil war, to the 
assistance of Montrose, began his enterprise in 1044, by taking 
the castles of Kinloch-AUine, and Mingarry, the last of which 
made considerable resistance, as might, from the strength of 
the sitnation, be expected. In the mean while, Allaster Mac- 
Donald's ships, which had brought him over, were attacked 
in Loch EisorJ, in Skye, by an armament sent round by the 
covenanting parliament, and his own vessel was taken. This 
circumstance is said chiefly to have induced him to continue 
in Scotland, where there seemed little prospect of raising an 
army in behalf of the King. He had no sooner moved east- 
ward to join Montrose, a junction which he effected in ths 
braes of Athole, than the Marquis of Argyle besieged tha 
castle of Mingarry, but without success. Among other war- 
riors and chiefs whom Argyle summoned to his camp to assist 
upon this occasion, was John of Moidart, the Cajjtain of Clan- 
ronald. ClanronaUl appeared ; but. far from yielding effec- 
tual assistance to Argyle, he took the opportunity of being iu 
arms to lay waste the district of Sunart, then belonging to the 
adherents of Argyle, auu sent part of the spoil to relieve the 
Castle of Mingarry. Thus the castle was maintained until re- 
lieved by Allaster Mac-Donald (Colquitto), who had been de- 
tached for the purpose by Montrose. These particulars iw 
hardly worth mentioning, were they not connected "»ith Jn 
memorable successes of Montrose, related ty va e^ernlticm 
and hitherto unknown to Scottish historians. 



Note F. 

The heir of mighty Somcrlcd. — P. 41*'. 

Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the fsles, abont 
the middle of the twelfth century. He seems to have exer- 
cised his authority in both cajiacities. independent of tin 
crown of Scotland, against whiidi he often stood in hostility 
He made various incursions upon the western lowlands during 
the reign of Malcolm IV., and seems to have made peace wilb 
him upon the terms of an independent prince, about the yea 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47 1 



U57. In 1164, lie resumed the war against Malcolm, and in- 
taded Scotland with a large bu', probably a tumultuary army, 
sollecled in the isles, ir the mainland of Argyleshire, and in 
the neijjIiboriBg provinces of Ireland. He was defeated and 
ilain in an engagement with a very inferior force, near Ren- 
frew. Mi« son Gillicolane fell in the same battle. This mighty 
uhieftaiii married a daughter of Olans, King of Man. From 
iiini our genealogists deduce two dynasties, distinguished in 
the stormy history of the middle ages ; the Lords of the Isles 
descended from his elder son Ronald, — and the Lords of Lorn, 
xho "ooK. their sirname of M'Dougal, as descended of his sec- 
md soil riouga! That Soraerled's territories upon the main- 
»rd, ai:d upon the isianJs, should have been thus divided 
letvtei; his two sons, instead of passing to the elder exclu- 
»neiy, may illustrate the uncertainty of descent among the 
great Hi^ 'and families, which we shall presently notice. 



Note G. 
Lord of the Isles.— V. 417. 

The representative of this independent principality, for such 
'.t seems to have been, though acknowledging occasionally the 
i)re-emiiience of the (Scottish crown, was, at the period of the 
noera, Angus, called Angus Og ; but tlie name has been, eu- 
l/honi(E irrotia, exciianged for that of Ronald, which frequent- 
'y occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert 
Bruce, whom he received in his castle of Dunnaverty, during 
'he time of his greatest distress. As I shall be equally liable 
to censure for attempting to decide a controversy which has 
long existed between three distinguished chieftains of this fam- 
ily, who have long disputed the representation of the Lord of 
the Isles, or for leaving a question of such importance alto- 
gether nntonehed, I choose, in the first place, to give such in- 
formation as I have been able to derive from Highland geneal- 
ogists, and which, for those who have patience to investigate 
such subjects, really contains some curious information con- 
cerning the history of the Isles. In the second place, I shall 
offer a few remarks upon the rules of succession at that pe- 
riod, without pretending to decide their bearing upon the ques- 
tion at issue, which must depend upon evidence which I have 
had no opportunity to examine. 

" j^ngus Og," says an ancient manuscript translated from 
the Gaelic, " son of Angus Mor, son of Donald, son of Ronald, 
»on of Somerled, high chief and superior Lord of Innisgall (or 
the Uies of the Gael, the general name given to the Hebrides), 
he married a daughter of Cunbui, namely, Cathan ; she wag 
mother to John, son of Angus, and with her came an unosual 
portion from Ireland, viz. twenty-four clans, of whom twenty- 
four families in Scotlat"! are descended. Angus had another 
son, namely, young John Fraoch, whose descendants are called 
Olan-Ean of Gleneoe, and the M'Donalds of Fraoch. This 
Angus Og died in Isia, where his body was interred. His son 
John succeeded to the inheritance of Innisgall. He had good 
■leacfa lants, namely, three sons procreate of Ann, daughter of 
„*d> 1 high chief of Lorn, and one daughter, Mary, married 
to Jorn MacLean, Laird of Duart, and Lauchlan, his brother, 
L<ur2 if Coll ; she was interred in the church of the Black 
Vuns. The eldest sons of John were Ronald, Godfrey, and 

Angus He gave Ronald a great inheritance. 

These were the lands which he gave him, viz. from Kilcumin 
n Abertarf to the river Seil, and from thence to Beilli, north 
of Eig and Rum, and the two Uists, and from thence to the 
foot ol the river GlaicTian, and threescore long ships. John 
married afterwards Margaret Stewart, daughter to Rol ert 
Stewart, King of Scotland, called John Femyear ; she bore 
nim tlii-ee good sons, Donald of the Isles, the heir, John the 
fainister (j. e. Thane), the second sor, and Alexander Cir- 



1 WeBtem Isles And adi» ia\ const. 



tl liv'iusaf. 



rach. John had another son called Marcus, of whom the clau 
Macdonald of Cnoc, in Tirowen, are de.scended. This .Tohn 
lived long, and made donations to Icolumkill ; he cofered th« 
chapel of Eorsay-Elan, the chapel of Finlagam, and the 
chapel of the Isle of Tsuibhne, and gave tlie jiroper furniturt 
for the service of God, upholding the clerg> and monks , ha 
built or repaired the church of the Holy Cross immediately 
before his death. He died at his own castle of Ardtorinish ; 
many priests and monks took the sacrament at liie funeral, 
and they embalmed the body of this dear man, and brougnl 
it to Icolumkill ; the abbot, monks, and vicar, came as ti>e» 
ought to meet the King of Fiongal,' and out of great resp€»i 
to his memory mourned eight days and nigms over it, ai i 
laid it in the same grave with his father, in the chuich af Oran, 
1380. 

" Ronald, son of John, was chief ruler of the Isles in hii 
father's lifetime, and was old in the government at his father's 
death. 

" He assembled the gentry of the Isles, brought the sceptro 
from Kildonan in Eig, and delivered it to his brother Donald, 
who was thereupon called M'Donald, and Donald Lord of the 
lsles,2 contrary to the opinion of the men of the Isles. 

" Ronald, son of John, son of Angus Og, was a great sup 
porter of the church and clergy ; liis descendants are called 
Clanronald. He gave the lands of Tiruma in Uist, to the 
minister of it forever, for the honor of God and Columkill ; 
he was proprietor of all the lands of the north along the coast 
and the isles ; he died in the year of Christ 138(), in liis own 
mansion of Castle Tirim, leaving live children. Donald of the 
Isles, son of John, son of Angus Og, the brother of Ronald, 
took possession of Inisgall by the consent of his brother and 
the gentry thereof ; they were all obedient to him : he mar- 
ried Mary Lesley, daughter to the Earl of Ross, and by her 
came the earldom of Ross to the Ai 'Donalds. After his suc- 
cession to that earldom, he was called M'Donald, Lord of the 
Isles, and Earl of Ross. There are many things written of him 
in other places 

" He fought the battle of Garioch («'. e. Harlaw) against 
Duke Murdoch, the governor; the Earl of Mar commanded tha 
army, in support of his claim to the earldom of Ross, which 
was ceded to him by King James the First, after his release 
from the King of England ; and Duke Murdoch, his two sons 
and retainers, were beheaded : he gave lands in Mull and Isla 
to the minister of Hi, and every privilege which the ministet 
of lona had formerly, besides vessels of gold and silver to Co- 
lumkill for the monaslery, and became himself one of the f/'» 
ternity. He left issue, a lawful heir to Innisgall and Ross, 
namely Alexander, the son of Donald : he died in Isla, and 
his body was interred in the south side of the temple of Oran. 
Alexander, called John of the Isles, son of Alexander of the 
Isles, son of Donald of the Isles. Angus, the third son o! 
John, son of Angus Og, married the daughter of John, the son 
of Allan, which connection caused some disagreement betwixt 
the two families about their marches and division of lands, 
the one party adhering to Angus, and the other to John : the 
differences increased so much that John obtained from A^an 
all the lands betwixt ,9bhii.n Fahila (i. e. the long nver) and 
old na sionnach (i. e. the fox-burn brook), in the upp\irparl 
of Cantyre. Allan went to the king to complain jf his son 
in-law ; in a short time thereafter, there happened to be a^r«a( 
meeting about this young Angus's lands to the north ol Inver- 
ness, where he was murdered by his own harper Mac-Cairbre 
by cutting his throat with a long knife. He^ hved a yeai 
thereafter, and many of those concerned were delivered up to 
the king. Angus's wife was pregnant at the time of his mur- 
der, and she bore him a son who was named Donald, and 
called Donald Du. He was kept in confinement Uiiiil he was 
thirty years of age, when he was relea.sed by the men of Glen 
CO, by the string hand. After this enlargement, he came t« 
the Isles, and convened the gentry thereof. There happened 

3 The murderer, I presume, not the man who was murdsiwi 



great fends betwixt these families while Donald Du was in 
^ontiiiement, insomuch that Mac-Cean of Aritnamurchan de- 
ttrojed tliH greatest part of the posterity of John Mor of the 
Isles and Cantyre. For John Cathanach, son of John, son of 
Donald Balloch, son of John Mor, son of John, son of Angus 
Og (the chief of the descendants of Jolin Mor), and John Mor, 
•on of John Cathanach, and young John, son of John Catha- 
nach, and young Donald Balloch, son of John Catlianach, were 
U«acheroasly taken by Mac-Cean in the island of Finlagan, in 
Isla, and carried to Edinburgh, where he got them hanged at 
the Burrow-muir, and their bodies were buried in the Church 
»f St. Anthony, called the New Church. The»e were none 
left ahve at that time of the children of John Cathanach, ex- 
cept Alexander, the son of John Cathanach, and Agnes Flach, 
who concealed themselves in the glens of Ireland. Mac-Cean, 
hearing of their hiding-places, went to cut down the woods of 
these glens, in order to destroy Alexander, and extirpate the 
whole race. At length Mac-Cean and Alexander met, were 
reconciled, and a marriage-alliance took place ; Alexander 
married Mac-Cean's daughter, and she brought him good chil- 
dren. The Mac-Donalds of the North had also descendants ; 
•"or, after the death of John, Lord of the Isles, Earl of Ross, 
ind the murder of Angus, Alexander, the son of Archibald, 
the son of Ale.xander of the Isles, took possession, and John 
■was in possession of the earldom of Ross, and the north bor- 
dering country ; he married a daughter of the Earl of Moray, 
of whom some of the men of the north had descended. The 
Mac-Kenzies rose against Alexander, and fought the battle 
called Blar na Paire. Alexander had only a few of the men 
jf Ross at the battle. He went after that battle to take pos- 
jession of the Isles, and sailed in a ship to the south to see if he 
could find any of the posterity of John Mor alive, to rise along 
with him ; but Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan watched him as 
18 sailed past, followed liim to Oransay and Colonsay, went 
to the house where he was, and he and Alexander, son of 
John Cathanach, murdered him there. 

"A good while after these things fell out, Donald Galda, 
son of Alexander, son of Archibald, became major; he, with 
the advice and direction of the Ear! of Moray, came to the 
Isles, and Mac-Leod of the Lewis, and many of the gentry of 
vhe Isles, rose with him : they went by the promontory of 
Ardnamurchan, where they met Alexander, the son of John 
Cathanacii, were reconciled to him, he joined his men with 
theij-s against Mac-Cean of Ardnamurchan, came upon him at 
a place called the ifilver Craig, where he and his three sons, 
and a great number of his people, were killed, and Donald 
Galda was immediately declared Mac-Donald : And, after the 
affair of Ardnamurchan, all the men of the Isles yielded to 
him. but he did not live above seven or eight weeks after it ; 
he died at Carnaborg, in Mull, without issue. He had three 
listers' daughters of Alexander, son of Archibald, who were 
portioned in the north upon the continent, but the earldom of 
Boss was kept for them. Alexander, the son of Archibald, 
had a natural son, called John Cam, of whom is (iescended 
Achnaooichan, in Ramoch, and Donald Gorm, son of Ronald, 
ton of Alexander Duson, of John Cam. Donald Du, son of 
Angus, son ol John of the Isles, son of Alexander of the Isles, 
ion or Donald of the Isles, son of John of the Isles, son of An- 
gns 0^, namely, the true heir of the Isles and Ro.ss, came 
after his release from captivity to the Isles, and convened the 
men thereof, and he and the Earl of Lennox agreed to raise a 
great army lor the purpose of taking possession, and a ship 
eame tr jm England with a supply of money to carry on the 
wai, which landed at Mull, and the money was given to Mac- 
Lean of Duart to be distributed among the commanders of the 
wmj , vviiich they not iecei\ing in proportion as it should have 
beep distributed among them, caused tile army to disperse, 
which, when the Earl of Lennox heard, he disbanded his own 
men, and made it up with the king. Mac-Donald went to 
Ireland to raisf men, but he died on his way to Dublin, at 
r>rog imia, of a fever, without issue of either sons or daugli- 



In this history may be traced, though the Bard, or Sean 
nachie, touches such a delicate discussion with a gentle hand 
the point of diiference between the three principal septs de 
scended from the Lords of the Isles. The first question, and 
one of no easy solution, where so little evidence is produced, 
respects the nature of the connection of John called by th« 
Archdean of the Isles " the Good John of Ila," and " >be las' 
Lord of the Isles," with Anne, daughter of Roderick Mao- 
dougal, high-chief of Lorn. In the absence if positive evi- 
dence, presumptive must be resorted to, and I own it appeal* 
to render it in the highest degree improbable that this conneo 
tion was otherwise than legitimate. In the wars betweer Da 
vid II. and Edward Baiiol, Jolin of the Isles esponseu m 
Baliol interest, to which he was ))robably determined by Ail 
alliance with Roderick of Lorn, who was, from every family 
predilection, friendly to Baliol, and hostile to Bruce. It seems 
absurd to suppose, that between two chiefs of the same de- 
scent, and nearly equal power and rank (though the Mac- 
Dougals had been much crushed by Robert Bruce), such a 
connection should have been that of concubinage ; and it ap- 
pears more likely that the tempting offer of an alliance with 
the Bruce family, when they had obtamed the decided supe- 
riority in t~cotland, induced " tlie Good John of lia" to dis- 
inherit, to a certain extent, his eldest son Ronald, who came 
of a stock so unpopular as the Mae-Dougals, and to call to 
his succession his younger family, born of Margaret Stuart 
daughter of Robert, afterwards King of Scotland. The set- 
ting aside of this elder branch of his family was most probably 
a condition of liis new aUiance, and his being received into 
favor with the dynasty he had always opjjosed. Nor were the 
laws of succession at this early period so clearly understood a^ 
to bar such transactions. The numerous and strange claims 
set up to the crown of Scotland, when vacant by the death ol 
Alexander III., make it manifest how very little the indefeasi- 
ble hereditary right of primogeniture was valued at that period 
In fact, the title of the Bruces themselves to the crown, though 
justly the most popular when assumed with the determination 
of asserting the independence of Scotland, was, upon pure 
principle, greatly inferior to that of Baliol. For Bruce, the 
competitor, claimed as son of Isabella, second daughter of Da- 
vid, Earl of Huntingdon ; and John Baliol. as grandson of 
Margaret, the elder daughter of that same earl. So that the 
plea of Bruce was founded upon the very loose idea, that as 
the great-grandson of David I., King of .Scotland, and the 
nearest collateral relation of Alexander III., he was entitled to 
succeed in exclusion of the great-great-grandson of the same 
David, though by an elder daughter. This maxim savored ol 
the ancient practice of Scotland, which often called a brothel 
to succeed to the crown as nearer in blood than a grand-child, 
or even a son of a deceased monarch. But, in truth, the max- 
ims of inheritance in Scotland were sometimes departed from 
at periods when they were much more distinctly understood. 
Such a transposition took place in the family of Hamilton, in 
1513, when tSe descendants of James, third Lord, by i^adj 
Janet Home, were set aside, with an appanage of great valu; 
indeed, in order to call to the succession those vnich he lau 
by a subsequent marriage with Janet Beatoun. In short, 
many other examples might be quoted to show that the que» 
tion of legitimacy is not always determined by the fact of suc- 
cession ; and there seems reason to believe, aiat Ronald, do 
scendant of " John of Ila, ' by Anne of Lorn, was legitimate, 
and therefore Lord of the sles dejure, though de facto his 
younger halt-brother Donald, son of his father's second ma^ 
riage with the Princess of Scotland, supei-seded him in his 
right, and apparently by his own consent. From this Donald 
so preferred is descended the family of Sleat, now Lords Mao 
Donald. On the other hand, from Ronald, the excluded heir, 
ujion whom a very large appanage was settled, descended "he 
chiefs of Glengary and Clanronald, each of whom had large 
possessions and a numerous vassalage, and boasted a long de- 
scent of warlike ancestry. Their common ancestor Ronalc 
was murdered by the Earl of Ross, at the Monastery nf Eicho 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47a 



^. fc. 134(3. I believe it has been subject of fierce dispute, 
whoUiot Donald, who carried on the line of Glengary, or Al- 
lan ut Moi iart, the ancestor of the captains of Clanronald, was 
the lUcoI son of Ronald, the son of John of Isla. An humble 
Low'.ualer may be permitted to waive the discussion, since a 
Beauaehie of no small note, who wrote in the sixteenth cen- 
tury, txpresses himself upon this delicate topic in the following 
words • — 

" 1 aave now given you an account of every thing yon can 
expect of the descendants of the clan Colla (i. e. the Mac- 
Donalds), to the death of Donald Du at Drogheda, namely, 
Ite true line of those who possessed tlie Isles, Ross, and the 
Mountainous countries of Scotland. It was Donald, the son 
of Angus, that was killed at Inverness (by his own harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre), sou of Jolin of the Isles, son of Alexander, 
nor. of bonaid, son of John, son of Angus Og. And I know 
not whici) of his kindred or relations is the true heir, except 
these five sons of John, the son of Angus Og, whom I here set 
dow:: for you, namely, [lonald and Godfrey, the two sons of 
ihe I'aughter of Mac-Donald of Lorn, and Donald and John 
Moi and Alexander Carrach, the three sons of Margaret 
Stewart, daughter of Robert ttewart, King of Scotland," — 
Leak/iar Dear^ 



Note H. 

The House of Lorn- P. 418. 

The House of Lorn, as we observed in a former note, was, 
■Ike the Lord of the Isles, descended from a sou of Soraerled, 
(lain at Renl'rew, in 1164. This son obtained the succession 
»f his mainland territories, comprehending the greater part of 
the three districts of Lorn, in Argyleshire, and of course might 
rather be considered as petty princes tnan feudal barons. 
They assumed the patronymic appellation of Alac-Dougal, by 
which they are distinguished in the history of the middle ages. 
The Lord of Lorn, who flourished during the wars of Bruce, 
was Allaster (or Ale.vander) Mac-Dougal, called AUaster of 
Argyle. He had married the third daughter of John, called 
the Red Comyn,' who was slaiu by Bruce in the Dominican 
Church at Dumfries, and hence he was a mortal enemy of 
ihat prince, and more than once reduced him to great straits 
during the early and distressed period of his reign, as we shall 
nave repeated occasion to notice. Bruce, when he began to 
nbtiin an ascendency in Scotland, took the first opportunity 
in his power to requite these injuries. He marched into 
Argyleshire to lay waste the country. John of Lorn, son of 
the chieftain, was posted with his followers in the formidable 
pass between Dalmally and Bunawe. It is a narrow path 
ttlong the verge of the huge and precipitous mountam, called 
Cruachan-Beu, and guarded on the other side by a precipice 
overhanging Loch Avve. The pass seems to the eye of a sol- 
dier cis strong, as it is wild and romantic to that of an ordinary 
tsraveller. But the skill of Bruce had anticipated this diffi- 
tulty. While his main body, engaged in a skirmish with the 
men of Lorn, detained their attention to the front of their 
positior.. James of Douglas, with Sir Alexander Fraser, Sir 
William Wiseman, and f-ir Andrew Giay, ascended the mouu- 
»aiu with t select body of archery, and obtained possession of 
th= heights which commanded the pass. A volley of arrows 
descending upon them directly warned the Argyleshire men 
»i their pe.-ilou* situation, and their resistance, which had 
niiherto been bold and manly, was changed into a precipitate 
flight. The deep and rapid river of Awe was then (we learn 
the fact from Barbour with some surprise) crossed by a bridge, 

1 The Buct, according to Lord Hailes. But the genealogy is list' wtly 
rvpn by Wyctoun : — 

** The thryd douchtyr of Red C» myn, 
Alyaawudyr of Argayle syne 
60 



This bridge the mountaineers attempted to demolish, but 
Bruce's followers were too close upon their rear ; they were 
therefore, without reluge and defence, and were dispersed 
with great slaughter. John of Lorn, suspicious of the event, 
had early betaken himself to the galleys which he had upoR 
the lake ; but the feelings which Barbour assigns to him 
while witnessing the rout and slaughter of his foLowera ex 
cnlpate him from the charge of cowardice. 

" To J hone oft' Lome it suld displese 
I trow, quhen he his men niycht se, 
Owte oft' his schippis fra the se. 
Be slayne and chassyt in the hill. 
That he myeht set na help thar till. 
Bot It angrys als gretumly, 
To gud hartis that ar worthi. 
To se thar fayis fulfill thair wi" 
As to thaim selft'to thole the ill." — B. vii., v. 2i!M. 

After this decisive engagement, Bruce laid waste Argyleshire, 
and besieged Dunstafifnage Castle, on the western shore of 
Lorn, compelled i„ to surrender, and placed in that principal 
stronghold of the >!ac-Dougals a garrison Knd governor of hit 
own. The elder Mac-Dougai, now wearied with the contest, 
submitted to tlie victor ; but his son, " rebellious," says Bar- 
bour, " as he wont to be," fled to England by sea. When the 
wars between the Bruce and Baliol factions again broke out 
in the reign of David II., the Lords of Lorn were again found 
upon the losing side, owing to their hereditary enmity to the 
house of Bruce. Accordingly, upon tlie issue of that contest 
they were dejirived by David II. and hi.< successor of by ta 
the greater pari of llieir extensive territories, which were con 
ferred upon Stewart, called the Knight of Lorn. The house 
of Mac-Dougal continued, however, to survive the loss ol 
power, and affords a very rare, if not a unique, instance of t 
family of such unlimited power, and so distinguished during 
the middle ages, surviving the decay of their grandeur, and 
flourishing in a private station. The Castle of Dunolly, near 
Oban, with its dependencies, was tlie principal part of what 
remained to them, with their right of chieftainship over the 
families of their name and blood. These they continued ta 
enjoy untU the year 1715, when the representative incurred 
the jienalty of forfei; are, lor his accession to the insurrection 
of that period ; thus losing the remains of his inheritance, to 
replace upon the throne the descendants of those princes, 
whose accession his ancestors had opposed at the expense of 
their feudal grandeur. The estate was, however, restored 
about 1745, to the father of the present jiroprietor, whom 
family experience had taught the hazard of interfering with 
the established government, and who remained quiet upon 
that occasion. He therefore regained his property when many 
Highland chiefs lost theirs. 

Nothing can be more wildly beautiful than the situation of 
DuMolly. The ruins are situated upon a bold and precipitous 
promontory, overhanging Loch Etive, and distant about a 
mile from the village and port of Oban. The principal par* 
which remains is the donjon or keep ; but fragments of othei 
buildings, overgrown with ivy, attest that it had been once s 
place of importance, as large apparently as Artornish or Dun- 
statfnage. These fragments enclose a courtyard, of wh^^h the 
keep probably formed one side ; the entrance being by a steep 
ascent from the neck of the isthmus, formeily cut across by s 
moat, and defended doubtless by outworks and a drawbridge 
Beneath the castle stands the present mansion of the family, 
having on the one hand Loch Etive, with its islands and 
mountains, on the other two romantic eminences tufted witk 



Tnk, and weddyt til hys wyf. 
And on byr he gat in-til hys ljff» 
Jhon of Loroe, the quhilk gat 
Ewyn of Lxirne eftyr that.'* 
Wyntcun's Chronicle^ Book viii. Chap, vi, liaii 901 



00 Tewcad Theie are other accom|ianiinents suited to the 
»<jp: B ; in particular, a huge upright pillar, or detached frag- 
xieni of that sort of rock called plum-pudding stone, upon the 
ii)or>', about a <|uarter of a mile from the castle. It is called 
Cla<:k-iiii-iuiu, or the Dog's Pillar, because Fiagal is said to 
have r.sed it as a stake to which he bound his celebrated dog 
Bran Others say that when the Loril of the Isles came upon 
f visiv 'o the lord of Lorn, the dogs brought for his sport were 
kept hev'le litis pillar.' Upon the whole, a more delightful 
and romsiitit s|>nt can scarce be conceived ; and it receives a 
isord inte. 'st from thf eonsiderations attached to the residence 
»f a family once powerful enough to confront and defeat Rob- 
Mi Bruce, and now sunk intc Oie shade of private life. It is 
it pre-ifnt possessed by Patrick Mac-Dougal, Esq., the lineal 
and unilispuled representative of 'he ajicient Lords of Lorn. 
The heir of DnnoUy fell lately in Spain, fighting under the 
Duke of Wellin<'lon. — a death well becominfj liis ancestry. 



Note I. 



jlicaked before the rushivg prow. 
The vtimic. fires of ocenn glow. 

Those lightniiiffs of the wave ■ 



-P. 419. 



The phev omenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is one of the 
most beautiful and interesting which is witnessed in the He- 
brides. At times the ocean appears entirely illuminated 
around the vessel, and a long train of lambent coruscations 
are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pni^ 
suing her wake through the darkness. These phosphoric ap- 
pearances, concerning the origin of which naturalists are not 
igrted in 0])inion, seem to be called into action by the rapid 
motion of the ship through the water, and are probably owing 
\o the water being saturated with fish-spawn, or other animal 
•ubslances. They remind one strongly of the description of 
the sea-snakes in Mr. Coleridge's wild, but highly poetical 
ballad of the Ancient Mariner: — 

' Beyond the shadow of the ship 
I watch 'd the water-snakes. 
They moved in tracks of shining white. 
And when they rear'd, the elvish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes." 



Note K. 



The dark fortress.— p. 4520. 

T.. fortress of a Hebridean chief was almost always on the 
»ea-^!iore, for the facility of communication which the ocean 
ifforded. Nothing can be more wild Ih.an the situations which 
ihry chose, and the devices by which the architects endeavored 
to d..'fenil tlwn;. Narrow stairs anc; arched vaults were the 
nsuai mole of access ; and the drawbridge appears at Dun- 
itafliiage, and elsewhere, to have faller from the gate of the 
ouililing lo the top of such a stairca.se; so that any one ad- 
vancing with hostile purpose, found himself in a state of 
t.vposed and precarious elevation, with a gulf between him 
Slid 1 he object of his attack. 

Thr-ii- fortresses were guarded with equal care. The duty 
of tl-.? w.'ch devolved chiefly upon an olTicer called the Cock- 
mac. vM.o had the charge of challenging all who approached 
the car<i!c. The very ancient family of Mac-Niel of Barra 
kept this attendant at their castle about a hundred years ago. 
Mi^rtin gives the following account of the difficulty which 
Mt»nded his procuring entrance there : — " The little island Kis- 



mul lies about a quarter of a mile from tje south 'jf till lak 
(Barra) ; it is the seat of Mackneil of Barra ; I'.iere is a noM 
wall round it two stories high, reaching the sea; and witbU 
the wall there is an old tower and an lia'l, with other boasei 
about it. There is a little magazine in the tower, to which 
no stranger has access. I saw the otficer called the Coi.kman, 
and an old cock he is ; when I bid him ferry me over the wa- 
ter to the island, he tcUl me that he was but an interior otfi- 
cer, his business being to attend in the tower ; but if (says ha/ 
the constable, who then stood on the wall, will give lou 
access, I'll ferry you over. I desired him to procure me th« 
constable's permission, and I would reward him ; but having 
wailed some hours for the constable's answer, and not receiving 
any, I was obliged to return without seeing this famous fort. 
Mackneil and his lady being absert, was the cause of ihii 
difficulty, and of my not seeing the place. I was told soma 
weeks after, that the constable was very ajiprehensive of some 
design I might have in viewing the fort, and thereby to expose 
it to the conquest of a foreign power ; of which I supposed 
there was no great cause of fear." 



Note L, 



That keen knight, De Jlrgevtine. — P. 422. 

Sir Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one of the most 
accomplished knights of the period. He had served in the 
wars of Henry of Luxemburg with such high reputation, thai 
he was, in popular estimation, the third worthy of the age. 
Those to whom fame a.seigned precedence over him were, 
Henry of Luxemburg himself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine 
had warred in Palestine, encountered thrice with the Saracens, 
and had slain two antagonists in each engagement : — aw easy 
matter, he said, for one Christian knight to slay two Pagan 
dogs. His death corresponded with his high character. With 
Amer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, he was appointed t* 
attend immediately upon the person of Edward II. at Ban- 
nockburn. When the day was utterly lost they forced the 
king from the (ield. De Argentine saw the king said from 
immediate danger, and then took his leave of him ; " God be 
with you, sir," he said, " it is not my wont to fly." So iay» 
ing, he turned his horse, crieJ his war-cry, plunfcd jnto ths 
midst of the combatants, and was slain. Baston, a /hymir.g 
monk who had been brought by Edward to f lebrato nis ex- 
pected triumph, an<l who was compelled by th- victors lo com 
pose a poem on his defeat, mentions with s /me feeling ..ha 
death of Sir Giles de Argentine : ' 

Jfobilis Jlrgentert, pugU inclyte, dulcis EgiJi, 
fix scicram mentem cum te succumbere vidi. 

" The first line mentions the three chief requisites of a tm« 
knight, noble birth, valor, and conrteousness. Few 1 ecnin*' 
conplets can be produced tha' have so .iiuch sentimen'.. ^ 
wish tliat I could have collected more ample memorials po. 
cerning a character -iltogether diflereiit from modern mannei 
Sir Giles d' Argentine was a hero of romance in real life." S 
obser es the excellent Lord Hailes. 



Note M. 



" Fill me the mighty cup /" he said, 

" Erst own'd by royal Somerled."—?. 422. 

A Hebridean driidiing cup, of the most ancient and carie 
workmanship, has been long preserved in the castle of Dati 
vegaii, in Skye, the romantic .seat of Mac-Leod of .Mtc-Leod 
the chief of that ancient and powerful clan T><v bore a 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47?. 



Rote More, preserved in the same family, and recorded by 
Dr. Johnson, is not to be compared 'vitli this piece of anti- 
quity, which is one of the greatest curiosities in Scotland. The 
following is a pretty accurate description of its shape and di- 
mensions, but cannot, I t'la, be perfectly understood without 
ft draw ing. 

This very curious piece j. antiquity is nine inches and three- 
quarters in inside depth, and ten and a half in height on the 
ttutsids, tlie extreme measure over the lips being four inches 
and a half. The cup is divided into two parts by a wrought 
ledge, beautifully ornamented, about three-fourths of an inch 
n breadth. Beneath this ledge the shape of the cup is rounded 
>fr, atd terminates in a flat circle, like that of a teacup ; four 
short feet support the whole. Above the projecting ledge the 
ih&|ie of the cup is nearly square, projecting outward at the 
brim. The cup is made of wood (oak to all appearance), but 
mo.^t curiously wrought and embossed with silver work, which 
projects from the vessel. There are a number of regular pro- 
jecting sockets, which appear to have been set with stones ; 
two or three of them still hold pieces of coral, the rest are 
empty. At the four corners of the projecting ledge, or cornice, 
are four sockets, much larger, probably for pebbles or precious 
Btones. The workmanship of the silver is extremely elegant, 
and appears to have been highly gihled. The ledge, brim, and 
legs of the cup, are of silver. The family tradition bears that 
it was the property of Neil Ghlune-dliu, or Black-knee. But 
who this Neil was, no one pretends to say. Around the edge 
cf the cup is a legend, perfectly legible, in the Saxon black- 
letter, which seems to run thus : 

mfo : Jo1)fs •• iJHfci) : || iWjjn : lancipis '. We :\\ 
^t : l-manae : V'd) : || 3Lfat)ia : fifl[fita)nefl:|| 
3St : Spat : Bo :.5Jfnt : 13a:||<a:ka : JUtira Spa:]] 
jfecit : atno : lit : Jr : 93o ©nfU : ©fmf : || 

The inscription may run thus at length : Vfo Johanis Mich 
Magni Principia de Hr Maiiae Fich Liahia Magryneil et 
sperat Domino Ihesu dart clementiam i/lorum opera. Fecit 
Jlnno Domini 993 Oniii Oimi. Which may run in English : 
Ufo, the son of John, the son of Magnus, Prince of Man, the 
grandson of Liahia Macgrj'neil. trusts in the Lord Jesus that 
t/ieir works (i. e. his own and those of his ancestors) will ob- 
■,ain mercy. Oneil Oimi made this in the year of God nine 
inndred and ninety-three. 

But this version does not include the puzzling letters hr be- 
'ore the word Manae. Within the mouth of the cup the letters 
51)5. (Jesus) are repeated four times. From this and other 
circumstances it would seem to have been a chalice. This cir- 
cumstance may perhaps account for the nse of the two Arabic 
nuniiirals 93. These figures were introduced by Pope Sylves- 
ter, A. D. 991. and might be used in a vessel formed for 
chu> .h service eo early as 993. The workmanship of the whole 
cap IS extremely elegant, and resembles, I am told, antiques of 
the same nature preserved in Ireland. 

The cups, thus elegantly formed, and highly valued, were 
by ro means utensils of mere show. Martin gives the follow- 
n,j account of the festivals of his time, and I have heard simi- 
.ar itistances of brutality in the Lowlands at no very distant 
pirio<l. 

" The manner of ilrinkii » used by the chief men of the Isles 
ie called in their language Streah, i. e. a Round ; for the com- 
pany sat in a circle, the cup-bearer filled the drink round to 
them, and all was drank«ut, whatever lli" liquor was, whether 
Itrong or weak ; they continued drinking sometimes twenty- 
four, sometimes forty-eight hours : It was reckoned a piece of 
manhood to drink until ihey >ecame drunk, and there were two 
men with a barrow attending punctually on such occasions. 
They stood at the door until some became drunk, and they 
raiTy'd them upon the barrow to bed, and returned again to 
«eu DOSt as lon^ as any continued fresh, and so carried off the 



whole company, one by one, as they becane drnnh. Severa. 
of my acquaintance have been witnesses to this custom Oi 
drinking, but it is now abolished." 

This savage custom was not entirely done away within ihu 
last generation. I have heard of a gentleman who happened 
to be a water-drinker, and was permitted to abstain from tha 
strong potations of the company. The bearers carried a»%y 
one man after another, till no one was left but this Scottisb 
Mirglip. They then came lo do hiui the same good olHcs, 
which, however, he declined as unnecessary, and proposed W 
walk to his bedroom. It was a permission he could not obtain 
Never such a thing had happened, they said, in the castle 
that it was impossible but he must require their assistance, ai 
any rale he must submit to receive it ; and carried him off ib 
the barrow accordingly, A classical penalty was sometimes 
imposed on those who balked the rules of good fellowship 
by evading their share of the banquet. The same author con- 
tinues : — 

" Among persons of distinction it was reckoned an affroni 
put upon any company to broach a piece of wine, ale, or aqua- 
vita;, and not to see it all drank out at one meeting. If any 
man chance to go out from the company, though but for a few 
minutes, he is obliged, upon his return, and before he take his- 
seat, to make an apology for his absence in rhyme ; which U 
he cannot perform, he is liable to such a share of the reck 
oning as the company thinks fit to impose : which custom ob 
tains in many places still, and is called Bianchii". Bard, which, 
in their language, signifies the poet's congratulating the com- 
pany." 

Few cups were better, at least more actively, emjiloyed in 
the rude hospitality of the period, than those of Dunvegaii 
one of which we have just described. There is in the Leabhai 
Dearg, a song, intimating the overflowing gratitude of a bard 
of Clan-Ronald, after the exuberance of a Hebridean festival 
at the patriarchal fortress ofMac-Leod. The translation being 
obviously very literal, has greatly flattened, as I am intbrmed, 
the enthusiastic gratitude of the ancient hard ; and it must be 
owned that the works of Homer or Virgil, to say nothing of 
Mac-Vuirich, might have suffered by their transfusion through 
such a medium. It is pretty plain, that when the tribute of 
poetical praise was bestowed, the horn of Rorie More liaJ no* 
been inactive. 

Upon Sir Roderic J\Ioi Macleod, by J^tall Jrn 
JilacVuirich. 

" The six nights I remained in the Dunvegan, it was not a 
show of hospitality I met with there, but a plentiful feast in 
thy fair hall among thy numerous host of heroes. 

"The family placed all aiound under the protection of theil 
great chief, raised by his pros|ierity and respect for his warlike 
feats, now enjoying the company of his friends at the feast,— 
Amidst tlie sound of harps, overflowing cups, and happy youth 
unaccustomed to guile, or feuil, partaking of the generous fare 
by a (laming fire. 

" Mighty Chief, liberal to all in your princely mansion, filled 
with your numerous warlike host, whose generous wine woulJ 
overcome the hardiest heroes, yet we continued to enjoy th« 
feast, so happy our host, so generous our fare." — Translate 
by D. Macintosh. 

It would be unpardonable in a modern bard, who lias ezp» 
rienced the hospitality of Dunvegan Castl • in the present day 
to omit paying his own tribute of gratitude for a receptioi/ 
more elegant indeed, but not less kindly sincere, than Sir Rod- 
erick More himself could have afforded. But Johnson hat 
already described a similar scene in the same ancient patriarchaj 
residence of the Lords of Mac-Leod : — " Whatever is imaged 
in the wildest tales, if giants, dragons, and enchantment beer 
cepted, would be felt by him, who, wandering in the moun- 
tains without a guide, or upon the sea without a pilot, uhonld 
be carried, amidst his terror and uncertamty, to the hospitalit) 
and elegance of Raasay or Dunvegan " 



<76 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note N. 

IVith solemn step and silver wand. 
The Seneschal the presence scann'd 
Of these strange guests . — P. 423. 

T.ie Sewer, to whom, rather than the Seneschal, the office 
»i arranging the guests of an island chief appertained, was an 
•fiicer of importance in the family of a Hebridean chief. — 

Every family had commonly two stewards, which, in their 
anguage, were called .Marischal Tach : the first of these served 
mlways at home, and was obliged to be versed in the (ledigree 
i>f all the .ribes in the isles, and in the highlands of Scotland ; 
fsr it was his province to assign every man at table his seat ac- 
cording to his quality ; and this was done without one word 
(peaking, only by drawing a score with a white rod, which 
this Marischal had in his hand, before the person who was 
bid by him to sit down : and this was necessary to prevent 
disorder and contention ; and though the Marischal might 
lometiraes be mistalien, the master of the family incurred no 
censure by such an escape ; but this custom has been laid 
aside of late. They had also cup-bearers, who always filled 
and carried the cup round the company, and he himself always 
drank oft' the first draught. They had likewise purse-masters, 
who kept their money. Both these officers had an hereditary 
right to their office in writing, and each of them had a town 
and land for his service : some of those rights I have seen fairly 
written on good parchment." — Martin's pyestern Isles. 



Note 0. 



the rebellious Scottish crew, 

fyko to Rath-Erin's shelter drew 
With Carrick's uutlaw'd Chief 7— V. 434. 

It must be remembered by all who have read the Scottish 
history, that after he had slain Comyn at Dumfries, and assert- 
ed his right to the Scottish crown, Robert Bruce •kis reduced 
to the greatest extremity by the English and their a.lherent3. 
He was crowned at Scone by the general consent of tht Scot- 
tish barons, but his authority endured but a short time. Ao- 
jording to the phrase said to have been used by his wife, he 
was for that year " a summer king, but not a winter one." 
On the 29th March, 1306, he was crowned king at Scone. 
U]ion the 19th June, in the same year, he was totally defeated 
It ^'elhveii, near Perth; and his most important adherents, 
Willi few exceptions, were either executed, or compelled to 
embrace the English interest, for safety of their lives and for- 
tunes. After this disaster, his life was that of an outlaw, 
rather than a candidate for monarchy. He separated himself 
from the females of his retinue, whom he sent for salety to the 
Ca-stle of Kildrummie, in Aberdeenshire, where they afterwards 
liecaine captives to England. From Aberdeenshire, Bruce 
felre.i'ed to the mountainous parts of Breadalbane, and ap- 
proached the borders of Argyleshire. There, as mentioned in 
the Appendix, Note H, and more fully in Note P, he was de- 
feateil by the Lord of Lorn, who had assumed arms against 
him iU revenge of the deatli of his relative, John the Red Co- 
myn. Escaped from this peril, Bruce, with his {>'.vi attendants, 
subsisteil by hunting and fishing, until the weather compelled 
them to seek better sustenance and shelter than the Highland 
mouiitaius afl'orded With great difficulty they crossed, from 
Rowardennan [irobably, to the western banks of Lochlomond, 
partly in a niserable boat, and partly by swimming. The 
ranant and loya. Earl of Lennox, to whose territories they had 
30w found their way, welcomed them with tears, but was un- 
able to assist them to make an effectual head. The Lord of 
the Isles, then in possession of great part of Cantyre, received 
<ht fogitire monarch and future rt/storer of his country's inde- 



pendence, in his castle of Dunnaverty, iii that distiict. lie 
treason, says Barbour, was so general, tha; the King durst na 
abide there. Accordingly, with the remnant of his followers 
Bruce embarked for Rath-Erin, or Rachrine, the Recina ol 
Ptolemy, a small island lying almost opposite to the shores ol 
Ballycastle, on the coast of Ireland. The islanders at first flee 
from their new and armed guests, but upon some explanation 
submitted themselves to Bruce's sovereignty. He resided 
among them until the approach of spring [1306], when ha 
again returned to Scotland, with the desperate resolution .o re- 
conquer his kingdom, or perish in the attempt. The progresi 
of his success, from its commencement to its completion, forma 
the brightest period in Scottish history. 



NOTK P. 



The Brooch of Lorn.—V. 424. 

It has been generally mentioned in the preceding notes, that 
Bobert Bruce, after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed 
by the English, endeavored, with the dispirited remnant ol 
bis followers, to escape from Breadalbane and the mountains 
of Perthshire into the Argyleshire Highlands. But he was en- 
countered and repulsed, after a very severe engagement, by 
the Lord of Lorn. Bruce's personal strength and courage 
were never displayed to greater advantage than in this con- 
flict. There is a tradition in tlie family of the Mac-Dougals of 
Lorn, that their chieftain engaged in personal battle with 
Bruce himself, while the latter was employed in protecting 
the retreat of his men ; that Mac-Dougal was struck down by 
the king. Whose strength of body was equal to his vigor ol 
mind, and would have been slain on the spot, had not two of 
Lorn's vassals, a father and son, whom tradition terms Mac- 
Keoeh, rescued him, by seizing the mantle of the monarch, and 
dragging him from above his adversary. Bruce rid himself of 
these foes by two blows of his redoubted battle-axe, but was 
so closely pressed hf the other followers of Lorn, that he wa^ 
forced to abandon the mantle, and brooch which "fastened it, 
clasped in the dying grasp of the M«c-Keochs. A studded 
brooch, said to have been that which King Robert lost upon 
this occasion, was long preserved in the family of Mac-Dougal, 
and was lost in & fire which consumed their temporary resi 
dence. 

The metrical history of Barbour throws an air of credibility 
upon the tradition, although it does not entirely coincide eithei 
in the names or number of the vassals by whom Bruce wai 
assailed, and makes no mention of the personal danger of Lorn, 
or of the loss of Bruce's mantle. The last circumstance, in- 
deed, might be warrantably omitted. 

According to Barbour, the King, with his handful of fol- 
lowers, not amounting probably to three hundred men, en 
countered Lorn with about a thousand Argyleshire men, ir 
Glen-Douchart, at the head of Breadalbane. near Teyndrnm 
The place of action is still called Dairy, or the King's Field. 
The field of battle was unfavoi\ble to Bruce's adhereLts, 
who were chiefly men-at-arms. M^nyof the horses were slain 
by the long pole-axes, of which the Argyleshire Scottish hao 
learned the use from the Norwegians. At length Bruce com- 
manded a retreat up a n.irrow and difficult nas.s.he hini.«elf bring- 
ing up the rear, and repeatedly turuing an I driving back the 
more venturous assail'.nts. Lorn, observi.ig i,he skill and val- 
or used by his enemy in protecting the retreat of his foU«w 
era, " Methinks, Murthokson," said he, addressing one of hij 
followers, " he resembles Gol Mak-morn, protecting h-s fol- 
lowers from Fingal." — " A most unworthy comparison," ob 
serves the Archdeacon of Aberdeen, unsusjiicious of the futnr 
fame of these names ; "he might with more propriety have 
compared the King to Sir Gaudefer de Layrs, protectiix; to* 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



47'^ 



foragers of Gadyrs against the attacks of Alexander."* Two 
brothers, the strorgest among Lorn's followers, whose names 
Barbour calls Mackyn-Drosser (interpreted Durward, or Por- 
lersoii), resolved to rid their chief of this formidable foe. A 
'hird person (perhaps the Mac-Keoch of the family tradition) 
issoeiated himself with them for this purpose. They watched 
their ODportunity until Bruce's party had entered a pass be- 
fv'en 1 lake (Loch Dochart probably) and a precipice, where 
>.xe Kmg, who was the last of the party, had scarce room to 
manage his steed. Here his three foes sprung upon him at 
>ace. One seized his bridle, but received a wound which 
i9»ved o(f his arm ; a second grasped Bruce by the stirrup and 
eg, and endeavored to dismount him, but the King, putting 
rpurs to his horse, threw him down, still holding by the stirrup. 
The third, taking advantage of an acclivity, sprung up be- 
iiind him upon his horse. Bruce, however, whose personal 
strength is uniformly mentioned as e.\ceeding that of most 
men, extricated himself from his grasp, threw him to the 
ground, and cleft his skull with his sword. By similar ex- 
ertion he drew the stirrup from his grasp whom he had 
overthrown, and killed him also with his sword as he 
lay among the horse's feet. The story seems romantic, but 
this was the age of romantic e.tploit ; and it must be remem- 
bered that Bruce was armed cap-a-pie, and the assailants were 
lialf-clad mountaineers. Barbour adds the following circum- 
stance, highly characteristic of the sentiments of chivalry 
Mac-Naughton, a Baron of Cowal, pointed out to the Lord of 
Lorn the deeds of valor which Bruce performed in this mem- 
orable retreat, with the highest expressions of admiration. 
"It seems to give thee pleasure," said Lorn, "that he 
makes such havoc among our friends." — " Not so, by my 
faith." replied IMac-Naughton ; " but be he friend or foe who 
achieves high deeds of chivalry, men should bear faithful wit- 
ness to his valor; and never have I heard of one, who, by his 
knightly feats, has extricated himself from such dangers as 
have this day surrounded Bruce." 



Note Q. 

tfrougkt and chased vMh fair device, 
^studded fair with gems of price. — P. 424. 

Great art and expense was bestowed upon the fibula, or 
'irooch, which secured the plaid, when the wearer was a per- 
lon of importance. Martin mentions having seen a silver 
brooch of a hundred marks value. " It was broad as any or- 
dinary pewter plate, the whole curiously engraven with various 
animals, &c. There was a lesser buckle, which was wore in 
the middle of the larger, and above two ounces weight ; it had 
in the centre a large piece of crystal, or some finer stone, and 
this was set all round with several finer stones of a lesser size." 
— Western Islands. Pennant has given an engraving of such 
a brooch as Martin describes, and the workmanship of which 
18 very elegmnt. It is said to have belonged to the family of 
Lochbuy. — See Pennant's Tour, vol. iii. p. 14 



Note R. 

yain was then the Douglas brand — 

Vain the Campbell' s vaunted hand. — P. 434. 

The gSnant Sir James, called the Good Lord Douglas, the 
■Met faithful and valiant of Bruce's adherents, was wounded 
at the battle of Dairy. Sir Nigel, or Niel Campbell, was also 



I ** Thifl is a very curious passapjfi, and has been often quoted in 
Ihe Osaiauic controveray. That it refers to ancient Celtic tradition, there 
MB be f o doubt, and as little that it refers to no incident in the poems 
*«iUlkh«d b) Mr. Macplierson as from the Gaelic. The hero of romAooe, 



in that unfortunate skir nish. He married Marjcrie, sister t« 
Roben Bruce, and was among his most faithful followets. In 
a manuscript account of the house of Argyle, supplied, it 
would seem, as materials for Archbishop Spottiswoode's His 
tory of the Church of Scotland, I find the following passagt 
concerning Sir Niel Campbell : — " Moreover, when all the no- 
bles in Scotland had left King RoUert after his hard success, 
yet this noble knight was most taithful, and shrinked not, aj 
it is to be seen in an indenture bearing these .i ord? . — Memo- 
randum quod cum ab incariiatione Domini 1308 e^tofnftttn 
fuit et concordatum inter nobiles viros Dominum Alexan- 
drum de Seatoun militem et Dominum Oilbertum de Hayt 
militem et Dominum J^igellum Campbell militem apud nw 
nasterium de Cambuskctmeth 9° Scptembris qui tacia eancta 
eucharista, magnoque juramento facto, jurarunt ae atbert 
libertatem regni et Robertum nuper regem coronatum ontra 
omnes mortales Francos Anglos Scotos defendere u^que ad 
ultimum terminum vitte ipsorum. Their sealles are appended 
to the indenture in greene wax, togithir with the seal of Gn' 
frid. Abbot of Cambuskenneth." 



Note S. 



When Comyn fell beneath the kmfe 
Of that fell homicide The Bruce.— P. 421 
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk. 
Making sure of murder's work. — P. 424. 

Every reader must recollect that the proximate cause o 
Bruce's asserting his right to the crown of Scotland, was th« 
death of John, called the Red Comyn. Tlie causes of thii 
act of violence, equally extraordinary from the high rank both 
of the perpetrator and sufferer, and from the place where tha 
slaughter was committed, are variously related by the Scottish 
and English historians, and cannot now be ascertained. The 
fact that they met at the high altar of the Minorites, or Grey. 
friar's Church in Dumfries, that their difference broke out into 
high and insulting language, and that Bruce drew his daggei 
and stabbed Comyn, is certain. Rushing to the door of the 
church, Bruce met two powerful barons, Kirkpai>ick of Close 
burn, and James de Lindsay, who eagerly asked him what 
tidings 7 " Bad tidings," answered Bruce; " I doubt I have 
slain Comyn." — " Doubtest hou ?" said Kirkpatrick ; "1 
make sicker" (i. e. sure). With these words, he and Lindsay 
rushed into the church, and lespatched the wounded Comyn. 
The Kirkpatricks of Closeburn assumed, in meraoiy of thi 
deed, a hand holding a dagger, with the memorable words, " ] 
make sicker." Some doubt having been started by the lalt 
Lord Hailes as to the identity of the Kirkpatrick who com 
pleted this day's work with .Sir Roger then representative 0. 
the ancient family of Closeburn, my kind and ingenious '"lenn 
Mr. Charles Kirkpatricke Sharpe, has furnished me witn thi 
following memorandum, which appears to fix the 'leed wita 
his ancestor : — 

" The circumstances of the Regent Cummin's murder, *t<im 
which the family of Kirkpatrick, in Nithsdale, is said to n«r» 
derived its crest and motto, are well known to all ocnvtrsaa 
with Scottish history ; but Lord Hailes hai started a loabt ai 
to the authenticity of this tradition, when recording the ^^n^ 
der of Roger Kirkpatrick, in his own Castle of Caerlaverock, 
by Su' James Lindsay. ' Fordnn,' says his .ordship, ' remarks 
that Lindsay and Kirkpatrick were the neirs of the two men 
who accompanied Robert Brus at the fatal conference with 
Comyn. If Fordun was rightly informed as to this particu- 
lar, an argument arises, in support of a notion which I havf 

whom Barbour thinks a mere proper prototype for the Bruce, occurs m ths 
romance of Alexander, of which there is a unique transla'ion into Scottiik 
Terse, in the library of the Honourable Mr. Maule, now Eail of Pm. 
muie."— See Webkk's Roi wicee, vol. i. Appeaiiz to Iutro4acti«o, p. Tt 




OTig entertained, that the person who struck his dagger in Co- 
myn'3 ht-.trl, was nut the re;irese:itative of tlit honourable 
fiUiiily of Kirkjiatrick in NitlisilaU?. Ro).'er de K. was made 
prisoner at tlie battle of Durham, in 1346. Roger de Kirkpat- 
rick was aiive on the 6th of August, 1357 ; for, on that day, 
llninphry. the son and heir of Roger de K., is proposed as one 
of the young gentlemen who were to be hoftages for David 
Hruce. Roger de K. Miles w;is present at the parliament held 
in fjlinburgh, 25th September, 1357, and he is mentioned as 
llive 3J (Jctobor, 1357 (FiLdcra) ; it tbilows, of necessary con- 
«tiaenoe, lh:it Roger de K., murdered in June, 1357, must have 
leen a dllirrent person.' — ^mtnls of Scotlnnd, vol. ii. p. 242. 
' To this it may be answered, that at the period of the re- 
gent's murder, there were only two families of the name of 
Kirkpatrick (nearly allied to each other) in existence — Stephen 
Kjrkpatrick, styled in the Chartulary of Kelso (1278) Domi- 
tiuf V)l/(t de Closeburn, Filiiis et hmref Domini Adede Kirk- 
Patrick, .Militis (whose father, Ivone de Kirkpatrick, wit- 
Besses a charter of Robert Brus, Lord of Annandale, before 
tlie year 1141). had two sons. Sir Roger, who carried on the 
hne of Closeburn, and Duncan, who married Isobel, daughter 
and heir,?ss of Sir D:iviLl TorthorwaUi of that Ilk ; they had a 
charter of the lands of Torthorwald from King Robert Brns, 
dated 10th August, the year being omitted — Umphray, the 
ron of Duncan and Isobel, got a charter of Torthorwold from 
the kmg, 16ih July, 1322 — his son, Roger of Torthorwold, got 
a .'.harter from John the Grahame, sou of t^ir John Grahame, 
of Moskessen, of an annual rent of 4(1 shillings, out of the 
lands of Overdryft, 135.5 — his son. William Kirkpatrick, grants 
a charter to John of Garroch, of the twa merk land of Glengip 
and Garvellgill, within the tenement of Wamphray, 22d 
Aj)ril, 1372. From this, it appears that the Torthorwald 
branch was not concerned in the atTair of Comyn's murder, 
and the inflictions of Providence which ensued : Duncan 
Kirkpatrick, if we are to believe the Blind Minstrel, was the 
'irni friend of Wallace, to whom he was related : — 

' Ane Kyrk Patrick, ihat cruel was and keyne, 
In Esdail wod that half yer he had beyne ; 
With Ingliss men he couth nocht weyll accord, 
Jfi Torthorowald he Barron was and Lord, 
If kyn he was, and Wallace modyr ner ;' — &c. 

B. V,, V. 920. 

But ,.-is baron seems to have had no share in the adventures 
of Kmg Robert ; the crest of his family, as it still remains on a 
carved stone built into a cottage wall, in the village of Toi^ 
thorwaUl, bears some resemblance, says Grose, to a rose. 

" Universal tradition, and all our later historians, have at- 
tributed the regent's death-blow to Sir Roger K., of Closeburn. 
The author of the MS. History of the Treshytery of Penpont, 
in the Advocates' Library, alhrms, that tlie crest and motto 
were given by the King on that occasion : and proceeds to re- 
late some circumstances respecting a grant to a cottager and 
his wife in the vicinity of Closeburn Castle, which are cer- 
tainly authentic, and strongly vouch for the truth of the other 
<ef/ort. ' The steep hill,' says he, ' called the Dune of Tyn- 
O, <jf a considerable height, npon the top of which there 
lath been some h.ibitation or fort. There have been in an- 
cient times, on all hands of it, very thick woods, and great 
aboot that p[ace, which made it the more inaccessible, into 
AJiiidi K. Ro. Bruce is said to have been conducted by Roger 
Kirkpatrick, of Closeburn, after thsy had killed the Cumin at 
Duinfriess. wliich is nine miles from Ibis |ilace, whereabout it 
Is probable that he did abide for some time thereafter ; and it 
Ie reported, that during his abode there, he did often divert to 
» poor man's cottage, named Brownrig, sitniie in a small par^ 
pel of stony ground, encompassed with thick woods, where he 
was content sometimes with such mean accommodation as the 
^l,^ce could afTord. The poor man's wife being advised t« '«e- 
Ttio'- the King for somewh-.t. wr.s so modest in .-Sr desires. 



that she sought no more out sec.nt- for Ihe '.rof' in hei lx» 
band'? possession, anr" a '^oertr o' pasturage for a very few 
cattle of ciitlerent If'.nd' ju t!.e I'.l, and the rest of the bound* 
Ot which privilege that anci-.nt family, by the inj iry of time, 
hath a long time been, and is, deprived : but the c«-oft contin 
ues in the possession of the heirs and successonrs lineally d* 
seended of this Brownrig and his wife : so that this family 
being more ancient than rich, doth yet continue in the name, 
and, as they say, retains the old charter."— Jl/S Hi.ttory o) 
the Presbytery of Penpont, in the Advocates' library tj 
Edinbursh. 



Note T. 



Barendown fled fast away, 
Fled thi jieiji De. la Haye. — P. 



424. 



These knights are enumerated by Barbour among the amaE 
n ;mber of Bruce's adherents, who remaine<l in arms with him 
after the battle of Methven. 

" With him was a bold baron, 
Schyr William the Baroundoun, 

Schyr Gilbert de la Haye alsua." 

There were more than one of the noble famil) of Hay engaged 
in Bruce's cause ; but the principal was Gilbert de la Haye, 
Lord of Errol, a stanch adherent to King Robert's interest, 
and whom he rewarded by creating him hereditary Lord High 
Constable of Scotland, a title which he used 16th March, 1308, 
where, in a letter from the peers of Scotland to Philip th« 
Fair of France, he is designed Oilbrrtus de Hay Constabu- 
larius Scotiie. He was slain at the balt'e of Halidou.n-hill 
Hugh de la Haye his brother, was made prisoner at the battU 
of Methven. 



Note U. 

Well hast thou framed. Old Man, thy strains. 
To praise the hand that pays thy pains.- P. 425. 

The character of the Highland bards, however high in ac 
earlier period of society, seems soon to have degenerated 
The Irish affirm, that in their kindred tribes severe laws be- 
came necessary to restrain their avarice. In the Highlandi 
they seem gradually to have sunk into contempt, as well at 
the orators, or men of speech, with whose office that of family 
poet was often united. — " The orators, in their language called 
Isdane, were in high esteem both in tht» islands and the con- 
tinent ; until within these forty years, thvy sat always among 
the nobles and chiefs of families in the slreah, or circle. 
Their houses and little villages were sanctuaries, as well ai 
churches, and they took place before doctors of physick. 
The orators, after the Druids were extinct, were brought in 
to preserve the genealogy of families, and to repeat the sam« 
at every succession of chiefs ; dud upon the occasion of mar- 
riages and births, they made e,pithalaminms and i>anegyncks, 
which the poet or bard pronounced. Thi! orators, by the forca 
of their elo(|uence, had a powerful ascendant over the greateal 
men in their time ; for if any orator did but ask the habit 
arms, horse, or any otiier thing belonging to the g.-eat^-st mnn 
in these islands, it was readily granted them, sometimes out 
of respect, and sometime^ for fear of being exclaimed against 
by a satyre, which, in those days, was reckoned a great dis- 
honour. But these gentlemen becoming insole^t, lost e^ei 
since both the proiit and esteem which was f* nerly due to 
their character ; for neither their panegyricks nor satyres ars 
regarded to what they have been, and I hey ire now allowed 
but a smo.U salary. I must not omit to rs^late their way ol 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



179 



todv, which is very singalar : They shnt their doors and 
»imiuw9 (or a day's time, and lie on their backs, with a stone 
ipon llieir belly, and phds about tlieir heads, and their eyes 
jeiug covered, t^ey pump their brains for rhetorical encomium 
or nanegyrick ; and indeed they furnish such a style from this 
iark cell as is underiitood by very few ; and if they purchase a 
oouple of horses as the reward of their meditation, they think 
Ihsy have done a great matter. The poet, or bard, had a title 
to the br'degroora's upper garb, that is, the plad and bonnet ; 
fco( now he is satisfied witli what the bridegroom pleases to 
jrtv him on s ich occasions." — Martin's ff^cstern Isles. 



Note V. 



Was't not enough to RonahVs bower 
I brought thee, like a paramour. — P. 427. 

It was anciently customary in the Highlands to bring the 
bride to the house of the husband. Nay, in some cases the 
compl:», sauce was stretched so far, that she remained there 
upon trial for a twelvemonth ; and the bridegroom, even after 
tliis period uf cohabitation, retained an ojition of refusing to 
?u!fd his engagement. It is said that a desperate feud ensued 
between the clans of JVIac-Douald of Sleate and Mac-Leod, 
owing to tlie former chief having availed himself of this license 
to send back to Dunvegan a sister, or daughter of the latter. 
Mac-Leod, resenting the indignity, observed, that since there 
was no wedding bonfire, there should be one to solemnize the 
divorce. Accordingly, he burned and laid waste the territories 
iif Mac-Donald, who retaliated, and a deadly feud, with all its 
tscompaniments, took place in form. 



Note W. 

^Unce mctehless Wallace first had been 

In mocke-'y crowned with wreaths of green. — P. 427. 

Stow gives <Ke following curious account of the trial and 
e..icction of tliis celebrated patriot: — "William Wallace, 
who had oft-times set Scotland in great trouble, was taken and 
brought to London, with great numbers of men and women 
wondering upon him. He was lodged in the house of William 
Delect, a citizen of London, in Fenchurch-street. On the 
morrow, being the eve of !?t. Bartholomew, he was brought on 
horseback to Westminster. John Legrave and Geftrey, knights, 
the mayor, sheritfs, and aldermen of London, and many others, 
both oil horseback and on foot, accompanying him ; and in 
the great hall at Westminster, he being placed on the south 
bench, crowned with laurel, for that he had said in times past 
that he ought to bear a crown in that hall, as it was commonly 
reported ; and being appeached for a traitor by Sir Peter Malo- 
rie, the king's jrust'ce, he answered, that he was never traitor 
to the King of Eng and ; but for other things whereof he was 
ac.used, he confessed them ; and was after headed and quai^ 
lered." — Stow, Chr. p. 209. Tliere is something singularly 
lO'ib.fal about the mode in whicli Wallace was taken. That 
*K Mas betrayed to the English is indubitable; and popular 
fame charges Sir John Menleith with the indelible infamy. 
' Accursed," says Arnold Blair. " be the day of nativity of 
John de Menteith, and may his name be struck out of the book 
of life.' But John de Menteith was all along a zealous favorer 
of the English interest. ai>d was governor of Dumbarton Castle 
bv commi.siion from Edward tlie First; and therefore, as the 
accurate Lord Hailes has pbserved, could not be the friend and 
>)nfi(lanl of Wallace, as tradition states him to be. The truth 
leems to be, that Menteith, thoroughly engaged in the Enghsh 
uteri"?',., pursued Wallace closely, and made him prisoner 
,.hroiiph :he treaoher) of "" a'"»ndan' whom Peter Langtoft 
V.!:« Jacl Short 



" William Waleis is nomer that master was of theves, 
Tiding to the king is comen that robbery mischeives, 
Sir John of Menetest sueil William so nigh, 
He tok him when he ween'd least, on night, his lemai 

him by. 
That was through treason o{ Jack • hort his man, 
He was the encheson that Sir John so him ran. 
Jack's brother liad lie slain, the Walleis that is said, 
The more Jack was fain to do William that Waid.' 

From this it would appear that the infamy of seizing '"ki.ftci 
must rest between a degenerate Scottish nobleman, the vassal of 
England, and a domestic, the obscure agent of his treachery ; 
between Sir John Menteith, son of Walter, Earl of Menteilb 
and the traitor Jack Short. 



Note X. 



Where's JVigel Bruce? and De la Hayt, 
And valiant Seton — where are they ? 
Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 
And Fraser, flower of chivalry ?— P. 427. 

When these lines were written, the author was remote froir 
the means of correcting his indistinct recollection conce-.nin; 
the individual fate of Bruce's followers, after the battle o 
Methven. Hugh de la Haye, and Thomas Somerville of Lin 
toun an<l Cowdally, ancestor of Lord Somerville, were boti 
made prisoners at that defeat, but neither was executed. 

Sir Nigel Bruce was the younger brother of Robert, to whf n. 
he committed the charge of iiis wife and daughter, Marjorie. 
and tlie defence of his strong castle of Kildrunimie, near tht 
head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire. Kildrummie long resisted 
the arras of the Earls of Lancaster and Hereford, until th( 
magazine was treacherously burnt. The garrison was thei 
compelled to surrender at discretion, and Nigel Bruce, a youtl. 
remarkable for perional beauty, as well fis for gallantry, fel' 
into the hands of the unrelenting Edward. He was tried by p 
special commission at Berwick, was condemned, and executed 

Christopher Seatoun shared the same unfortunate fate. Hi 
also was distinguished by personal valor, and signalized him- 
sell in the fatal battle of Methven. Robert Bruce adventureil 
liis person in that battle like a knight of romance. He dis 
mounted Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, but was in hi: 
turn dismounted by Sir .Philip Mowbray In this emergence 
Seatoun came to his aid, and remounted hii.. Langtoft men 
tions, that in this battle the Scottish wore white surplices, o 
shirts, over their armor, that those of rank miglit not be knowr 
In this manner both Bruce and Seatoun escaped. But tli. 
latter was afterwards betrayed to the English, through means 
according to Barbour, of one MacNab, "a disciple of Judas ' 
in whom the unfortunate knight reposed entire confidenct 
There was some peculiarity respecting his punishment ; be- 
cause, according to Matthew of Westminster, he was consid 
ered not as a Scottish subject, but an Englishman. H» wa- 
therefore taken to Dumfries, where he was tried condemiied 
and executed, for the murder of a soldier slain by hira. HU 
brotlier, John de Seton, had the same fate at Newcastle: boti 
were considered as accomplices in the slaughter of Corny D'ii 
in what manner they were particularly accessoiy to that deei 
does not appear. 

The fate of Sir Simon Frazer, or Frizel, aricesto of th; 
family of Ijovat, is dwelt U[)on at great length, and with savag ■ 
exultation, by the English historians. This knight, who wa- 
renowned for personal gallantry, and high deeds of chivalry 
was also made prisoner, after a gallant defence, in the batti 
of Methven. Some stanzas of a ballad of the times, wlncli 
for the sake of rendering it intelligible, I have translated ou 
of its rude orthograpliy, give minute particulars oi his fatp 
It was written immediately at the period, for it mentions tli 
Earl of A-tJiole as not yet in cmtody. It was first ijublish^. 



iSO 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



by the indefa'ieaWe Mr. Ritson, but with so many contrao- 
uoDb and pecnlia-ities of character, as to render it illegible, 
•xcepting by antiquaries. 

This was before Saint Bartholomew's mass, 
That Fiizel wa; >-taken, were it more other less, 
To .'-ir Thomas ,f Multon, gentil baron and free, 
A.nd to Sir Johan Jose be-take tho was he 

To liand 
He was y-fettered wele 
Roth with iron and with steel 

To bripgen of Scotland. 

l!<oon tnereafter the tiding to the kinf come. 
He sent him to London, with mony armed groom. 
He came in at Newgate, 1 tell you it on a-plight, 
A garland of leaves on his head y-dight 

Of green, 
For he should be y-know, 
Both of higii and low. 

For traitour I ween. 

' Y-fettered were his legs under liis horse's wombe. 
Both with iron and witli steel mancled were his bond, 
A garland of pervynk' set upon his heved,' 
Much was the power that him was bereved, 

In land. 
So God me amend, 
Little he ween'd 

So to be brought in hand. 

■ This was upon onr lady's even, forsooth I nnderstaod, 
The justices sate for the knights of Scotland, 

Sir Thomas of Multon, an kinde knvglit and wise, 
And Sir Ralph of Sandwich that mickle is told in price 

Ami Sir Johan Abel, 
Moe I might tell by tale 
■Roth of great and of small 

Ve know sooth well. 

Then said the justice, that gentil is and free. 
Sir Simon Frizel the king's traiter hast thon be; 
[n water and in land that mony mighten see, 
What sayst thou thereto, how will thou quite thee^ 

Do say. 
So fonl he him wist, 
Nede war on trust 

For to say nay. 

■ W/ ith fetters and with gives' y-hot he was to-draw 
From the Tower of London that many men might know, 
In a kirtle of burel, a selcouth wise. 

And a garland on his head of the new guise. 

Through Cheape 
Many men of England 
For to see Syinond 

Thitherward can leap. 

Though he cam to the gallows first he was on hung. 
All quick beheaded that him thought long ; 
Then he was y-opened, his bowels y-brend,< 
The heved to London-bridge was send 

To shende. 
So evermore mote I the. 
Some wliile weened he 

Thus little to »tand.» 

He rideth through the city, as I tell may, 

With gamen and with solace that was theii. play, 

I PariwincUe. — s Hend. — S He waa condemned to be dravrn. — 4 Bnmed. 
I Mfning, ai one time he little thought to itond thu*. — t vii. Saitb 



To London-bridge he took the way, 
Mony was the wives child that thereon lacketh a d»y,« 

And said, alas I 
That he was y-born 
And so vilely forelorn. 

So fair man he was ^ 

" Now standeth the heved above the tn-brigge, 
Fast by Wallace sooth for to segge ; 
After succour of Scotland long may he pry, 
And after help of France what halt it to li^ 

I ween, 
Better him were in Scotland, 
With his axe in his hand. 

To play on the green," Sco. 

The preceding stanzas contain probably as minute an accont^ 
as can be found of the trial and execution of state criminals of 
the period. Superstition mingled its horrors with those of a fe- 
rocious state policy, as appears from the following singular nai- 
rative. 

" The Friday next, before the assumption of Onr Lady, 
King Edward met Robert the Bruce at Saint Johnstonne, in 
Scotland, and with liis company, of which company King Ed- 
ward quelde seven thousand. When Robert the Bruce saw 
this mischief, and gan to Hee, and liovd him that men might 
not him find ; but S. Simond Frisell pursued was so sore, so 
that he turned again and abode bataille, for he was a worthy 
knight and a bolde of bo<lye, and the Englishmen pursuede 
him sore on every side, and quelde the steed that Sir Simon 
Frisell rode upon, and then toke him and led him to the host. 
And S. Symond began for to flatter and speke fair, and saide, 
Lordys, I shall give you four thousand markes of silver, and 
myne horse and harness, and all my armoure and income 
Tho' answered Thobaude of Pevenes, that was the kinges 
archer. Now, God me so helpe, it is for naught that thou speak- 
est, for all the gold of England I would not let thee go with- 
out commandment of King Edward. And tho' he was led to 
the King, and the King would not see him, bnt commanded to 
lead him away to his doom in London, on Our Lady's even 
nativity. And he was hung and drawn, and his head smitten 
oif, and hanged again with chains of iron upon the gallows, 
and his head was set at London-bndge upoa a spear, and 
against Christmas the body was burnt, for enoheson (reaiion) 
that the men that keened the oody saw many devils ramping 
with iron crooks, running upon tne gallows, and horribly tor- 
menting the body. And many that them saw, anon thereafter 
died for dread, or waxen mad, or sore sickness they had."— 
MS. Chronicle in the British Musef'>n, gur's</ by Ritson. 



Note Y. 



fVas not the life of Athole shea, 

To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed! — 1 428. 

John de Strathbogie, Earl of Athole, had attempted to es- 
cape out of the kingdom, but a storm cast him upon the coast, 
when he was taken, sent to London, and executed, with cir' 
cnmstances of great barbarity, being first half strangled, then 
let down from the gallows while yet alive, barbarously dismem- 
bered, and his body burnt. It may surprise the reader to learn, 
that this was a mitigated punishment ; for in respect that his 
mother was a grarxwiaughter of King John, by his natural son 
Richard, he was not drawn on a sledge to execution, " thai 
point was forgiven," and he made the passage on horseback. 
Matthew of Westminster tells us thpt King Edward, then ex- 
tremely ill, received great ease from the news that his relative 
was apprehended. " Quo audita, Rex Anglia, etai gravit 

Lsok-a-day. — 1 The gallant knight, like othen in the nme aituatioB, w» 
jtttied by the female apectatar* aa " a proper young maa." 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



481 



sjmj morbo tunc languerct, levius 'amen tulit dolorem." To 
Uiis Biii<^ular expression the text alludos. 



Note Z. 



jSnd must his word, till dying day, 

Be naught but quarter, hang, and slay. — P. 428. 

This alludes to a passage in Barbonr, singularly expressive of 
be viuJi-jtive ^-i"'-"* :,'" Edward I. The prisoners taken at the 
lastn! oC Kildrummie nad surrendered upon condition that they 
should lie at King Edward's disposal. " But his vill," says 
Bar!)OUi, " was always evil towards Scottishmen." The news 
of the surrender of Kildrummie arrived when he was in his 
r">rtal sickness at Burgh-upon-Sands. 

" And when he to the death was near, 
The folk that at Kyldromy wer 
Come with prisoners that they had tane, 
And syne to the king are gane. 
And for to comfort him they tanld 
How they the castell to them yauld ; 
And how they till his will were brought, 
To do oifthat whatever he thought ; 
And ask'd what men should oif them do. 
Then look'd he angryly them to, 
He said, grinning, ' hanos and draws.' 
That was wonder of sic saws. 
That he, that to the death was near, 
Should answer upon sic maner, 
Fprouten moaning and mercy ; 
How might he trust on him to cry 
That sooth-fastly dooms all thing 
To have mercy for his crying, 
Off liim thai, throw Ids felony, 
Into sic point had no mercy V 

There was much truth in the Leonine couplet, with which 
Mattheif }f Westminster concludes his encomium on the first 
Rdward ; — 

" Pcotos Edwardns, dnm visit, sappeditavit, 
Tvuait, afflixit, depressit, dilaniavit." 



Note 2 A. 



While I the blessed cross advance, 

And expiate this unhappy chance. 

In Palestine, with sword and lance. — P. 428. 

Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, compunction 
for having violated the sanctuary of the church by the slaugh- 
ter of Comyn ; and finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his 
faith, penitence, and zeal, he requested James Lord Douglas 
to c^rrv K's beirt to Jerusalem, to be there deposited in the 
Uoiy bepuicnre. 



Note 2 B. 



Ue Bruce! I rose with purpose dread 

To speak my curse upon thy head. — P. 429. 

So soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter reached Rome, 
Brace and his adherents were excommunicated. It was pub- 
'ished first by the Archbishop of York, and renewed at ditfep- 
ent times, particularly by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. Andrews, 
to 1308 ; but it does not appear to have answered the purpose 
«hich the English monarch expected. Indeed, for reasons 
»hich it may be dilHsi It to trace, the thunders of Rome de- 
Cl 



scended upon the Scottish mountains with less effect than \m 
more fertile countries. Probably the comparative poverty of 
the benefices occasioned that fewer foreign clergy settled in 
Scotland ; and the interest of the native churchmen wei» 
Hnked with that of their country. Many of the Scottish pr& 
lates, Lambyrton the primate particularly, declared for Bruce, 
while he was yet under the ban of the cliurch, althoujjh li» 
afterwards again cl<angod sides. 



Note 2 C. 



I feel eithin mine aged breast 

A power that will not be repressed.-- P 429. 

Hmce, like other heroes, observed omens, and one is recorded 
by tradition. After he had retreated to one of the miserable 
places of shelter, in which he could venture to take some re- 
pose after his disasters, he lay stretched upon a handful of 
straw, and abandoned himself to his me'ancholy meditations. 
He had now been defeated four times, and was upon the point 
of resolving to abandon all hopes of further opposition to hi" 
fate, and to go to the Holy Land. It chanced, his eye, whili 
he was thus pondering, was attracted by the exertions of a spi- 
der, who, in order to fix his web, endeavored to swing himself 
from one beam to another above his head. Involuntarily h» 
became interested in the pertinacity with which the insect re 
newed his exertions, after failing six times ; and it occurred to 
him that he would decide his own course according to the sno 
cess or failure of the spider. At the seventh effort the insect 
gained his object ; and Bruce, in like manner, persevered and 
carried his own. Hence it has been held unlucky or ungrate- 
ful, or both, in one of the name of Bruce to kill a spider. 

The Archdeacon of Aberdeen, instead of the abbot of thii 
tale, introduces an Irish Pythoness, who not only predicted hi> 
good fortune as he left the island of Rachrin, but sent her tw« 
sons along with him, to insure her own family a share iit it 

Then in schort time men mycht thaim se 

Schute all thair galayis to the se, 

And ber to se baith ayr and ster. 

And othyr thingis that mystir' weS". 

And as the king apon the sand 

Wes gangand wp and doun, bidand' 

Till that his menye redy war. 

His ost come rycht till him thar. 

And quhen that scho him halyst had, 

And priw6 spek till him scho made ; 

And said, ' Takis gud kep till my saw : 

For or ye pass I sail you schaw. 

Off your fortoun a gret party. 

Bot our all speceally 

A wyttnng her I sail yow iiA, 

Uuhat end that your purposs sail (4 

For in this land is nane trewly 

Wate thingis to cum sa Weill as I. 

Ye pass now furth on your wiage, 

To wenge the harnje, and the owtrag 

That Ingliss men has to yow done ; 

Hot ye wat nocht quhatkyne forton 

Ye mon drey in yonr werraying. 

Bot wyt ye weill, with outyn lesing, . 

That fra ye now haift'takyn land, 

Nane sa mychty, na sa strenth thi of haadi 

Sail ger yow pass owt of yi<ur conntrA 

Till all to yc v abandownyt te. 

Wikh in fcho t tyme ye sail be king, 

And haiff the land at your liking. 

And ourcum your fayis all. 

Bot fele anoyia thole ye sail, 

1 Xeed.— 3 Abidin 



482 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Or that yonr pnrprfs o^-d haifTtane : 
Bot ye saU tliaim oiirdryve ill.ane, 
An;l, mat ye trow this sekerly, 
My twa sonnys with yow sail I 
Send to tak part of your trawaill ; 
For I wate weill thai sal] noeht faill 
To be rewa'dyt Weill at rycht, 
QrUlien ye a heyit to yowr mycht.' " 

Barbour's Bruce, Book iii., v. 



856. 



Note 2 D. 



^ huuted wanderer on the wild, 

On foreign shores a man exiled. — P. 4SJ9. 

This is not metaphorical. The echoes of Scotland did ac- 
tually 



With the bloodhounds that bayed for her fugitive king." 

A very curious and romantic tale is told by Bqffeour upon this 
lubject, which may be abridged as follows : — 

When Bruce had again got footing in Scotland in the spring 
of 1306, he continued to be in a very weak and precarious con- 
dition, gaining, indeed, occasional advantages, but obliged to 
fly before his enemies whenever they assembled in force. Upon 
one occasion, while he was lying with a small party in the 
wlkls of Cumnock, in Ayrshire, Aymer de Valence, Earl of 
Pembroke, with his inveterate foe John of Lorn, came against 
him suddenly with eight hundred Highlanders, besides a large 
body of men-at-arms. They brought with them a slough-dog, 
er bloodhound, which, some say, had been once a favorite 
with the Bruce himself, and therefore was least likely to lose 
t:« trace. 

Brace, whose force was under four hundred men, contintied 
O make head against the cavalry, till the men of Lorn had 
nearly cut off his retreat. Perceiving the danger of his situa- 
tion, ne acted as the celebrated and ill-requited Mina is said 
to have done in similar circum.stances. He divided his force 
into three parts, appointed a place of rendezvous, and com- 
manded them to retreat by different routes. But when John 
of Lorn arrived at the spot where they divided, he caused the 
haiund to be put upon the trace, whicli immediately directed 
Mm to the pursuit of that party which Bruce lieaded. This, 
therefore. Lorn pursued with his whole force, paying no at- 
tention to the others. Tlie king again subdivided his small 
lyody into three p.irts, and with the same result, for the pur- 
suers attached themselves exclusively to that which he led in 
person. He then caused his followerf .o disperse, and retained 
only his foster-brother in his company. The slough-dog fol- 
lowed the trace, and, neglecting the others, attached himself 
and his attendai.'-s to the pursuit of the king. Lorn became 
convinced that his enemy was nearly in his power, and de- 
tached five of his most active attendants to follow him, and 
interrap! his High* They did so with all the agility of moun- 
taJr.eera " Wha. aid wilt thou make 7 ' said Bruce to his 
BB^le attendant, when he saw the five men gain ground on 
S» " The best I can," replied his foster-brother. " Then," 
rtr Bruce, ' here I make my stand." The five pursuers 
c&me up fast The King took three to himself, leaving the 
other ..wo to l.ia foster-brother. He slew the first who en- 
tourtered him ; but ob.serying his foster-brother hard pressed, 
he sprnrig to Iiis assistance, and disi)atched one of his assail- 
ants. i>eaving him to deal with the survivor, he returned 
upon the other two, both of whom he slew before his foster- 
t.ither had dispatched his single antagonist. When this hard 
encounter was over, with a courtesy, which in the whole work 
marks Bnice's ciiaracter, he thanked his foster-brother for his 
»id. ' It likes you to say so," answered his follower ; " but 
»on y >urself slew four of the five." — " True," said the king, 

but only Secanse 1 had b<"lter op irtnnity than you. They 



were not apprehensive of me . hen they saw me enconntm 
three, so I had a moment's time to spring to thy aid, and ii 
return equally unexpectedly upon my own opponents " 

In the mean while Lom's party ajiproached rajiidly, and tlie 
king and his foster-brother betook themselves to a neighboring 
wood. Here they sat down, for Bruce was exhausted bj 
fatigne, until the cry of the slough-hound came so near, tha; 
his foster-brother entreated Bruce to provide for his safety bj 
retreating further. " I have heard," answered the king, " thai 
whosoever will wade a bow-shot length down a running stiean 
shall make the slough-hound lose scent. — Let us try the e.\j)er 
iment, for were yon devilish hound silenced, I should cart 
little for the rest." 

Lorn in the mean while advanced, and found the bodies ol 
his slain vassals, over whom he made his moan, and threat- 
ened the most deadly vengeance. Then he followed the bounJ 
to the side of the brook, down which the king had waded a 
great way. Here the hound was at fault, and John of Lorn, 
after long attempting in vain to recover Bruce's trace, relin 
quished the pursuit. 

•' Others," says Barbour, " affirm, that upon this occasion 
the king's life was saved by an excellent archer who accompa- 
nied him, and who perceiving they would be finally taken by 
means of t)ie blood-hound, hid himself in a thicket, and shot 
him with an arrow. In which way," adds the metrical biog- 
rapher, "this escape happened I am uncertain, but at thai 
brook the king escaped from his pursuers." 

" Q,uhen the chasseris relyt war, 
And Jhon of Lorn had met thaim thai, 
He tauld Schyr Aymer all the cass 
How that the king eschapyt wass ; 
And how that he his five men slew. 
And syne to the wode him drew, 
duhen Schyr Aymer herd this, in hy 
He sanyt him for the ferly : 
And said ; ' He is gretly to pryss ; 
For I knaw nane that liffand is, 
That at myscheyff gan help him swa 
I trow he suld be hard to sla. 
And he war bodyni ewynly.' 
On this wiss spak Pchyr Aymery." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book v., v. 3!n. 

The English historians agree with Barbour as to the mode 
in which the English pursued Bruce and his followers, and 
the dexterity with which he evaded them. The following Is 
the testimony of Harding, a great enemy to the Scottish na 
tion : — 

" The King Edward with boost hym sought full sore. 
But ay he fled into woodes and strayte forest. 
And slewe his men at staytes and daungers thore. 
And at marreys and mires was ay full prest 
Englyshmen to kyll wifhontyn any rest ; 
In the mountaynes and cragges he slew ay when* 
And in the nyght his foes he frayed full sere : 

" The King Edward with homes and houndes him togfit, 
With menne on fote, through marris, mosse, and myre, 
Through wodes also, and mountens (wher thei fouglit) 
And euer the Kyng Edward bight men greate hyre. 
Hym for to take and by myght conquere ; 
But thei might hym not gette by force ne by train. 
He satte by the fyre when thei went in the rain." 

Hardyno's Chronicle, pp. 303-4. 

Peter Langtoft has also a passage concerning the exttewJom 
to which Ki'ig Robert was reduced, which be entr.le» 

1 Matched. 



De Roberto Brus ei fuga circum circa fit. 
And wele I uiK^erstode that the Kyng Robyn 
Has drunken of that bloJe the drink of Dan Waryn. 
Dan Waryn he les tounes that he held, 
With wrong he mad a res, and misberyng of scheld, 
Silher. into the forest he yede naked and wode, 
Al> a wild beast, ete of the gras that stode, 
Thus of Dan Waryn in his boke men rede, • 
God gyf the King Robyn, that alle his kynde so sped*, 
Sir Robynet the Brus he durst noure abide, 
That ihei mad him restus, both in more and wod-side, 
T» while he mad this train, and did umwhile outrage," &o. 
Peter Lanqtoft's Chronicle, vol. ii. p. 335, 
"vo. London, 1810. 



Note 2 E. 



For, glad of each preiext for spoil, 

A pirate sworn was Corinac Doit. — P. 430. 

A sort of persons common in the isles, as may be easily be- 
fteved, until the introduction of civil polity. Witness the 
Dean of the Isles' account of Ronay. " At the north end of 
Raarsay, be half myle of sea frae it, layes ane ile callit Ronay, 
aiaire then a myle in lengthe, full of wood and lieddir, with 
»ne havein for heiland galeys in the middis of it, and the same 
havein is guid for fostering of theives, ruggairs, and reivairs, 
till a nail, upon the peilling and spulzeing of poor pepill. This 
ile perteins to M'Gillychallan of Raarsay by force, and to the 
bieliope of the iles be heritage." — Sir Donald Monri s 
Description of the fVestern Islands of Scotland, Edinburgh, 
1805. p. 22. 



KoTE 2 F. 



Alas 1 dear youth, the unhappy time,'' 
Answered the Bruce, " must bear the crime, 

Since, guiltier far than you. 
Even I" — he paused ; for Falkirk's woes 
Upon hit conscious soul arose. — P. 431. 

1 have fol'owed the vulgar and inaccurate tradition, that 
trace fought against Wallace, and the array of Scotland, at 
4ie fatal battle of Falkirk. The story, which seems to have 
no better authority than that of Blind Harry, bears, that hav- 
ing made much slaughter during the engagement, he sat down 
to dine with the conquerors without washing the filthy witness 
from his hands. 

" Fasting he was, and had been in great need, 
Blooded were all his weapons and his weed ; 
Southeron lords scorn'd him in terms rude. 
And said. Behold yon Scot eats his own blood. 

" Then rued he sore, for reason bad be known. 
That blood and land alike should be his own ; 
With them he long was, ere he got away, 
But contrair Scots he fought not from that day." 

the account given by most of our historians, of the conversa- 

lion between Bruce and Wallace over the Carron river, is 

»qua..7 apocryphal. There is full evidence that Bruce was 

|Dt a. that time on the Engjish side, nor present at the battle 

»f Falkirk; nay, that he acted as a guardian of Scotland, 

'ong with John Comyn, in the name of Baliol, and in oppo- 

lition to the English. He was the grandson of the competitor, 

With whom he has been sometimes confounded. Lord Hailes 

Has well described, and in some degree apologized for, the ear- 

er part of his life. — " His grandfather, the competitor, had 

atiCDtly acqv'esced ii the ovard of Edward, His father. 



yielding to the times, had served under the English bannen 
But young Bruce had more ambition, and a more restless s]iiiit 
In his earlier years he acted upon no regular plan. By turm 
the partisan of Edward, and the vicegerent of Baliol, he seemi 
to have forgotten or stifled his pretensions to the crown. Bui 
his character developed itself by degrees, and in maturer age 
became firm and consistent." — Annals of Scotland, p. 2'.)U 
4to. London, 1776. 



Note 2 G. 



These are the savage wilds that lie 

JVorth of Strathnardill and Dunskye, — P. 4J2. 

The extraordinary piece of scenery which I have here at- 
tempted to describe, is, 1 think, unparalleled in any part of 
Scotland, at least in any which I have happened to visit It 
lies just upon the frontier of the Laird of Mac-Leod's counliv 
which is thereabouts divided from the estate of Mr. Maealisl< 
of Strath-Aird, called Strathnardill by the Dean of the Isle. 
The following account of it is extracted from a journaP kepi 
during a tour through the Scottish Islands : — 

" The western coast of Sky is highly romantic, and at the 
same time displays a richness of vegetation in the lower grounds 
to which we have hitherto been strangers. We passed thret 
salt-water lochs, or deep embayments, called Loch Bracadale, 

Loch Einort, and Loch , and about eleven o'clock opened 

Loch Slavig. We were now under the western termination 
of the high ridge of mountains called Guillen, or Q,uillin, oi 
Coolin, whose weather-beaten and serrated peaks we had a^ 
mired at a distance from Dun vegan. They sunk here upon 
the sea, but with the same bold and peremptory aspect wliich 
their distant appearance indicated. They appeared to consist 
of precipitous sheets of naked rock, down which the torrents 
were leaping in a hundred lines of foam. The tops of the 
ridge, apparently inaccessible to human foot, were rent and 
split into the most tremendous pinnacles. Towards the base 
of these bare and precipitous crags, the ground, enriched by 
the soil washed down from them, is comparatively verdant and 
productive. Where we passed within the small isle of Soa, 
we entered Loch Slavig, under the shoulder of one of these 
grisly mountains, and observed that the opposite side of the 
loch was of a milder character, the mountains being softened 
down into steep green declivities. From the bottom of the 
bay advanced a headland of high rocks, which divided its 
depth into two recesses, from each of which a biook issued. 
Here it had been intimated to us we would find some roman- 
tic scenery ; but we were uncertain np which inlet we shoulii 
proceed in search of it. We chose, against our better judg- 
ment, the southerly dip of the bay, where we saw a house 
which might afford us information. We found, upon inquiry, 
that there is a lake adjoining to each branch of the bay ; and 
walked a couple of miles to see that near the farm-house, 
merely because the honest Highlander seemed jealous of he 
honor of his own loch, though we were speedily convineeC .1 
was not that which we were recommended to examine, li 
had no particular merit, excepting from its neighborhood t« 8 
very high cliff, or precipitous mountain ; otherwise the sheet (l4 
water had nothing differing from any ordinary lowfnnUy 
lake. We returned and re-embarked in our boat, for fir guille 
shook his head at our proposal to climb over tlie peninsula, oi 
rocky headland which divided the two lakes. In rowing round 
the headland, we were surprised at the infinite number of sea- 
fowl, then busy apparently with a shoal offish. 

" Arri\.<i' at the depth of the bay, we found that the dis- 
charge from this second lake forms a sort of waterfall, or rathei 
a rapid stream, which rushes down to the sea with great furj 
and precipitation. Round this place were assembled hundredj 
of trouts and salmon, struggling to get ip into the fresh watat 

I Thli isbom the Poet's own oanml.— Kd 



♦ 84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKKS. 



with a net we might have had twenty salmon at a haul ; and 
p sailor, with no better hook than a crooked pin, caught a dish 
ol trouts dnri'ig our ahsence. Advancing up this huddling 
and riotous brook, we found ourselves in a most extraordinary 
scene ; we lost sight of the sea almost immediately after we 
nad climbed over a low ridge of erajrs, and were surrounded by 
rnountainf: oi naked rock, of the boldest and most precipitous 
character. Tlie ground on which we walked was the margin 
cf a lake, which seemed to have sustained the constant ravage 
•if torrents from these rude neighbors. The shores consisted of 
r.uge strata of naked granite, here and there intermi.xed with 
JOgs, and heans of gravel and sand piled in the empty watei^ 
i,ou-ses. Vegetation there was little or none ; and the moun- 
ains rose so perpendicularly from the water edge, tliat Bor- 
fowdale, or even Glencoe, is a jest to them. We proceeded a 
mile and a half up this deep, dark, and solitary lake, which 
vas about two miles long, half a mile broad, and is, as we 
If.arned, of e.xtreme depth. The murky vapors which envel- 
oped the mountain ridges, obliged us by assuming a thousand 
varied shapes, changing their drapery into all sorts of forms, 
and sometimes elearing off all together. It is true, the mist made 
us pay the penalty by some heavy and downright showers, 
from the frequency of which a Highland boy, whom we 
jrought from the farm, told us the lake was po|)u!arly called 
the Water-kettle. The proper name is Loch Corriskin, from 
the deep corrie, or hollow, in the mountains of Cuilin, which 
s.rtbrils the basin for this wonderful sheet of water. It is as 
e.vquisite a savage scene as Loch Katrine is ascene of romantic 
beauty. After having penetrated so far as distinctly to ob- 
serve the termination of the lake under an immense precipice, 
which rises abruptly from the water, we returned, and often 
Hopped to admire the ravages which storms must have made 
in these recesses, where all human witnesses were driven to 
places of more shelter and security. Stones, or rather large 
masses and fragments of rocks of a com|)Osite kind, perfectly 
ilirterent from the strata of the lake, were scattered upon the 
l>are rocky beach, in the strangest and most precarious situa- 
lions, as if abandoned by the torrents which had borne them 
lown from above. Some lay loose and tottering upon tne 
'edges of the natural rock, with so little security, that the 
sligi.'est push moved them, though their weight might exceed 
many tons. These detached rocks, or stones, were chiefly what 
U called plum-pudding stones. The bare rocks, which formed 
be shore of the lakes, were a species of granite. The opposite 
fcide of the lake seemed quite pathless and inaccessible, as a 
liuge mountain, one of the detached ridges of the Cuilin hills, 
■inks in a profound and perpendicular precipice down to the 
water. On the left-hand side, which we traversed, rose a 
higher and equally inaccessible mountain, the top of which 
I'.'ongly resembled the shivered crater of an exhausted volcano. 
1 never saw a spot in which there was less appearance of vege- 
ation of any kind. The eye rested on nflthing but barren and 
naked crags, and the rocks on which we walked by the side of 
the loch were as bare as the pavements of Cheapside. There 
are one or two small islets in the loch, which seem to bear 
JKniper, or some such low bushy shrub. Upon the whole, 
liiongh I have seen many scenes of more extensive desolation, 
I never witnessed any in which it pressed more deeply upon 
Ikt eye an.J the heart than at Loch Corriskin ; at the same time 
t^imt its grindeur elevated and redeemed it from the wild and 
.i««rr liaracter of utter barrenness." 



Note 2 H. 



Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-look' d, unwilling to be seen.- 



-P. 434. 



The story of Bruce's meeting the banditti is copied, with 
nich alterations as the fictitious narrative rendered necessary, 
Ttom a striking incident in the monarch's history, told by Mai- 



hour, and which I shall give in the words of the hero's bio| 
rapher. It is the sequel to the adventure of the bloodhound 
narrated m Note 2 D. It will be remembered that tlie narrs 
tive broke otT, leaving the Bruce escaped from his pursnen 
but worn out with fatigue, and having no other attendant bg 
his f jster-brother. 

" And the gude king held forth his way, 
Betuix him and bis man, quhill thai 
Passyt owt throw the forest war ; ^ 
Syne in the more thai entryt thar. 
It wes bathe hey, and lang, and braid; 
And or thai hallTit passyt had. 
Thai saw on syd thre men cummand, 
Lik to lycht men and wauerand. 
Swerdis thai had, and axys als ; 
And ane ofi"thaim, apon his hals,i 
A mekill boundyn wethir bar. 
Thai met the king, and haiist^ him thar. 
And the king thaim thar hailsing yajld ;* 
And askyt thaim quethir thai wauld. 
Thai said, Robert the Bruyss thai souchtj 
For mete with him gift" that thai moncht, 
Thar duelling with him wauld thai ma ♦ 
The king said, ' Giff that ye will swa, 
Haldys furth your way with me. 
And I shall ger yow sone him se.' 
"Thai persawyt, be his speking. 
That he wes the selwyn Robert king; 
And chaungyt contenance and late ;' 
And held nocht in the fyrst state. 
For thai war fayis to the king ; — 
And thoucht to cum in to sculking. 
And duell with him, qnhill that thai »aw 
Thar poynt, and bryng him than off daw 
Thai grantyt till his spek forthi.' 
Hot the king, that wes witty, 
Persawyt Weill, by thar hawing, 
That thai luifyt him na thing : 
And said, ' Falowis, ye mon, all thre, 
Forthir aqwent till that we be. 
All be your selwyn furth ga ; 
And, on the samyn wyss, we twa 
Sail folow behind weill ner.' 
Quoth thai, ' Schyr, it is na mystei* 
To trow in ws ony ill.' — 
' Nane do I,' said he ; ' bot I will. 
That yhe ga fourth thus, qnhill we 
Better with othyr knawin he.' — 
' We grant,' thai said, ' sen ye Nyill swa : 
And furth apon thair gate gan ga. 

" Thus yeid thai till the nycht wes nn. 
And than the formast cummyn wer 
Till a waist housband houss ;!< and thar 
Thai slew the wethir that thai bar : 
And slew fyr for to rost thar mete ; 
And askyt the king gift' he wald ete. 
And rest him till the mete war dycht. 
The king, that hungry was, Ik hycht, 
Assentyt till thair spek in hy. 
Bot he said, he wald anerly'" 
At a fyr ; and thai all thre 
On na wyss with thaim till gyddre be. 
In the end otf the houss thai suld ma 
Ane othyr fyr ; and thai did swa. 
Thai drew thaim in the houss end. 
And halff'the wethir till him send. 
And thar rostyt in hy thair mete ; 

Neck.— 3 Saluted.— S Returned their sik.ate. — 4 M«k« * Oaitnt* a 
manner.— 6 Kill him. — 1 Therefore.— 8 There is no «eid. — t t'tuuaixtAian' 
house, cottage.— 10 Alona. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



48t. 



And fell rycht freschly for till ete. 
For the king weill lang fastyt had ; 
And had rycht mekiil trawaill mad : 
1 harfor he eyt full egrely. 
And qnher he had etyn hastily. 
He hai * elep sa mekiil will, 
That he moucht set na let thar till. 
For quhen the wanys' fillyt ar, 
M»n worthys' hewy euirmar ; 
And to elepe drawys hewynes. 
The king, that all fortrawaillyt^ wes, 
Saw that him worthyt slep nedwayii. 
Till his fostyr-brodyr he sayis; 
' May I traist in the, me to waik, 
Till Ik a little sleping tak ?' — 
' Ya, Schyr,' he said, ' till I may drey.'* 
The king then wynkyt a litill wey ; 
And slepyt nocht full encrely ; 
Bot gliffnyt wp oft sodanly. 
For he had dreid off thai thre men, 
That at the tothyr fyr war then. 
Tliat tliai hh fais war he wyst ; 
Tharfor he slepyt as foule on twyst.* 
" The king slepyt bot a litill than ; 
ftuhen sic slep fell on his rr.an. 
That he mycht nocht hald wp his ey, 
Bot fell in slep, and rowtyt hey. 
Now is the king in gret perile : 
For slep he swa a litill quhile, 
He sail be ded, for owtyn dreid. 
For the thre tratours tuk gud heid, 
That he on slep wes, and his man. 
In full gret hy thai raiss wp than. 
And drew the snerdis hastily ; 
And went towart the king in hy, 
Quhen that thai saw him sleip swa. 
And slepand thoucht tliei wald him cla. 
The king wp blenkit hastily, 
And saw his man slepand him by; 
And saw cumraand the tothyr thre. 
Deliuerly on fute gat he ; 
And drew his suerd owt, and thaim mete. 
And, as he yude, his fute he set 
Apon his man, weill hewyly 
He waknyt, and raiss disily : 
For the slep maistryt hym sway. 
That or he ga t wp, ane off thai, 
That come for to sla the king, 
Gaiff hym a ttrak in his rysing, 
Swa that he mycht help him no ma». 
The king sa mraitly stad ' wes thar, 
That he wes neuir yeyt sa stad. 
Ne war the annyng' that he had, 
He had been dide, for owtyn wer. 
But nocht for thi* on sic maner 
He helpyt him, in that bargayne,^ 
That thai thre tratovvris he has elan. 
Throw Goddis grace, and his manheid. 
His fostyr-brothyr thar was dede. » 

Then wes he wondre will of wayn,t* 
Quhen he saw him left allane. 
His fostyr-brodyr menyt he ; 
And waryit" all the tothyr thre. 
And syne hjs way tuk him allane, 
And rycht towart his tryst's is gane." 

The Bruce, Book v. p. 405. 



'. flet?!'^. -5 Becomes. - 3 Ttti^ed. — 4 Endurp. — 5 Bird on bough.- 
Bc danp:eion«lv situate '. -T ^yi..i it not been f<ir the armor he wore. - 

I Nf rertJieleM.— » Fraj .n Inpute.— 10 Much afflicted.— 11 Cursed.- 

.9 The p^e -»f rendezv.n. •pjH»wtfd for his soldiers. 



Note 2 L 

^nd mermaid's alabaster grot, 

Who'bathea her livibs in sunless well 

Deep in Strathaird' s enchanted cell. — P. 436. 

Imagination can hardly conceive any thing more beautifal 
than the extraordinary grotto discovered not many years since 
upon the estate of Alexan<ler Mac-.\llister. Esq., of Strath- 
aird. It has since been much and deservedly celebrated, rtai 
a full account of its beauties has been published by Dr. Mac- 
Leay of Oban. The general impression may pernaps at 
gathered from the following extract from a journal, which 
written under the feelings of the moment, is likely tt) he iiior 
accurate than any attempt to recollect the impressions ther 
received. — " The first entrance to this celebrated cave is rude 
and unpromising; but the light of the torches, with winch 
we were provided, was soon reflected from the roof, floor, ami 
walls, which seem as if they were sheeted with marble, partlj 
smooth, partly rough with frost-work and rustic ornaments, 
and partly seeming to be wrought into statuary. The floor 
forms a steep and ditHcult ascent, and might be fancifulh 
compared to a sheet of water, which, while it rushed whiten- 
ing and foaming down a declivity, had been suddenly arrested 
and consolidated by the spell of an enchanter. Upon attain- 
ing the summit of this ascent, the cave opens into a splendii' 
gallery, adorned with the most dazzling crystalizal ons, an 
finally descends with rapidity to the brink of a poti, of th» 
most limjjid water, about four or five yards broad. There 
opens beyond this poo! a portal arch, formed by two column^ 
of white spar, with beautiful chasing upon the sidis, which 
promises a continuation of the cave. One of our sailors swam 
across, for there is no other mode of passing, and informed us 
(as indeed we partly saw by the light he carried) that the en- 
chantment of Maccalister's cave tarminates with this portal. 
a little beyond which there was only a rude cavern, speedily 
choked with stones and earth. But the pool, on the brink oi 
which we stood, surrounded by the most fanciful mouUlinj?. 
in a substance resembling white marble, and distinguisheil 
by the depth and purity of its waters, might have been the 
bathing grotto of a naiad. The groups of combined figure^ 
projecting, or embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, ar? 
exquisitely elegant and fanciful. A statuary 'might catcli 
beautiful hints from the singular and romantic disposition ol 
those stalactites. There is scarce a form, or group, on which 
active fancy may not trace figures or grotesque ornaments 
which have been gradually moulded in this cavern by th« 
dropping of the calcareous water hardening into petrilactions 
Many of those fine groups have been injured by the senseless 
rage of appropriation of recent tourists ; and the grotto has 
lost (I am informed), through the smoke of torches, some 
thing of that vivid silver tint which was originally one o( itt 
chief distinctions. But enough of beauty remains to com))en. 
sate for all that may be lost." — Mr. Mac- Agister of Slrrith 
aird has, with great propriety, built up the exterior entranct 
to this cave, in order that srangers may enter projis^ly at- 
tended by a guide, to prevent any repetition of the w&ntM 
and selfish iiijury which this singular scene has already lu 
tained. 



Note 2 K 

Yet to no sense of selisk wrongs, 
Bear witness with me Heaven, belongt 
Jilyjoy o'er Edw:.rd's bier. — P 438. 

The generosity which does _.nitice to the character of at 
enemy, often marks Bruee's ^entime^t3, as recorded by ibt 
faithful Barbour. He sehlom mentions a fallen enemy with 
out praising such good qualities as he might possess I stial 



JSG 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



»rily take one instance. Shortly after Brnee landed in Car- 
rick, in 1306, ^'ir Ingram Bell, the Enelish governor of Ayr, 
engaged a wealthy yeoman, who had hitherto been.a folloA'er 
of Bruce, to undertake the task of assassinating him. The 
King learned this treaoher', as he is said to have done other 
secrets of the enemy, hy means of a female with whom he had 
an intrigue. Shortly after he was possessed of this informa- 
tion. Bruce, resorting to a small thicket at a distance from his 
siei. .ith only a single page to attend him, met the traitor, 
accompanied by two of his sons. They approached him with 
their wonted familiarity, but Bruce, taking his page's bow and 
«rrow 'ommanded them to keep at a distance. As they still 
|i'>!sse(l forward witli profe.ssion3 of zeal for his person and 
(rrviee, he, after a second warning, shot the father with the 
UTOW ; and being assaulted successively by the two sons, dis- 
oatched first one, who was armed with an axe, then as the 
)ther charged him with a spear, avoided the thrust, struck the 
head from the spear, and cleft the skull of the assassin with a 
blo« of Jiis two-handed sword. 



' He rushed down of blood all red, 
And when tlie king saw they were dead, 
All three lying, he wiped Ids brand. 
With that his boy came fast running, 
And said, "Our lord might lowyt' be,. 
That granted you might and poweste* 
To fell the felony and the pride. 
Of three in so little tide.' 
The king said, ' So our lord me see, 
They have been worthy men all three, 
Had they not been full of treason : 
But that made their confusion.' " 

Barbour's Bruce, B. v. 



p. 152. 



Note 2 L. 

Suth katu was his on Solvtny's stravd, 
IV/ien vengeance clencli'd his palsied hand. 
That pqinted yet to Scotland's land. — P. 439. 

To establish his dominion in Scotland had been a favorite 
object of Edward's ambition, and nothing could exceed the 
pertinacity with which he pursued it, unless his inveterate 
resentment against the insurgents, who so frequently broke 
the English yoke when he deemed it most firmly riveted. 
After the battles of Falkirk and Methven, and the dreadful 
examples which he h.id made of Wallace and other cham- 
pions of national independence, he probably concluded every 
chance of insurrection was completely annihilated. This was 
in 1300, when Bruce, as we have seen, was utterly expelled 
from Scotland : yet, in the conclusion of the same year, Bruce 
was again in arms and formidable; and in l.'?07, Edward, 
though exhausted bv a long and wasting malady, put himself 
tt the head of the army destined to destroy him utterly. This 
wa* perhaps, ))artly in consequence of a vow which he had 
!• -<a upon him, with all the pomp of chivalry, upon the day 
« wmch he dribed his son a knight, for which see a subse- 
quent note. Bpt even his spirit of vengeance was unable to 
testore his exhausted strength. He reached Bnrgh-npon-Sands, 
a petty village of Cumberland, on the shores of the Solway 
Firth, and there, 6lh .Inly, 1307, expired in sight of the de- 
lesied and devoted country of Scotland. His dying injunc- 
lions to his son reciuired him to continue the Scottish war, and 
sever to recall Gaveston. Edward II. disobeyed both charges. 
Yet, more to mark his animosity, the dying monarch ordered 
nis bones to be carried with the invading army. Froissart, who 
probably ir-id the authority of eye-witnesses, has given us the 
fo'Iow ing acooont of this remarkable charge :— 



Lkoded. 



I Powell 



" In the said forest, the old King Robert of Scotland dji 
kepe hymselfe, whan King Edward the Fyrst conquered nygh 
all Scotland ; for he was so often chased, that none durst log* 
him in castell, nor fortresse, for feare of the said Kyng. 

" And ever whan the King was returned into Ingland, thai 
he would gather together agayn his people, and conquer* 
townes, castells, and fortresses, iuste to Berwick, some by bat 
tie, and some by fair speech and love : and when the said 
King Edward heard thereof, than would he assemble his pow- 
er, and wyn the realme of Scotland again : thus the chanc* 
went between these two foresaid Kings. It was shewed me 
how th.-it this King Robert wan and lost his realme v. times. 
So this continued till the said King Edward died at Berwick : 
and when he saw that he shoula die, he called before l«m his 
eldest son, who was King after him, and there, before all tha 
barones, he caused him to swear, that as soon as he were dead, 
that he should take his body, and boyle it in a cauldron, till 
the flesh departed clean from the bones, and than to bury the 
flesh, and keep still the bones ; and that as often as the Pcotts 
should rebell against him, he should assemble the people 
against them, and carry with him the bones of his father ; for 
he believed verily, that if they had his bones with them, that 
the Scotts should never attain any victory against them. Tft« 
which thing was not accomplished, for when the King died 
liis son carried him to London." — Bernkrs' Froissart'i 
Chronicle, London, 1812, pp. 39, 40. 

Edward's commands were not obeyed, for he was interred 
in Westminster Abbey, with the appropriate inscription, — 

" Edwardus Primus Scotorum malleus hic est. 
Pactum Serva." 

Yet some steps seem to have been taken towards renderin| 
his body capable of occasional transportation, for it was exqni 
sitely embalmed, as was ascertained when his tomb was opened 
some years ago. Edward II. juctged wisely in not carrying 
the dead body of his father into Scotland, since he would no< 
obey his living counsels. 

It ought to be observed, that though the order of the inci 
dents is reversed in the poem, yet, in point of hst<>''ca! accn 
racy, Bruce had landed in Scotland, and oh' vmed some su« 
cesses of consequence, before the death of Edward I. 



Note 2 M. 



• Carina's timer, that, steep and gray, 



Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the hay. — P. 440. 

The little island of Canna, orCannay, adjoins to those of 
Ram and Muick, with which it forms one parish. In a 
pretty bay opening towards the east, there is a lofty and 
Blender rock detached from the shore. Upon the summit are 
the ruins of a very small tower, scarcely accessible by a 
eteep and precipitous path. Here, it is said, one A the 
kings, or Lords of the Isles, confined a beautiful lady, of 
whom he was jealous. The ruins are of course haunted hy 
her restless spirit, and many romantic stories are told by 
the aged people of the island concerning her fate in life, and 
her appearances after death. 



Note 2 N. 



And Ronin's mountains dark have sttit 
Their hunters to the shore, — P. 440. 

Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name wlich a poet may 
be pardoned for avoiding if possible) is a rough mountain- 
ous island, adjacent to those of Eigg and Cannay. Tbera 
is almost no arable ground upon it, so that, except in tha 
plenty of the deer, which are now nearly extirpated, it 
still deserves the description bestowed by the a sbdeaoon (/ 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



481 



the Isles. " Ronin, pixteea my'.e north-wast from the ile of 
Coil, lyes ane ile callit Ronin I'e, of sixteen myle long, and six 
in bredthein th^ narrowest, une forest of heigh mountains, and 
»bundance of little deir in it, quhiik ueir will never be slane 
aouiiewith, but the principal saittis man be in the height of the 
lil!, because the deir will be callit upwart ay be the tainchell, 
3r V'ithout tynchell they will pass upwart perforce. In this 
dt will he gotten about Britane als many wild nests upon the 
ti.ane muie aa men pleasis to gadder, and yet by resson the 
fewL hes f^w to start them except deii T>'s Me lyes from the 
<• m lo <he eist in lenth, and pertains to M'K-^nabrey of Colla. 
Miny solfui geese are m this lie." — MuNKO * Dvscription of 
Jte Wetum Xilet, p. IS. 



Note 2 0. 



On Scoureigg next a warning light 

Summon'd her warriors to the fight ; 

A numerous race, ere stern JUacleod 

O'er their bleak shores in vengeance ttrode. — P. 440. 

'I'hose, and the following lines of the stanza, refer to a 
Jrein'ful tale of feudal vengeance, of which unfortunately 
there are relics that still attest the truth. Scoor-Eigg is a high 
peak in the centre of the small Isle of Eigg, or Egg. It is well 
known to mineralogists, as affording many interesting speci- 
mens, and to others whom chance or curiosity may lead to the 
island, for the astonishing view of the mainland and neighbor- 
ing isles whici) it commands. I shall again avail myself of the 
journal I have quoted.' 

"2()fA August, 1814. — At seven this morning we were in 
ihe Sound whif^h divides tlie Isle of Rum fiom that of Eigg. 
The latter, although hilly and rc<cKy, and triversed by a re- 
markably high and ba^e::; ridge called Scpor-Rigg, has, in 
iMjint of soil, a much raori ofomisio" appep^ance. Southward 
jf both lies the Isk of Mjich, or Muck, a low and fertile 
island, and though thf least, ye*, prob-oly the most valuable 
of the three. We manaed the 'uoat, and rowed along the 
ehoreof Egg in quest of a cavern, which had been the memo- 
rable scene of a horrid feudal vengeance. We had rounded 
more than half the island, admiring the entrance of many a 
lold natural cave, which its rocks exhibited, without finding 
hat which we sought, until we procured a guide. Nor, in- 
ieed, was it surprising that it should have escaped the search 
i»f strangers, as there are no outward indications more than 
might distinguish the entrance of a fox-earth. This noted 
>,ave has a very narrow opening, through which one can hardly 
creep on his knees and hands. It rises steep and lofty within, 
and runs into the bowels of the rock to the depth of 255 mea- 
sured feet ; the height at the entrance may be about three feet, 
hut ris«s within to eighteen or twenty, and the breadth may 
vary in the same proportion. The rude and stony bottom of 
•his cave is strewed with the bones of men, women, and chil- 
dren, the sad relics of the ancient inhabitants of the island, 200 
ji number, vno were slain on the following occasion : — The 
Mac-Donalds of the Isle of Egg, a people dependent on Clan- 
Ranald, had done some injury to 'lie Laird of Mac-Leod. The 
tradition of the isle says, thai it was by a personal attack on 
the chieftain, in which his bac'' *as broken. But that of the 
other isles bears, raoie pr''b^jiy .nat the injury was offered to 
two or three of the Mjc-Leo^s. *ho, landing upon Eigg, and 
using some freedom W'^i the young women, were seized by 
the islanders, bound hard and foot, and turned adrift in a boat, 
which the winds and w^ves safely conducted to Skye. To 
avenge the offence given, Mac-Leod sailed with such a body 
•f men, as rendered resistance hopeless. The natives, fearing 
his vengeance, concealed themselves in this cavern, and, after 
» strict search, the Mac-Leods went oo board their galleys, 
ifter doing what mischief they could, concluding the inhabit- 

I See note iQ,v 483, caiU, 



ants had left the isle, and betaken themselves to the T^ong III. 
and, or some of Clan-Ranald's other possessions. But next 
morning they espied from the vessels a mm upon tho island, 
and immediately landing again, they traced his retreat by tha 
marks of his footsteps, a light snow being unhappily on th« 
ground. Mac-Leod then surrounded the cavern, summoner 
the subterranean garrison, and demanded that the individual 
who had offended him should be delivered jp to him. Thii 
was peremptorily refused. The chieftain then caused his pe« 
pie to divert the course of a rill of water, which, fallin-; i 
the entrance of the cave, would have prevented his purpa 
vengeance. He then kindled at the entrance of the caveu 
huge fire, composed of turf and fern, and maintained it wirt 
unrelenting assiduity, until all within were destroyed by snfto* 
cation. The dale of this dreadful deed must have i^een ret 
cent, if one may judge from the fresh appearance of tnose re'- 
ics. I brought off, in spite of the prejudice of our sailors, a 
skull from among the numerous specimens of mortality whicU 
the cavern afforded. Before re-embarking we visited another 
cave, opening to the sea, but of a character entirely dillerent, 
being a large open vault, as high as that of a cathedral, and 
running back a great way into the rock at the same height. 
The height and width of the opening gives ample light to the 
whole. Here, after 1745, when the Catholic priests were 
scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg used to perform the R» 
man Catholic service, most of the islanders being of that \>et 
suasion. A huge ledge of rocks rising about half-way up 
one side of the vault, served for altar and pulpit ; and the ap- 
pearance of a priest and Highland congregation in such an ex 
traordinary place of worship, might have engaged the pencil oi 
Salvator." 



Note 2 P. 



that wondrous dome. 

Where, as to shame the temples deck'd 
By skill of earthly architect, 
J^ature herself, it seem' a, would raise 
A Minster to her Maker's praise. — P. 44J 

It would be unpardonable to detain the reader upon a wanr 
der so often described, and yet so incapable of being undsr- 
stood by description. This palace of Neptune is even grandei 
upon a second than the first view. The stupendous coluninj 
which form the sides of the cave, the depth and strength o< 
the tide which rolls its deep and heavy swell up to the extre- 
mity of the vault — the variety of the tints formed by white 
crimson, and yellow stalactites, or petrifactions, which occupy 
the vacancies, between the base of the bi-.iken pillars which 
form the roof, and intersect them with a rich, curious, and va- 
riegated chasing, occupying each interstice — the corresponding 
variety below water, where the ocean rolls over a dark-red oi 
violet-colored rock, from which, as from a base, the ua-^altio 
columns arise — the tremendous noise of the swelling tide, min 
gling with the deep-toned echoes of the vault, — are circum- 
stances elsewhere unparalleled. 

Nothing can be more interesting than the varied ippenrano 
of the little archipelago of islets, of which Staft'a is tne mo« 
remarkable. This group, called in Gaelic Tresharmsn, ajr»ra 
a thousand varied views to the voyager, as they appear m dii 
ferent positions with reference to his course. The variety • 
their shape contributes much to the beauty of these effect*. 



Note 2 Q. 

Scenes sung by him who sings no more. — P. 441. 

The ballad, entitled " Macphail of Colonsay, and the Mw 
maid of Corrievrekin" tsee Border Minstrelsy, vol. i». ' 



285], was composed by John Leyden, from a tradition which 
Be foand while maliing a tour through the Hebrides about 
J801, soon before his fatal departure for India, where, after 
having made farther progress in Oriental literature than any 
man of letters who had embraced those studies, he died a 
martyr to his zeal for knowledge, in the island of Java, im- 
mediately after th"- landing of oar forces near Batavia, in Au- 
gust, Itill. 



Note 2 R. 



T^p TarhaVs western lake they bore. 

Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er. — P. 441. 

The peninsula of Cantire is joined to South Knapdale by a 
Tery narrow isthmus, formed by the western and eastern Loeh 
of Tarbat. These two salt-water lakes, or bays, encroach so 
•ar Tpon the land, and the extremities come so near to each 
other, th.at there is not above a mile of land to divide them. 

" It is not long," says Pennant, " since vessels of nine or ten 
«ons were drawn by horses out of the west loch into that of the 
east, to avoid the dangers of the Mull of Cantyre, so dreaded 
and so little known was the navigation round that promontory. 
It is the opinion of many, that these little isthmuses, so fre- 
quently styled Tarbat in North Britain, took their name from 
the above circumstance; Tarruing, signifying to draw, and 
Bata, a boat. This too might be called, by way of pre-emi- 
nence, the Tarbat, from a very singular circumstance related 
by Torfosus. When Magnus, the barefooted King of Norway, 
obtained from Donald-bane of Scotland the cession of the 
Western Isles, or all those places that could be surrounded in 
a boat, he added to them the peninsula of Cantyre by this 
fraud : he placed himself in the stern of a boat, held the rud- 
der, was drawn over this narrow track, and by this species of 
navigation wrested the country from his brother monarch." — 
Pennant's Scotland, London, 1790, p. 190. 

But that Bruce also made this passage, although at a period 
Iwo or three years later than in tlie poem, appears from the 
jvidence of Barbonr, who mentions also the effect produced 
apon the minds of the Highlanders, from the prophecies cnr- 
«nt amongst them : — 

" Bot to King Robert will we gang, 
That we haff left wnspokyn of lang, 
Ciuhen he had conwoyit to the se 
His brodyr Eduuard, and his menye, 
And othyr men offgret noblay. 
To Tarbart thai lield thair way. 
In galayis ordanyt for thair far. 
Bot thaim worthyt' draw thair sehippis thar : 
And a myle wes betuix the eeys ; 
Bot that wes lompnyt^ all with treis. 
The King his sehippis thar gert^ draw. 
And for the wynd couth* stoutly blavf 
Apon thair bak, as thai wakl ga. 
He gert men rapys and mastis ta. 
And set thaim in the sehippis hey, 
^nd sayllis to the toppis tey ; 
And gert men gang thar by drawand. 
The wynd thaim helpyt, that was blawand ; 
Swa that, in a litill space, 
Thair flote all our drawin was. 

** And qnhen thai, that in the Tis war, 
Hard tell how the gud King had thar 
Gert hys sehippis with saillis ga 
Owt our betuix [the] Tarba*»{iB] twa, 
Thai war abaysits sa wtrely. 
For thai wyst, throw auld prophecy, 

Wor» obliged to. — 9 Laii^ w th trees. — 3 Caused. — 4 Could, 



That he sold gei« sehippis sna 

Betuix thai seis «'ith saillis ga, 

Suld wyne the His sua till hand, 

That nane with strenth suld him withttand. 

Tharfor they come all to the King. 

Wes nane withstud his bidding, 

Owtakyn' Jhone of Lome allayne. 

Bot Weill sone eftre wes he tayne ; 

And present rycht to the King, 

And thai that war of his leding. 

That till the King had brokyn lay,' 

War all dede, and destroyit away." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book x. v W 

\ . 



Note 2 S. 



The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ohoil, " the Mountain of the JVi'td,' 
Oave his grim peaks a greeting kind, 
And bade Loch Rama smile. — P. 441 

Loch Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the northern extremity of 
Arran, opening towards East Tarbat Loch. It is well described 
by Pennant : — " The approach was magnificent ; a fine bay in 
front, about a mile deep, having a ruined castle near the lowei 
end, on a low far projecting neck of land, that forms anothei 
harbor, with a narrow passage ; but within has three fathom 
of water, even ai the lowest ebb. Beyond is a little (ilain wa- 
tered by a stream, and inhabited by the people of a small vil 
lage. The whole is environed with a theatre of mountains ; 
and in the background the serrated crags of Grianan-Atho! soai 
above." — Pennant's Tour to the fVestern Isles, p. 191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil, "the mountamof the winds," is generally known 
by its English, and less poetical name, of Goatfield. 



Note 2 T. 



Each to Loch Rama's margin spring; 
That blast was winded by the King !—V. 443. 

The passage in Barbour, describing the landing of Bruce, 
and his being recognized by Douglas and those of his foUowen 
who had preceded him, by the sound of his horn, is in thg 
original singularly simple and afl'ecting. — The king arrived in 
Arran with thirty-three small row-boats. He interrogated a 
female if there had arrived any warlike men of late in that 
country. " Surely, sir," she replied, " I can tell you of many 
who lately came hither, discomfited the English governor, anrl 
blockaded his castle of Brodick. They maintain themselves in 
a wood at no great distance." The king, truly conceiving that 
this must be Douglas and his followers, who had lately set fVwtli 
to try their fortune in Arran, desired the woman to condtol 
him to the wood. She obeyed. 

• The king then blew his horn on high. 
And gert his men that were him by, 
Hold them still, and all privy ; 
And syne again his home blew he. 
James of Dowglas heard him blow. 
And at the last alone gan know. 
And said, ' Soothly yon is the kine ; 
I know long while since his blowing.' 
The third time therewlthall he blew. 
And then Sir Robert Boid it knew ; 
And said, ' Yon is the king, but dread. 
Go we forth till him, better speed.' 
Then went thfcy till the king in hjre. 
And him inclined rtojrteonsly. 

5 Coifounded.- 6 MaJw.— 1 EicepUng.— 8 Fiutlu 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



48» 



And hlithly wi Icomed them the king, 
And was joyfui of their meeting, 
And kissed them ; and speared' syne 
How they had fared in hunting 1 
And they him told all, but lesing :3 
Bj'ne laud they God of their meeting, 
Syne with the king till his harbourve 
WTent both joyfu' and jolly '' 

Barbour's Bruce, ^ook v. pp. 115, lift. 



Note 2 U. 



-• his brother blamed, 

But shared the weakness, while ashamed, 

fVilh haughty laugh his head he turn'd. 

And dash'd away the tear he scorn'd. — P. 443. 

''» ■< kind, and yet fiery character of Edward Bruce, is well 
Batmed by Barbour, in the account of his behavior after the 
battle of Bannockburn. Sir Walter Ross, one of the very few 
Scottish nobles who fell in tliat battle, was so dearly beloved 
oy Gdward, that he wished the victory bad been lost, so Ross 
oad lived. 

" Out-taken him, men has not seen 
Where he for any men made moaning," 

And here the venerable Archdeacon intimates a piece of scan- 
dal. Sir Edward Bruce, it seems, loved Ross's sister, par 
amours, to the neglect of his own lady, sister to David de 
Btrath bogie, EmI of Atliole. This criminal passion had evil 
consequences ; for, in resentment to the affront done to his 
lister, Athole attacked the guard which Bruce had left at 
Cambuskenneth, during the battle of Bannockburn, to protect 
his magazine of provisions, and slew Sir William Keith, the 
commander. For which treason he was forfeited. 

In like manner, when in a sally from Carrickfergus, Neil 
Fleming, and the guards whom he commanded, had fallen, 
after the protracted resistance which saved the rest of Edwoid 
Broce's army, he made such moan as surprised his followers : 

" Sic moan he made men had ferly,3 
For he was not customably 
Wont for to moan men any thing, 
Nor would not hear men make moaning." 

Bach are the nice traits of character so often lost in general 
hiitory. 



ITOTE 2 V. 



Thou heird'st a wretched female plain 

In agony of travel-pain, 

ilnd thou didst bid thy little band 

Upon the instant turn and eland. 

And dare the worst the foe might do. 

Rather than, like a knight untrue, 

IjCave to pursuers merciless 

A woman in her last distress. — P. 445. 

Tdis incident, which illustrates so happily the chivalrous 
j«aeto«tty of Bruce's character, is one of the many simple and 
liata'n traits recorded by Barbour. It occurred during the 
•xpedition which Bruce made to Irelan , to support the pre- 
tensions of his brother Edward to the throne of that kingdom. 
Bruce was about to retreat, and his host was arrayed for 
moviDi). 

" The king has heard a woman cry, 
He asked what that was in hy.< 
' It is the layndar,6 sir ' sai ane, 

I AiVert.— 8 Without lying.— 3 WoDder.— 4 Haste. — fi loundregi.— 



AiU bri. 



' That her child-ills right now has ta'ea : 
And must leave now behtud us here. 
Therefore she makes an evil cheer.'T 
The king said, ' Certes,8 it were pity 
That she in that point left should be, 
For certes I trow there is no man 
That he no will rue" a woman than.' 
His hosts all there asested he. 
And gert'" a tent soon stinted" be. 
And gert her gang in hastily. 
And other women to be her by. 
While she was delivered he bade ; 
And syne forth on his ways rade. 
And how she forth should carried be. 
Or he forth fure,'^ ordained he. 
This was a full great courtesy, 
Thatswilk a king and so mighty, 
Gert his men dwell on this manner, 
But for a poor lavender." 

Barbour's Bi ace. Book xvi. pp. 30 4( 



Note 2 "W. 

O'er chasms he pass'd, where f~aofu.res wide 
Craved wary eye and ample sti^ile. — P. 448. 

The interior of the island of Arran abounds with bcastifai 
Highland scenery. The hills, being very rocky and precipi 
tous, afford some cataracts of great height, though of incon 
siderable breadth. There is one pass over the river Machrai 
renowned for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, being 
tempted by the narrowness of the ravine to step across, sue 
ceeded in making the first movement, but took fright when i. 
became necessary to move the other foot, and remained in » 
posture equally ludicrous and dangerous, until some chance 
passenger assisted her to extricate herself, it is said she r» 
mained there some hours. 



Note 2 X. 



Ife cross' d his brow beside the stone 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan ; 
And at the cairns upon the wild. 
O'er many a heathen hero piled, — P. 448. 

The isle of Arran, like those of Man and Anglesea, aboonos 
with many relics of heathen, and probably Druidical, super- 
stition. There are high erect colnm is of unhewn stone, the 
most ear'y of all monuments, the circles of rude stones, com- 
monly entitled Druidical, and the cairns, or sepulchral piles, 
within which are usually found urns enclosing ashes. Much 
doubt necessarily rests upon the history of such monuments 
nor is it possible to consider them as exclusively Celtic oi 
Druidical. By much the finest circles of standing stones, ex- 
cepting Stonehege, are those of Stenhouse, at Stennis, in tht 
island of Pomona, the principal isle of the Orcades. These 
of course, are neither Celtic nor Druidical ; and we are Rssorei 
that many circles of the kind occur both in Sweden and Nor- 
way. 



Note 2 Y. 

Old Brodick's gothic towers were seen ; 
From Hastings, late their English J.ord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword. — P. 448. 

Brodick or Brathwick Casitle, in the Isle of Arrati, is an ni 
oient fortress, near aa open roadstead called Brodick-Ba» 

' Stop.— 8 Cartftinly.— 9 Vity.— 10 Caused.— 11 Pitched.— U Moved. 



62 



490 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



»nd not far distant from a tolerable harbor, closed in by th« 
Island of Lamlash. This important place had been assailed a 
ithort time before Bruce's arrival in the island. James Lord 
Douglas, who aec;omj)anied Bruce to his retreat in Raehrine, 
seems, in the spring of 1306, to have tired of his abode there, 
and set out accordingly, in the phrase of the times, to see what 
adventure God wou.d send him. Sir Robert Boyd accom- 
paiied him ; and his knowledge of the localities of Arran 
api'Sars to have directed his course thither. They landed in 
i:;» island privately, and appear to have laid an ambush for 
fir John Hastings, the English governor of Brodwick, and 
wr))rised a considerable supply of arms and provisions, and 
learly took the castle itself. Indeed, that they actually did 
•o, has been generally averred by historiar^, although it does 
lot appear from the narrative of Barbour. On the contrary, 
It would seem that they took shelter within a fortification of 
I'le ancient inhabitants, a rampart called 7'or an Schian. 
When they were joined by Bruce, it seems probable that they 
had gained Brodick Castle. At least tradition says, that from 
the battlements of the tower he saw the supposed signal-fire 
on Turn berry-nook. . . . The castle is now much modernized, 
but has a dignified appearance, being surrounded by flourish- 
tug plantations. 



Note 2 Z. 



Oft, too, icith unaccustom'd ears, 

A language much unmeet he hears. — P. 448. 

Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from 
which it would seem that the vice of profane swearing, after- 
wards too general among the Scottish nation, was, at this 
time, confined to military men. As Douglas, after Bruce's 
return to Scotland, was roving about the mountainous coun- 
try of Tweeddale, near the water of Line, he chanced to hear 
some persons in a farm-house say "the devil.'' Concluding, 
from this hardy expression, that the house contained warlike 
guests, he immediately assailed it, and had the good fortune 
to make prisoners Thomas Randolph, afterwards the famous 
Earl of Murray, and Alexander Stuart, Lord Bonkle. Both 
were then in the English interest, and had come into that 
■sountry with the purpose of driving oat Douglas. They after- 
wards ranked among Bruce's most zealous adherents. 



Note 3 A. 

For, see! the ruddy signal made. 
That Clifford, with his merry-men all. 
Guards carelessly our father's hall. — ?. 449. 

The remarkable circumstances by which Bruce was induced 
1 enter Scotland, under the false idea that a signal-fire was 
ighted upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry 
—the disapiiointment which he met with, and the train of 
i-«7i»ss which arose out of that very disappointment, are too 
•nnoiis to be passei over unnoticed. The following is the 
ittiraavo of Barboui. The introduction is a favorable speci- 
iMr of ni8 style, which seems to be in some degree the model 
bi that of Gawain Douglas: — 

" This wes in ver' quhen wynter tid, 
With his blastis hidwyss to bid. 
Was our drywyn : and byrdis smale, 
As turturis and the nychtyngale, 
Begouth^ rycht sarielyi to syng ; 
And for to mak in thair singyng 
Swete notis, and sownys ser,^ 



1 Serine.— 4 Began.— S Loftilv.- 

tir.t. 



I Severfil. — 6 Make.— < Bad*.- T CoT- 



And inelodys |)lesand to her. 
And the treis begouth to ma^ 
Burgeans,6 and brycht blomys alsna, 
To wyn the helyng? otf thair hewid. 
That wykkyt wyntir had thaim rewid.( 
And all gressys begutli to spryng. 
In to that tyme the iiobill king. 
With his rtote, and a few menye." 
Tlire hundyr I trow thai myciit be, 
Is to the se, owte off Arane 
A b'till forouth,'" ewyn gane. 

'■ Thai rowit fast, with all thair mycht. 
Till 'hat apon thaim fell the nycht. 
That woux niyrk" a\mn gret maner, 
Swa that thai wyst nochl quiiar thai w«r. 
For thai na nedill had, na stane ; 
Bot rowit alwayis in till ane, 
Sterand all tyme apon the fyr. 
That thai saw brynnand lycht anJ schyr.U 
It wes bot auenturi' thaim led : 
And they in schort tyme sa thaim sped, 
That at the fyr arywyt thai ; 
And went to land bot mar delay. 
And Cuthbert, that hai sene the fyr, 
Was full off angyr, and off ire : 
For he durst nocht do it away ; 
And wes alsua dowtand ay 
That his lord suld pass to se. 
Tbarfor thair cummyn waytit he ; 
And met them at thair arywing. 
lie wes wele sone broucht to the Kmg 
That speryt at him how he had done 
And he with sar hart tauld him sone, 
How that he fand nane weill luffanif { 
Bot all war fayis, that he fand j 
And that the lord the Persj 
With ner thre hundre in cumpany. 
Was in the castell thar besid, 
FullfiUyt off dispyt and prid. • 

Bot ma than twa partis off his rowt 
War herberyt in the tonne without ; 
* And dyspytyt yow mar, Schir Ki.ig, 
Than men may dispyt ony thing.' 
Than said the King, in full gret ire ; 
' Tratonr, quhy maid thow than the fyr^' 
' A ! Schyr,' said he, ' sa God me se I 
The fyr wes newyr maid for me. 
Na, or the nycht, I wyst it nocht ; 
Bot fra I wyst it, weill I thocht 
That ye, and haly your menye. 
In hy'^ suld put yow to the se. 
For thi I cum to mete yow her, 
To tell perellys that may aper.' 

" The King wes off his spek angiy, 
And askyt his prywe men, in by, 
Quhat at thaira thoucht wes best to do 
Schyr Edward fryst answert thar to, 
Hys brodyr that wes swa hardy. 
And said : ' I saw yow jekyrly 
Thar sail na perell, that may be, 
Dryve me eftsonysi^ to the se. 
Myne auentur her tak will I, 
Quhethir it be esfull or angry.' — 
' Brothyr,' he said ' sen thou will an\ 
It is gude that we samyn ta 
Dissese or ese, or payne or play, 
Eftyr as God will ws pnrway." 



8 Bereaved.— 9 Men.— 10 Before.— 1 1 Da'k 
-14 Hasto.— 15 Soon afttir.- 16 Prej-ire. 



-V Olear.— .'8 kirmfasn 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



491 



And sen men sayis that the Peisy 

Myn heretage will occapy ; 

And his meiiye sa ner ws lyis, 

That ws dispytis mony wyss ; 

Ga we and wenge' sum off the dispyte 

And that may we haiff done alss tite ;j 

For thai ly traistly,'^ but dreding 

Ofi' ws, or off our her cummyng. 

And thoucht we sl^pand slew thaim all, 

Repruff tharofna man sail. 

For wprrayour na forss suld ma, 

itlnhethir he mycht curcom his fa 

Throw strenth, or throw sutelt6 ; 

B»t that gud taith ?.y haldyn be.' " 

Barbour' I* Bruce, Book iv. v. I. 



Note 3 B. 



JVotp ask you trhence that wondrous light, 
Whose fairy glow beguiled Iheir sight ? 
It ne'er was known. — P. 451. 

• he following are the words of an ingenious correspondent, 
lO whorr. I am obliged for much information respecting Turn- 
Oerry and its neighborhood. " The only tradition now re- 
membered of the landing of Robert the Bruce in Carrick, re- 
lates to the fire seen by him from the Isle of Arran. It is still 
generally reported, and religiously believed by many, that 
this fire was really the work of supernatural power, unassisted 
by the hand of any mortal being ; and it is said, that, for sev- 
eral centuries, the flame rose yearly on the same hour of the 
same night of the year, on which the king first saw it from the 
turrets of Brodick Castle ; and some go so far as to say, that 
if the exact time were known, it v/ould be still seen. That 
tills supemtitious notion is very ancient, is evident from the 
place where the fire is said to have appeared, being called the 
Bogles' Brae, beyond the remembrance of man. In support 
0^ this curious belief, it is said that the practice of burning 
heath for the improvement of land was then unknown ; that 
a spunkie (Jack o'lanthorn) could not have been seen across 
the breadth of the Forth of Clyde, between Ayrshire and 
Vrran ; and that the courier of Bruce was his kinsman, and 
never suspected of treachery." — Letter from Mr. Joseph Train, 
•f Newton Stuart, author of an ingenious Collection of Poems.. 
'llustrative of many ancient Traditions in Galloway and AjT- 
shire, Edinburgh, 1814. [Mr. Train made a journey into Ayi^ 
shire at Sir Walter Scott's request, on purpose to collect 
accurate information for the Notes to this poem ; and the 
reader will find more of the fruits of his labors in Note 3 D. 
This is the same gentleman whose friendly assistance is so 
i«ften acknowledged in the Notes and Introductions of the 
Waverley Novels.] 



Note 3 0. 



They gnin'd the Chase, a wide domain 
T.eftfoi- the Castle's silvan reign. — P. 451. 

The Castle of Turnberry, on the coast of Ayrshire, was the 
wrsperty of Robert Bruce, in right of his mother. Lord Hailes 
mentions the following remarkable circumstance concerning 
.he mode in ivhich he became proprietor of it : — " Martha, 
Countess of Carrick in her own right, the wife of Robert 
Bruce, Lord of Annandale, bare him a son, afterwards Robert 
I. (11th July, 1274). The circumstances of her marriage were 
ingular : happening to meet Robert Bruce in her domains, 
he became enamored of him, and with some violence led him 

1 Avenge.— 2 Quicklv.— 3 Confidently. 
Sir Walter Scott ha» misread Ab. Train's MS., which gave not 



to her castle of Turnberry. A few days after she married hira, 
without the knowledge of the relations of either party. an« 
without the requisite consent of the king. The king instantly 
seized her castle an<i whole estates : She afterwards atoned 
by a fine for her feudal delinquency. Little did Alexandei 
foresee, thaj, from this union, jhe restorer of the Scottish 
monarchy was to arise." — .Annals of Scotland, voK ii. p. lt*0. 
The same obliging correspondent, whom I have quoted .'n he 
preceding note, gives me the following account of the preseni 
state of the ruins of Turnberry : — " Turnberry Point is a root' 
projecting into the sea ; the top of it is about eighteen feet 
above high-water mark. Upon this rock was built the caa'ie 
There is about twenty-five feet high of the wal. next to the 
sea yet standing. Upon the land side the wall is only about 
four feet high ; the length has been sixty feet, and the breadth 
forty-five : It was surrounded by a ditch, hut that is now near- 
ly filled up. The top of the ruin, rising between forty and 
fifty feet above the water, has a majestic appearance from tha 
sea. There is not much local tradition in the vicinity con 
nected with Bruce or his history. In front, however, of the 
rock, upon which stands Culzean Castle, is the mouth of a 
romantic cavern, called the Cove of Colean, in which it is 
said Bruce and his followers concealed themselves immediately 
after landing, till they arr,inged matters for their farther en- 
terprises. Burns mentions it in the poem of Hallowe'en. The 
only place to the south of Turnberry worth mentioning, with 
reference to Bruce's history, is the Weary Nuik, a little ro- 
mantic green hill, where he and his patty are said to hava 
rested, after assaulting the castle." 

Around the Castle of Turnberry was a level plain of about 
two miles in extent, forming the castle park. There could be 
nothing, I am informed, more beautiful than the copsewood 
and verdure of this extensive meadow, Ijefore it was invaded 
by tlie ploughshare. 



Note 3 D. 



The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! — P. 455. 

I have followed the flattering and pleasing tradition, that the 
Bruce, after his descent upon the coast of Ayrsliire, actually 
gained possession of his maternal castle. But the tradition is 
not accurate. Tlie fact is, that he was only strong enough to 
alarm and drive in the outposts of the English garrison, then 
commanded, not by Ciiflbrd, as assumed in the text, but by 
Percy. Neither was Clifford slain upon this occasion, though 
he had several skirmishes with Bruce. He fell afterwards in 
the battle of Bannockburn. Bruce, after alarming the castle 
of Turnberry, and surprising some part of the garrison, wno 
were quartered without the walls of the fortress, retreated into 
the mountainous part of Carrick, and there made himself sc 
strong, that the English were obliged to evacuate Turnberry, 
and at length the Castle of Ayr. Many of his benefactions and 
royal gifts attest his attachment to the hereditary fo lowers of 
his house in this part of the country. 

It is generally known that Bruce, in consequence of his di« 
tresses after the battle of Methven, was affected by a scorhntie 
disorder, which was then called a leprosy. It Is said he expe 
rienced benefit from the use of a medicinal spring, about a 
mile north of the town of Ayr, called from that cu-cumstano« 
King's Ease.' The following is the tradition of the conntiy 
collected by Mr. Train : — " After Robert ascended the throne 
he founde.i the priory of Dominican monks, every one of whom 
was under the obligation of putting up to Heaven a prayei 
once every week-day, and twice in holydays for the recover) 
of the king ; and, after his death, these masses were continuen 
for the saving of his soul. The ruins of this old monastery ai4 
now nearly level with the ground. Robert likew'se causeo 

King's Ease, but King't Cnsr, i. c. Cnsa Refis, the name of the royai 
foundation described below. Mr. Train's kindn^si enables the Fditoi u 
make this correction. — 1833. 



192 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



bouses to be built round the well j King's Case, for eight 
fepets, and allowed eight bolls of oatmeal, and X28 Scotch 
money, per annum, to each person. These donations were laid 
upon the 'andsof Fullarton, and are now payable by the Duke 
of Portland. The farm of Shiels, in the neighborhood of Ayr, 
has to give, if required, a certain quantity of straw for the 
lepers' beds, and so much to thatch their houses annually. 
Eacd leprous person had a drinking-horn provided him by the 
King, which continued to be hereditary in the house to which 
it Wds first granted. One of those identical horns, of very 
carious workmanship, was in the possession of the late Colonel 
Fullarton of that Ilk." 

My correspondent proceeds to mention some curious rem- 
rants of antiquity inspecting this foundation. "In compli- 
ment lu Sir William Wallace, the great deliverer of his coun- 
try, King Robert Rruce invested the descendants of that hero 
with ihe right of placing all the lepers upon the establishment 
of King's Case. This patronage continued in the family of 
Craigie, till it was sold along with the lands of the late Sir 
""homas Wallace. The Burgh of Ayr then purchased the right 
jf applying the donations of King's Case to the support of the 
poor-house of Ayr. The lepers' charter-stone was a bjisallic 
Block, exactly the shape of a sheep's kidney, and weighing 
an Ayrshire boll of meal. The surface of this stone being 
as smooth as glass, there was not any other way of lifting it 
than by turning the hollow to the ground, there extending the 
arms along each side of the stone, and clasping the hands in 
the cavity. Young lads were always considered as deserving 
to be ranked among men, when they could lift the blue stone 
of King's Case. It always lay beside the well, till a few years 
ago, when some English dragoons encamped at that place 
wantonly broke it, since which the fragments have been kept 
by the freemen of Prestwick in a place of security. There is 
one of these charter-stones at the village of Old Daily, in 
Carrick, wliich has become more celebrated by the following 
event, which happened only a few years ago: — The village 
of New Daily being now larger than the old place of the same 
name, the inliabitants insisted that the charter-stone should be 
removed from the old town to the new, but the people of Old 
Daily were unwilling to part with their ancient right. De- 
mands and remonstrances were made on each sid" without 
effect, till at last man, woman, and child, of both villages, 
marched out and by one desperate engagement put an end to a 
nar, the commencement of which no person then living re- 
membered. Justice and victory, in this instance, being of the 
lame party, the villagers of the old town of Daily now enjoy 
the pleasure of keeping the bluc-stane unmolested. Ideal 
privileges are ofte.i attached to some of these stones. In Gir- 
van, if a man can set his back against one of the above de- 
icrijition, he is supposed not liable to be arrested for debt, nor 
can cattle, it is imagined, be poinded as lojig as they are fas- 
tened to the same stone. That stones were often used as sym- 
bols 10 denote the right of possessing land, before the use of 
written documents became general in Scotland, is, I think, 
exceedingly probable. The charter-stone of Inverness is still 
kept with great care, set in a frame, and hooped with iron, at 
the mar»et-place of that town. It is called by the inhabitants 
•f that district Clack na Couddin. I think it is very likely 
that 'iirey has mentioned this stone in his poem of Craig Pha- 
ftenck This is only a conjecture, as I have never seen that 
wotV. While the famous marble chair was allowed to remain 
tt Pooon, it was coLsidered ob the charter-stone ">f the "-'igdora 
•I Sostlaiid. 



J^OTE 8 E. 



" Bring here," he said, " the mazers fot 
My noble fathers loved of yore." — P. 45a. 

These mazers were large drinking-cups, or goblets, Mention 
< th«m occuis iu a curious inventory of the treasure and jew- 



els of King James III., which will be published, with othet 
curious documents of antiquity, by my friend, Mr. ThomK 
Thomson, D. Register of Scotland, under the title of " A Col 
lection of Inventories, and other Records of the Royal Ward 
robe, Jewel-House," &c. I copy the passage in whicn mintiot 
is made of the mazers, and also of a habiliment, called " Kii^ 
Robert Bruce's serk," i.e. s/iirt, meaning, perhaps, his shirt 
of mail ; although no other arms are mentioned in the inven- 
tory. It might have been a reUo of more sanctified description 
a penance shirt perhaps. 

Extract from " Inventare of ane Parti of the Hold and 
Silver conyeit and unconycit, Jowellis, and uther Stu^ 
pertcining to Umquhile oiire Sovetane Lords Fader, that 
he had in Depois the Tyme of his Deceis, and thai 
come to the Handis of oure, Soverane Lord that now is 

M.CCCC.LXS.WIII." 

" Memorandum fundin in a bandit kist like a gardeviant,' 
in the fyrst the grete chenye^ of gold, coutenand sevin 8Cor« 
sex linkis. 

Item, thre platis of silver. 

Item, tuelf salfatis.3 

Item, fyflene discheis* ouregilt. 

Item, a grete gilt plate. 

Item, twa grete bassingis^ ouregilt. 

Item, FOUR Masaris, called Kino Robert the Brocm 

with a cover. 
Itetn, a grete cok maid of silver. 

Item, the hede of silver of ane of the ooreris of masar. 
Item, a fare dialle.^ 
Item, twa kasis of knyffis.'' . 

Item,, a pare of auld kniffis. 
Item, takin be the smyth that opinnit the lokkis 'n s'^ld fanriv 

demyis. 
Item, in Inglys grotis" xxiiii. li. and the said silvei 

given again to the takaris of hym. 
Itevi, ressavit in the clossat of Davidis tour, ane haly water-fat 

of silver, twa boxis, a cageat tume. a glas with rois-water 

a dosoune of torchis, King Robert Brucis Serk." 

The real use of the antiquarian's studies is to biing the 
minute information which he collects to bear upon points of 
history. For example, in the inventory I have just quoted, 
there is given the contents of the black kist, or chest, belong- 
ing to James III., which was his strong box, and contained a 
quantity of treasure, in money and jewels, surpassing what 
might have been at the period expected of " poor Scotland's 
gear." This illustrates and authenticates a striking passage 
in the history of the house of Douglas, by Hume of Godscroft. 
The last Earl of Douglas (of the elder brauch) had been re- 
duced to monastic seclusion in the Abbey of Lindores, by James 
II. James III., in his distresses, would willingly have recalled 
him to public life, and made him his lieutenant. " But he," 
says Godscroft, " laden with years and old age, and wear* "' 
troubles, refused, saying, Sir, you have keept mee, and your 
black coffer in Sterling, too long, neither of us can doe yo« 
any good : I, because my friends have forsaken me, and my 
followers and denenders are fallen from me, betaUng them- 
selves to other masters ; and your biiCK trunk •» too farre from 
you, and your enemies are between you and it: or (as others 
say) because tnere was in it a sort of black coyne, that the 
king had caused to be coyned by the advice of his courtieis ; 
which moneyes (saith he) sir, if you had put out at the first, 
the people would have taken it; and if you had employed 
mee in due time, I might have done you service. But now 
there is none that will take notice of me, nor meddle with 

1 Gnrd-vin, or wine-cooler.— » Chain.— S Salt-cellarg, ancieiitly ttie objed 
of much curious worknianahip. — 4 Diahea. — 6 Baains. — 6 Dial.— T Caaea cf 
knivea. — « Eugliah grouta. 



fonr money." — Hhme's History oj the House of Douglas, 
W Edin. iti44, p. 206. 



Note 3 F. 



Urouse old friends, and gathe, new. -P. 455. 

As soori aa it was known in Kyle, aays ancient tradition, 
I'sat RoDert Brace had landed in Cairick, »fith t.ie intention 
•f recovering tlie crown of Scotland, the Laird of Craigie, and 
orty-ei?lit men in his immediate neighborhood, deciared in 
a'lor 01 tneir legitimate prince. Bruce granted them a tract 
if Ian*?, stiU retained by the freemen of Newton to this day. 
The oTtgini charter was lost when the pestilence was raging 
at Ayr ; but it was renewed by one of the Jameses, and is dated 
at Faulkland. The freemen of Newton were formerly officers 
by rotation. The Provost of Ayr at one time was a freeman 
of Newton, and it happened to be his turn, while provost in 
Ayr, to be officer in Newton, both of which offices he dis- 
jhar^ed at the same time. 

The forest of Selkirk, or Ettrick, at this period, occupied all 
the district which retains that denomination, and embraced 
the neigl] boring dales of Tweeddale, and at least the Upper 
Ward of Clydesdale. All that tract was probably as waste as 
it is mountainous, and covered with the remains of the ancient 
Caledonian Forest, which is supposed to have stretched from 
Cheviot Hills as far as Hamilton, and to have comprehended 
even a part of \yrshire. At the fatal battle of Falkirk, Sir 
lohn Stewart of Bonkill, brother to the Steward of Scotland, 
commanded the archers of Selkirk Forest, who fell around 
the dead body of their leader. The English historians have 
commemorated the tall and stately persons, as well as the 
unswerving faith, of these foresters. Nor has their interesting 
fall escaped the notice of an elegant modern poetess, whose 
abject led her to treat of that calamitous engagement. 

•' The glance of the mom had sparkled bright 
On their plumage green and their actons light ; 
The bugle was strung at each hunter's side. 
As they had been bound to the chase to ride ; 
But the bugle is mnte, and the shafts are spent, 
The arm unnerved and the bow unbent, 
And the tired forester is laid 
Far, far from the clustering greenwood shade ! 
Sore have they toil'd — they are fallen asleep. 
And their slumber is heavy, and dull, and deep I 
When over their bones the grass shall wave. 
When the wild winds over their tombs shall rave, 
Memory shall lean on their graves, and tell 
How Selkirk's hunters bold around old Stewart fell I" 

Wallace, or the Fight of Falkirk [by Miss 
Holford], Lond. 4to. 1809, pp. 170-1. 



Note 3 G. 

When Brute's banner had victorious flowed, 

O'er r.ondoun's mountain, and in Ury's valfi. — P. 456. 

riie first imporf.ant advantage gained by Bruce after land- 
ig at Turtiberry, was over Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pem- 
iroke, the same by whom he had been defeated near Meth- 
rea They met as has been said, by appointment, at Lou- 
Jonhiil in the west of Scotland. Pembroke sustained a 
lefeai , ana fro n that time Bruce was at the head of a con- 
iderable flying army. Vet he was subsequently obliged to 
retreat into Aberdeenshire, and was there assailed by Comyn, 
Earl of Buchan, desirous to avenge the death of his relative, 
ne Red Comyn, and supported by a body of Englia'i troops 
mder Philip de M ubrav. Bruce was ill at the time of ^ scrof- 

lOnB disorder, Du look horse to meet his enemies, a hough 



obliged to be supported on either side. He was victorious, uiiA 
it is said that the agitation of liis spirits restored hjs health. 



Note 3 H. 



When English blood oft detuged Dougla '-dale. — F. tSU, 

The " good Lord James of Douglas aaring these comni» 
tions, often took from the English his own castle of Douglas 
but being unable to garrison it, contented himself with d troy 
ing the fortifications, and retiring into the mountains. A* 
reward to his patriotism, it is said to have been pronhesiet 
that how often soever Douglas Castle should be destrft ^ed, 
should always again rise n'ore magnificent from its rjiins 
Upon one of these occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing 
all the store of provisions, which the English had laid up in 
his castle to be heaped together, bursting the wine and beei 
casks among the wheat and flour, slaughtering the cattle upon 
the same spot, and upon the top of the whole cutting the throaU 
of the English prisoners. This pleasantry of the " good LopJ 
James" is commemorated under the name of the Douglas's 
Larder. A more pleasing tale of chivalry is recorded by God» 
croft. — " By this means, and such othei exploits, he so affright' 
ed the enemy, that it was counted a matter of great jeopardia 
to keep this castle, which began to be called the adventurous 
(or hazardous) Castle of Douglas ; whereupon Sir John Wal- 
ton being in suit of an English lady, she wrote to him, tha. 
when he had kept the adventurous Castle of Douglas vever 
years, then he might think himself worthy to be a suitor to be» 
Upon this occasion Walton took upon him the keeping of it. 
and succeeded toThruswall, but he ran the same fortune witu 
the rest that were before him. For Sir James, having first 
dressed an ambnscado near unto the place, he made fourteen 
of his men take so many sacks, and fill them with grass ai 
though it had been corn, which they carried in the wa> tfl 
Lanark, the chief market town in that county : so hoping to 
draw forth the captain by that bait, and either to take hinri or 
the castle, or both. Neither was this expectation frustrated, 
for the captain did bite, and came forth to have taken this vic- 
tual (as he supposed). But ere he could reach these carriers, 
Sir James, with his company, had gotten between the castle 
and him ; and these disguised carriers, seeing the captain fol 
lowing after them, did quickly cast off their sacks, mounted 
themselves on horseback, and met ihe captain with a sharp 
encounter, being so much the more amazed, as it was un- 
locked for : wherefore, when he saw these carriers metamor- 
phosed into warriors, and ready to assault him, fearing that 
which was, that there was some train laid for them, he turned 
about to have letired to his castle, but there he also met wit! 
his enemies ; between which two companies he and his wholf 
followers were slain, so that none escaped ; the captain after 
wards being searched, they found (as is reported) his mis 
tress's letter about him." — Hitmk's History cf the How 
Douglas, fol. pp. 29, 30.i 



Note 3 L 

Andfiery Edward routed stout St. John. -P. 456. 

"John de St. John, with 15,000 horsemen, had advance* 
to oppose the inroad of the Scots. By a forced march he »>>■ 
deavored to surprise them, but intelligence of his moti.>ns wag 
timeously received. The courage of Edward Bruce, ap[ roach 
ing to temerity, frequently enabled him to achieve what men 
of more judicious valor would never have attempted. He o^ 
dered the infantry, and the meaner sort of his army, to intrencli 
themselves in strong narrow ground. He himself, with fiftj 
horsemen well harnessed, issued forth under cover of a thick 

1 This U the {oundation of the Autha 's last romaoce, Ciutlt JOttg*' 
oiM.— Ed. 



t94 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



taist, 8iirpri9»J the English on their much, attacked and dis- 
persed them ' — Dalrymplk's Annals of Scotland, qnarto, 
Edinburgli, 1779, p. -25. 



Note 3 K 



TVher. Randolph's teat-cry swell' d the southern gate. — P. 456. 

TSiiKas Randolph, Brace's sister's son, a renowned Scottish 
thief, was in the early part of his life not more remarkable for 
eonjisteacy than Bruce himself. He esponsed his uncle's 
jMiny when Bruce first assumed the crown, and was made 
prisoner at the fata, battle of Methven, in which his relative's 
'iO[ies appeared to be ruined. Randolph accordingly not only 
fubmitted to the English, but took an active part against 
Bruce ; appeared in arms against him ; and, in the skirmish 
R'here he was so closely pursued by the bloodhound, it is said 
his nephew took his standard with his own hand. But Ran- 
dolph was afterwards made prisoner by Douglas in Tweeddale, 
and brought liefore King Robert. Some harsh language was 
e.xchanged between the uncle and nephew, and the latter was 
.•ommitted for a time to close custody. Afterwards, however, 
they were reconciled, and Randolph was created Earl of Mo- 
fay about 1312. After this period he eminently distinguished 
himself, first by the surprise of Edinburgh Castle, and after- 
wards by many similar enterprises, conducted with eqaal 
toarage and abiUty. 



Note 3 L. 



-Stirling's towers. 



Beleaguer' d by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce. — P. 456. 

When a long train of success, actively improved by Robert 
Brnce, had made him master of almost all Scotland, Stirling 
Castle continued to hold out. The care of the blockade was 
committed by the king to his brother Edward, who concluded 
a treaty with Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor, that he should 
surrender the fortress, if it were not succored by the King of 
England before St. John the Baptist's day. The King se- 
verely blamed his brother for the impolicy of a treaty, which 
gtire time to the King of England to advance to the relief of 
.he c&stle with all his assembled forces, and obliged himself 
?ither to meet them in battle with .an inferior force, or to re- 
treat with dishonor. " Let all England come," answered 
the reckless Edward ; " we will fight them were they more." 
The consequence was, of course, that each kingdom mustered 
its strength for the expected battle ; and as the space agreed 
upon reached from Lent to Midsummer, full time was allowed 
for that purpose. 



Note 3 M. 

To summon prince and peer, 
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege. — P. 456. 

There IS printed in Rymer's Foedera the summons issued 
a 'On this occasion to the sheriff" of York ; and he mentions 
eighteen other persons to whom similar ordinances were issued. 
It seems to respect the infantry alone, for it is entitled, De 
feditibus nd recussum Castri de Stryvelin a Scolis ohsessi, 
nri'pernre fncicndis. This circumstance is also clear from the 
rea.soning of the writ, which states : " We have understood 
that our Scottish enemies and rebels .ire endeavoring to collect 
as strong a force as possible of infantry, in strong and marshy 
grounds, where the approach of cavalry would be diflicult, 
between us and the castle of Stirling." it then sets forth 
Mowbray's agreemeni to surrender tlie castle, if not relieved 



before St. John the Baptist's day, and the king • deterrain* 
tion, with divine gracf 'o raise the siege. " Therefore," th« 
summons further bears, to remove our said enemies and reb- 
els from such places as ,-vbove mentioned, if la necessary for 
ns to have a strong force of infantry fit for arms." And ao- 
cordirii'ly the shenlf of York is commanded to equip and 
send lorth a body of four thousand infantry, to be assennbled 
at Werk, upon the tenth day of June first, under pain «. tlia 
ro,al displeasure, &c. 



Note 3 N. 



And Cambria, but of late suOdued, 
Sent forth her mountain-miUtitude.- 



-P 456. 



Edward the First, with the usual policy of a conqnenir, 
employed the Welsh, whom he had subdued, to assist him in 
his Scottish wars, for which their habits, as mountaineers, 
particularly fitted them. But this policy was not without its 
risks. Previous to the battle of Falkirk, the Welsh quarrelled 
with the English men-at-arms, and after bloodshed on both 
parts, separated themselves from his army, and Hie feud be 
tween them, at so dangerous and critical a juncture, was rec 
onciled with dilficulty. Edward II. followed his father's ex 
ample in this particular, and with no better success. They 
could not be brought to exert themselves in the cause of theii 
conquerors. But they had an indifl'erent reward for their for- 
bearance. Without arms, and clad only in scanty dresses of 
linen cloth, they appeared naked in the eyes even of the Scot- 
tish peasantry ; and after the rout of Bannookburn, were 
massacred by them in great numbers, as they retired in con- 
fusion towards their own country. They were under com 
mand of Sir Maurice de Berkeley. 



Note 3 0. 



And Connoght pour'd from wnste and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 
Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.—V. 456. 

There is in the Foedera an invitation to Eth O'Connor, chiel 
of the Irish ofConnaught, setting forth that the king wat 
about to move against his Scottish rebels, and therefore re- 
questing the attendance of all the force he could muster, eithei 
commanded by himself in person, or by some nobleman of his 
race. These auxiliaries were to be commanded by Richard 
de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. Similar mandates were issued Is 
the following Irish chiefs, whose names may astonish the nO' 
learned, and amuse the antiquary. 

" Eth O Donnnld, Duci Hibernicorum de Tyconil ; 
Demod O Kahan, Duci Hibernicorum de FernetreW 
Doneval O Neel, Duci Hibernicorum de Tryowyn : 
Neel Macbreen, Duci Hibernicorum de Kynallewan; 
Elh Offyn, Duci Hibernicorum de Turtery ; 
Admely Mac Anegus, Duci Hibernicorum de Onehtigh t 
Neel O Hanlan, Duci Hibernicorum de Erihere ; 
B5en Mac Mahun, Duci Hibernicorum de IFriel ; 
Lauercagh Mae Wyr, Duci Hibernicorum de Lougheno 
Gillys O Rai^.y, Duci Hibernicoium de Bresfeny ; 
Gefl^rey O Fergy, Duci Hibernicorum de Montiragwit ; 
Felyn O Honughur, Duci Hibernicorum de Connach ; 
Donethnth O Bien, Duci Hibernicorum de Tothmund ; 
Dermod Mac Arthy, Duci Hibernicorum de Des»i>moaad 
Denenol Carbragh ; 
Maur. Kenenagh ^'ao Murgh ; 
Murghugh O Bryn ; 
David O Tothvill ; 
Dermod O Tonoghur, Doftalv • 
Fyn O Dymsy ; 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



494 



Soaethath Mao Gillephatrick ; 

f.yssagh O Morth ; 

Gi'bertus Ekelly, Duci Hibernicorum de Omany ; 

Mttc Ethelau ; 

Omsi&u Helya, Dnci Hibernicorum Midie." 

Rymkr's Fmdera, vol. ill. pp. 476, 477. 



Note 3 P. 



Their chief, Ft -Louts. — P. 458. 

Fi.«-Loais, or Mac-Louis, otherwise called Fnllarton, is a 
(tiniib' of arcient descent in tlie Isle of Arran. They are said 
ID be of French origin, as the name intimates. They attached 
Ihemselves to Bruce upon his first landing ; and Fergus Mac- 
l.ouis, or Fullarton, received from the grateful monarch a 
charter, dated 26th November, in the second year of his reign 
(1307), for the lands of Kilmichel, and others, vvhich still re- 
mam in this very ancient and respectable family. 



Note 3 Q. 

fn battles four beneath their eye. 

The forces of King Robert lie. — P. 458. 

Tlie arrangements adopted by King Robert for the decisive 
Oattle of Bannockburn, are given very distinctly by Barbour, 
ind form an edifying lesson to tacticians. Yet, till commented 
upon by Lord Hailes, this important passage of history has 
been generally and strangely misunderstood by historians. I 
will here endeavor to detail it fully. 

Two days before the battle, Bruce selected the field of action, 
and took post there with his army, consisting of about 30,000 
disciplined men, and about half the number of disorderly attend- 
ants upon the camp. The ground was called the New Park of 
Stirling ; it was partly open, and partly broken by copses of 
wood and marshy ground. He divided his regular forces into 
four divisions. Three of these occupied a front line, separated 
from each other, yet sufficiently near for the purpose of com- 
munication. The fourth division formed a reserve. The line 
Intended in a north-easterly direction from the brook of Ban- 
nock, which was so rugged and broken as to cover the right 
flank effectually, to the village of Saint Ninians, probably in 
the line of the present road from Stirling to Kilsyth. Edward 
Bruce commanded the right wing, which was strengthened by 
a strong body of cavalry under Keith, the Mareschal of Scot- 
land, to whom was committed the important charge of attack- 
ing the English archers ; Douglas, and the young Steward of 
Scotland, led the central wing ; and Thomas Randolph, Earl 
i>f Moray, the left wing. The King himself commanded the 
*"ourth division, which lay in reserve behind the others. The 
toyal standard was pitched, according to tradition, in a stone, 
navins a round hole for its reception, and thence called the 
Bore-stone, It is still shown on the top of a small eminence, 
called Brock's-brae, to the southwest of Saint Ninians. His 
■»ain body thus disposed, King Robert sent the followers of the 
tamp, filteen thousand and upwards in number, to the emi- 
nence in rear of his army, called from that circumstance the 
Oiilies' (i. c. the servants') Mill. 

The military advantages of this position were obvious. The 
Scottish left flank, protected by the brook of Bannock, could 
not be turned ; or, if that attempt were made, a movement by 
Ihe reserve might have covered it. Again, the English could 
not pass tlie Scottish army, and move towards Stirling, without 
Wjiosing Weir flank to oe aiiacneii while in march. 

If, on the other hand, the Scottish line had been drawn up 
east and west, and facing to the southward, as affirmed by 

1 An aasiatao *e which (by tlie way) could not have been rendered, bad 
•b the Englii b approached .'xom the southeast ; since, had theii march 



Buchanan, and adopted by Mr. Nimmo, the author of thi 
History of Stirlingshire, there appears nothing to have pre 
vented the English approaching upon the carse, or level ground 
from Falkirk, either from turning the Scottish left flank, oi 
from passing their position, if they preferred it, without coming 
to an action, and moving on to the relief of Stirlin? And the 
Gillies' Hill, if this less probable hypothesis be adoj'ted, wonW 
be situated, not in the rear, as allowed by all the historians 
but upon the left flank of Bruce's army. The only ohjectior 
to the hypothesis above laid down, is, that the left flank ol 
Bruce's army was thereby exposed to a sally from the garrison 
of Stirling. But, 1st, the garrison were bound to neutrality b) 
terms of Mowbray's treaty; and Barbour even seems to cen- 
sure, as a breach of faith, some secret assistance which they 
rendered their countrymen upon the eve of battle, in placing 
temporary bridges of doors and spars over the pools of water in 
the carse, to enable them to advance to the charge.! 2dly, Had 
this not been the case, the strength of the garrison was proba 
biy not sufficient to excite apprehension. 3dly, The adverse 
hypothesis leaves the rear of the Scottish army as much ex 
posed to the Stirling garrison, as the left flank would be in tht 
case supposed. 

It only remains to notice the natnre of the gronnd in f'ont o 
Bruce's line of battle. Being part of a park, or chase, it wa.' 
considerably interrupted with trees ; and an extensive marsh 
still visible, in some places rendered it inaccessible, and in a. 
of difficult approach. More to the northward, where the nalu 
ral impediments were fewer, Bruce fortified his position against 
cavalry, by digging a number of pits so close together, say 
Barbour, as to resemble the cells in a honey-comb. The> 
were a foot in breadth, and between two and three feet deep, 
many rows of them being placed one behind the other. They 
were slightly covered with brushwood and green sods, so as noi 
to be obvious to an impetuous enemy. 

All the Scottish army were on foot, excepting a select body 
of cavalry stationed with Edward Bruce on the right wing, 
under the immediate command of Sir Robert Keith, the Ma^ 
shal of Scotland, who were destined for the important servict 
of charging and dispersing the English archers. 

Thus judiciously posted, in a situatica fortified both by at* 
and nature, Bruce awaited tli« attack of the English. 



Note 3 R. 

Beyond, the Southern host appears. — P. 458 

Upon the 23d June, 1314, the aiarm reached the Scotllsl 
army of the approach of the enemy. Douglas and the Marsha' 
were sent to reconnoitre with a body of cavalry : 

" And soon the great host have they seen, 
Where shields shining were so sheen, 
And basinets burnished bright. 
That gave against the sun great light. 
They saw so fele^ brawdyne^ baners 
Standards and pennons and spears. 
And .so fele knights upon steeds, 
All flaming in their weeds, 
And so fele bataills, and so broaa. 
And loo so great room as they rode. 
That the maist host, and the stoutest 
Of Christendom and the greatest, 
Sliou'd be abaysit for to see 
Their foes into such quantity." 

The Bruce -^U li. p. Ill 

The two Scottish commanders were cantions in the accou .■ 
which they brought back to their camp. To the king in i ri 

been due north, the whole Scottish army must have been netween th. n- 
and t le garriflou. 1 Many. S Bieplaved 



496 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



»ate thej- told the formidable state of the enemy ; bnt m pablic 
leporied that the English were indeed a numerous host bnt ill 
tumrooiided and worse disciplined. 



FOTE 3 S. 

IVitA thtue the valiant of the Isles 

Bcn.eat\ ihcir chieftains rank'd their fles. — P. 458. 

T*ie men ttX Argyle, the islanders, and the Highlanders in 
gf ner»l, were ranked in the rear. They must have been nu- 
nii-Toas for Bruce had reconciled himself with almost all their 
ihieftains, excepting the obnoxious MacDougals of Lorn. 
The following deed, containing the submission of the potent 
Earl of Ros8 to the King, was never before published. It is 
dated in the third year of Robert's reign, that is, 1309. 

"ObLIGACIO COHITIS ROSSKNSIS PER HOMAQIUM FlDKLI- 
TATEM ET ScRIPTUM. 

" Univcrsis christi fidelibus ad quorum noticiam presentes 
litere peruenerint Willielmus Comes de Ross salutem in domi- 
ao sempiternam. Quia magnificus princeps Dominus Robertus 
ilei gracia Rex Scottorum Dominus meus ex innata sibi boni- 
late, inspirataque clemeneia, et gracia speciali remisit michi 
pure rancorem animi sui, et relaxauit ac condonauit michi om- 
niniodas transgressiones seu oft'ensas contra ipsum et suos per 
me et meos vsque ad confeccioneni Hterarura presencium per- 
pptratas : Et ttrri« meas et tenementa mea omnia graciose con- 
t^-»sit. 'ilt me niohilominus de terra de Dingwal et femcroskry 
'nfra comitatum do Suthyrland de benigna liberalitate sua heri- 
ditarie infeodare carauit. Ego tantam principis beneuolenciam 
■ifticaciter attendens, et pro tot graciis michi factis, vicem sibi 

gratitudinis meis pro viribus de cetero digne 

vite cupiens exhibere, subieio et obligo me et heredes meos et 
homines meos vniuersos dicto Domino meo Regi per omnia 

. .... erga suam regiam dignitatem, quod eri- 

musde cetero fideles sibi et heredibus suis et fidele sibi seruicium 
B'jiilium et concilium contra omnes homi- 
nes et feminas qui vivere poterint aut mori, et super h Ego 

Willielmus pro me hominibus meis vni- 

oersis diuto domino meo Regi manibus homagium 

iponte feci et super dei ewangelia sacramentum prestiti 

... In quorum omnium testimonium sigillum meum, 

et sigilla Hugonis filii et heredis et Johannis filii mei vna cum 
•igillis venerabilium patrum Dominorum Dauid et Thome Mo- 
raviensis et Rossensis del gracia episcoporuni presentibus Uteris 
mnt appensa. Acta scripta et data ajjud Aldern in Morauia 
vltimo die mensis Octobris, Anno Regni dicti domini nostri 
P.i.'gis Roberti Tertio. Testibus venerabilibus patribus supra- 
ilictis, Domino Bernardo Cancellario Regis, Dominis WiUiel- 
mo de Haya, Johanne de Striuelyn, Willielmo Wysman, Jo- 
hanne de Ffenton, Dauid de Berkeley, et Waltero de Berke- 
"ey militibus, magistro Waltero Heroc, Decano ecclesie Mora- 
jie, magistro Willielmo de Creswel eiusdem ecclesie precentore 
el multis aliis nobilibus clericis et laicis dictis die et loco cou- 
fjeguus." 

The copy of this curious document was supplied by my 
hieod, Mr. Thomson, Deputy Register of Scotland, whose re- 
tcarches into our ancient records are daily throwing new and 
jiiportant light upon the history of the country. 



Note 3 T. 
The Monarch rode alonff the van. — P. 459. 
The English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of Glonces- 
(rand Hereford, came in sight of the Scottish army upon the 

I O lilil iw , a llut«.— 3 Without aiuuking.- -4 Spurred.— S Line. 



evening of the 23d of June. Brace wa» then rding npon • 
little palfrey, in front of his foiemost line, putting his host ii 
order. It was then that the peisonal encounter took place bsi 
twixt hira and Sir Henry de Bohun, a galiajit English krighl, 
the issue of which had a great effect upon the spirit* of boU 
armies. It is thus recorded by Barbour : — 

" And qnlien Glosyster and Herfurd war 

With thair bataill, approchand ner, 
Uefore ihaini all thar come rydand, 
With helm on heid, and sper in hand 
Schyr Henry the Boune, the worthi, 
That wes a wycht knyclit, and a hardy ; 
And to the Erie off Herlurd cusyne ; 
Armyt in annys gud and fyne ; 
Come on a sted, a bow schote ner, 
Befor all othy; that thar wer : 
And knew th» King, for that he eaw 
Him swa ranj his men on raw ; 
And by the croune, that wes set 
Alsua ai)on h s bassynet. 
And to wart bira he went in hy. 
And [quhen] \he King sua apert y 
Saw him cun , forouth all his feris,l 
In hy''' till bin the hors he steris. 
And quhen S :hyr Henry saw the Kiag 
Cum on, for owtyn abaysing,' 
Till him he raid in full gret hy 
He thoucht that he suld Weill lycnuy 
Wyn him, an I haf liiin at his wit'^ 
Sen he him h<rsyt saw sa ill. 
Sprent^ thai sftmyn in till a ling." 
Schyr Henry inyssit the noble King. 
And he, that in his sterapys stud, 
With the i-x (hat wes hard and gaj. 
With sa g.M mayne" rach* him a dynt. 
That nothyr liat, na helnr, mycht stynt 
The hewy' diische^ that he him gavc, 
That ner the ^eid till the harynys clave 
Tlie hand ax »chaft fruschit" in twa ; 
And he douu'! to the erd gan gi 
All flatly nys.'o for hira faillyt mycht. 
This wes the fryst strak off the fycht." 

Uarbour's Bruce, Book viii. v. 6S4. 

Ths Scottish leaders remonstrated with the King opon hii 
temerity. He only an'wered, " I have broken my good )>«ttle 
axe." — The English ' anguard retreated after witnessing tnu 
single combat. Probal ly their generals did not think it advisa 
ble to hazard an altact while its unfavorable issue remained 
upon their minds. 



Note 3 U. 



fVhat train of dust, with trumpet tound, 
Jind glimmering spears, is wheeling round 
Our leftward flank ? — 460. 

While the van of the English army advanced, a detached 
body arttemoted to relieve Stirling. Lord Hailes gives the fol 
lowing account of this manoeuvre and the result, which is ac- 
companied by circumstances highly characteristic of the chiv- 
alrous manners of iriie age, and displays that generosity which 
reconciles us even to their ferocity upon other occasions. 

Bruce had enjoined Randolph, who coininvided the left 
wing of his army, to be vigilant in preventing uny advanced 
parties of the English friii throwing succors int > the castle o< 
Stirling. 

" Eight hundred hoist men, commanded by Sir Robert CU> 

6 Streogth, or 'orce.— 1 Heavr.— 8 CUah.— 9 Broke.~-10 fUk. 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



491 



ford, were detached from the English army ; they made a cir- 
cuit by the low grounds to the east, and approached the CEistle. 
The King perceived their motions, and, coming up to Ran- 
ilolph, angrily exclaimed, 'Thoughtless man! you have suf- 
'>red the enemy to pass.' Randolph hasted to repair his 
lault, or perish. As he advanced, the English cavalry wheeled 
'o attack him. Randolph drew np his troops in a circular 
form, with their spears resting on the ground, and protended 
m every side. At the first onset. Sir William Daynecourt, an 
English commander of distinguished note, was slain. The 
?nemy, far superior in numbers to Randolph, environed him, 
md pressed hard on his little band. Douglas saw his jeopardy, 
mil requested the King's permission to go and succor him. 
' lou shall not move from your ground,' "iried the King ; ' let 
Rar Jolph extricate himself as he best may. I will not alter 
my order of battle, and lose the advantage of ni7 position.' — 
' In truth,' replied Douglas, ' I cannot stand by and see Ran- 
dolph perish ; and, therefoie, with your leave, I must aid 
him.' The King unwillingly fonsented, and Douglas flew to 
the assistance of his friend. \^ bile approaching, he perceived 
that the English were falling into disorder, and that the perse- 
verance of Randolph had prevailed over their impetuous cour- 
age. ' Halt,' cried Douglas, ' those brave men have repulsed 
the enemy ; let us not diminish their glory by sharing it.' " — 
Dalrymplk's Jlnna/s of Scotland, 4to. Edinburgh, 1779, 
ip. 44, 45. 

Two large stones erected at the north end of the village of 
jTewhouse, about a quarter ot a mile from the.jouth part of 
Stirling, ascertain the place of this memorable skirmish. Tne 
;ircumstance tends, were confirmation necessary, to support 
he opinion nf Lord Hailes, that the Scottish line had Stirling 
m its left flank. It will be remembered, that Randolph com- 
nanded infantry, Daynecourt cavalry. Supposing, therefore, 
iccording to the vulgar hypothesis, that the Scottish line was 
irawn up, facing to the south, in the line of the brook of Ban- 
lock, and consequently that Randolph was stationed with his 
eft flank resting upon Milntown bog, it is morally impossible 
hat his infantry, moving from that position, with whatever 
elerity, could cut oflF from Stirling a body of cavalry who had 
Iready passed St. Ninians,' or, in other words, were already 
letween them and the town. Whereas, supposing Randolph's 
eft to have approached St. Ninians, the short movement to 
■Jewhouse could easily be executed, so as to intercept the Eng- 
i«h in tiie manner describea. 



Note 3 V. 



Responsive from the Scottish host, 

Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were tossed. — P. 461. 

There is an old tradition, that the well-known Scottish tune 
)f " Hay, tntti taitti," was Brnce's march at the battle of 
Bannockburn. The late Mr. Ritson, no granter of proposi- 
.ions, doubts whether the Scots had any martial music, quotes 
Froi^sart's account of each soldier in the host bearing a little 
lorn, on which, at the onset, they would make such a horrible 
noise, as if all the devils of hell had been among them. He 
sbserves, that these horns are the only music mentioned by 
Barbour, and concludes, that it must remain a moot point 
whether Bruce's army were cheered by the sound even of a 
solitary bagpipe. — Historical Essay prefixed to Ritson'g 
ftcottish Songs. — It may be observed in passing, that the 

^ Barbour says expressly, they avoided the New Park (where Brure's 
•rmy l.iy), and Iield " well Death the Kirk,'* which can only mean St. 
Ninians. 

2 Together. 

3 Schittrum, — This word has been varioualy limited or extended in its 
•ignification. In general, it seems to imply a large body of men drawn up 
rery closely together. But it has been limited to imply a round or circular 
Mdy of men so drawn up. I cannot understand it with this limitation in 
Jie present case. The schiltnun of the Scottish army at Falkirk waa un- 

63 



Scottish of this period certainly observed C'lne nr.rsx? ca 
dence, even in winding their horns, since B ace wa;i at jnc* 
recognized by his followers from his mode f bijwing. Ser 
Note 2 T. on canto iv. But the tradition, true or false, hat 
been the means of securing to Scotland one of the finest lyrics in 
the language, the celebrated war^ong of Burns, — " Scots, wha 
hae wi' Wallace bled." 



Note 3 W. 



JVow onward, and in open view. 

The countless ranks of England drew. — P. 461. 

Upon the 24th of June, the Enghsh army advancad to Iht 
attack. The narrowness of the Scottish front, and the nature 
of the ground, did not permit the.n to have tne full advantage 
of their numbers, nor is it very easy to find out what was theii 
proposed order of battle. The vanguard, however, appeared 
a distinct body, consisting of archers and spearmen on foot, 
and commanded, as already said, by the Earls of Gloncestei 
and Hereford. Barbour, in one place, mentions that they 
formed nine battles or divisions ; but from the following 
passage, it appears that there was no room or space for them 
to extend themselves, so that, except the vanguard, the whoU 
army appeared to form cne solid and compact body • ■ 

" The English men, on either party, 
That as angels shone brightly, 
Were not array'd on such manner: 
For all their battles samyn' were 
In a schiltrum.3 But whether it was 
Through the great straitness of the plao« 
That they were in, to bide fightinj; ; 
Or that it was for abaysing ;* 
I wete not. But in a schiltrum 
It seemed th^ were all and some ; 
)ut ta'en the vaward anerly,* 
That right with a great company, 
Be them selwyn, arrayed were. 
Who had been by, might have seen then 
That folk ourtake a mekill feild 
On breadth, where many a shining shield, 
And many a burnished bright armour. 
And many a man of great valour, 
Mi^t in that great schiltrum be seen : 
And many a bright banner and sheen." 

Barbour's Bruce, vol. u. p. L» , 



Note 3 X. 



See where yon barefoot Mbot stands, 

And blesses them with lifted hands. — P. 461 

" Maurice, abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself on an eml 
nence, celebrated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then 
passed along the front barefooted, and bearing a crucifix in h'» 
hands, and exhorting the Scots, in a few and forcible words 
to combat for their rights and the.r liberty. The Scots kneeled 
down. ' They yield,' cried Edward ; ' see, they implore mer 
cy.' — ' They do,' answered IngeA-am de IJmfraville, ' but not 
ours. On that field they will be ■ ctorious, or die.' " -Annait 
of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 47. 

doubtedly of a circular form, in order to reaiit the attack! of »Jie English 
cavalry, on whatever quarter they might be charged. But it does not ap- 
pear how, or why, the English, advancing to the attack at Baonockbum, 
should have arrayed themselves in a circular form. It seems r»ore probM- 
ble, that, by Schiltrum in the present case, Barbour meuus to -rxpresfl ac 
irregular mass into which the English army was compreiaed l" the as 
wieldiness of its numbers, and the carelessness or ignorance of i tt U>ai ei» 

4 Frightening. 

B Alma. 



*98 



RCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Notes Y 

Forth, Marshal, on the peasant foe ! 
We'll tame the terrors of their bow. 

And cut the bow-string loose ! — P. 462. 

The English archers commenced the attack with theii nsnal 
•wavery and dexterity. But against a force, whose importance 
le had learned by fatal experience, Bruce was provided. A 
BEall but select body of cavalry were detached from the right, 
ander command of Sir Robert Keith. They rounded, as I 
jonceive, the marsh called Milntowc bog, and, keeping the 
irm '(round, charged the left flank and rear of the English 
»rciie.8. As the bowmen had no spears nor long weapons fit 
M defend themselves against horse, they were instantly thrown 
mo order, and spread through the whole English army a 
(onftsion from which they never fairly recovered. 

The IngHs archeris schot sa fast. 

That mycht thair schot haffony last 

It had bene hard to Scottis men. 

Eot King Robert, that wele gun ken' 

That thair archeris war peralouss, 

And thair schot rycht hard and grewoDss, 

Ordanyt, forouth^ the as.sembl<i, 

Hys marschell with a gret menye, 

Fyve hundre armyt in to stele, 

That on lycht horss war horsyt welle, 

For to pryk^ amang the archeris ; 

And swa assaile thaim with thair speris, 

That thai na lay.ser haiflf to schute. 

This marschell that Ik of mute, ■• 

That Schyr Robert of Keyth was cauld, 

As Ik befor her has yow tauld, 

Quhen he saw the bataillissua 

Assembill, and to gidder ga, 

And saw the archeris scheyt stonily ; 

With all thaim oft' his cumpany, 

In hy apon thaim gan he rid ; 

And our tuk thaim at a sid ; 

And ruschyt amang thaim sarudly, 

f-tekand thaim sa dispitously, 

And in sic fusonn^ berand doim, 

And slayand thaim, for owtyn ransoun ;' 

That thai thaim scalyt" euirilkane.'J 

And fra that tyme furth thar wes nane 

That assemblyt schot to ma.'" 

Quhen Scottis archeris saw that thai sua 

War rebutyt,'! thai woux hardy, 

And with all thair mycht schot egrely 

Amang the horss men, that thar raid ; 

And woundis wid to thaim thai maid ; 

And slew of thaim a full gret dele." 

Barbour's Bruce, Book ix. v. 228. 

A'thjugh the success of this manoeuvre was evident, it is 
rfry rcn\arkable that the Scottish generals do not appear to 
have iirofiled hy the lesson. Almost every svbseqnent battle 
rhich they lost against England, was decided by the archers, 
*o whom the close and compact array of the Scottish phalanx 
(afordcft an exposed and unresisting mark. The oloody battlfe 
i>l Halidoun-hill. fought scarce twenty years afterwards, was 
fo completely gainad by the archers, that the English are sail! 
lo have lost only one knight, one esquire, and a few foot-sol- 
"iiers. At the battle of Neville's Cross, in 1346, where David 
II. was defeated and made prisoner, John de Graham, observ- 
jig the loos which the Scots sustained from the English bow- 
men, otfered to charge and disperse them, if a hundred men-at- 
urms were put under his command. " But, to confess the 
Duth," says Fordnn, " he could not procnre a single horseman 

1 Kjiow. — 1 Disjoiurid from th» main body — 3 Spur. — 4 That I speak 
1 — 6 Set upon their flank.— ^6 Numbers. — 7 Ransom. — 8 Dispersed. — 
Bverr coe. — 10 Make. — 11 D<rir«a back. 



for the service proposed." Of such little use is eipenenoe i 
war, wliere its results are opposed by habit or prejudice. 



Note 3 Z. 

Each braggart churl could boast before. 
Twelve Scottish Hoes his baldric bore! — P. 462. 

Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish proverb, " whereb 
they give the whole praise of shooting honestly to Engiishmei 
saying thus, ' that every English archer beareth under his gii 
die twenty-four Scottes.' Indeed Toxophilus .says before, an. 
truly of the Scottish nation, ' The Scottes surely be good niei 
of warre in theyre owne feates as can be ; but as for shoot 
inge. they can neither use it to any profite, nor yet challenge i' 
for any praise." — Works of Ascham, edited by Benvet, Ato 
p. 110. 

It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient English historian 
that the "good Lord James of Douglas" dreaded the snperi 
ority of the English archers so much, that when he made anv 
of them prisoner, he gave him the option of losing the foreli.. 
ger of Ids right hand, or his right eye, either species of muti' i 
tion rendering him incapable to use the bow. I have mi<lai<' 
the refereiice to this singular passage. 



Note 4 A. 



Down I down I in headlong overthrow. 
Horseman and horse, the foremost go. — P. 462. 

It is generally alleged by historians, that the English men-at 
arms fell into the hidden snare which Bruce had prepared fo; 
them. Barbour does not mention the circumsta-^ce. Accord 
ing to his account, Randolph, seeing the slaug ter made b\ 
the cavalry on the right wing among the arc! ers, advanced 
courageously against the main body of the English, and en- 
tered into close combat with them. Douglas and Stuart, who 
commanded the Scottish centre, led their division also to the 
charge, and the battle becoming general along the whole line, 
was obstinately maintained on both sides for a long space ol 
time ; the Scottish archers doing great execntion among the 
English men-at-arms, af'er the bowmen of England were dis- 
persed. 



Note 4 B. 



And steeds that shriek in agony. — P. 462. 

I have been told that this liae n -oires an explanatory note , 
and, indeed, those who witness the lent patience with which 
horses submit to the most cruel uss^e, may be permitted t« 
doubt, that, in moments of sudden and intolerable anguish, 
they utter a most melancholy cry. Lord Erskine, in a speech 
made in the House of Lords, upon a bill for enforcing hums 
nity towards animals, noticed this remarl able fact, in languagf 
which I will not mutilate by attempting to reneat it. It v,•a^ 
my fortune, upon one occasion, to hear a horse, in a momen' 
of agony, utter a thrilling scream, which I still consider tht 
most melancholy sound I ever heard. 



Note 4 C. 



Lord of the Isles, my trust tn t\ee 

Is firm as Ailsa Rock : 
Rush on with Highland sword a'ld turf^e. 
I, with my Carrick spearmen c1u,r^e. — P. 464 

When the engagement between the main bodies had lastM.' 
some time, Bruce loade a decisive movement, by bringing b« 



APPENDIX TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



49)} 



Ale SoHtish reserve. It is traditionally said, that at this cri- 
lis, lie addressed the Lord of the Isles in a phrase used as a 
motto by some of his aescendants, " My trust is constant in 
»hee." Barbour intimates, that the reserve "assembled on 
one field," that is, on the same line with the ?cottish forces 
already engaged ; which leads Lord Hailes to conjecture that 
the Scottish ranks must have been much thinned by'slanghter, 
lioce, m that circumscribed ground, there was room for the 

eserve to fall into the line. But the advance of the Scottish 
■saviilry must have contributed a good deal to form the va- 

vi( y occupied by the reserve. 



Note 4 D. 



To armg they flew, — axe, dub, or spear,— 
And mimic ensigns high they rear. — P. 464. 

The followers of the Scottish camp observed, from the Gil- 
lies' Hill in the rear, the impression produced upon the English 
irmy by the bringing up of the Scottish reserve, and, prompted 
oy the enthusiasm of the moment, or the desire of plunder, 
tssumed, in a tumultuary manner, such arms as they found 
searest, fastened sheets to tent-poles and lances, and showed 
themselves like a new army advancing to battle. 

" Yomen, and 8wanys,i and pitaill,^ 
That in the Park yemyt wictaill,' 
War left ; quiien thai wyst but lesing,* 
That thair lordis, with fell fa«htyng, 
On thair fayis assemblyt wer ; 
Ane ofTthaim selvvyn^ that war thar 
Capitane of thaim all thai maid. 
And schetis, that war sumedele* brad, 
Thai festnyt in steid off baneris, 
Apon lang treys and speris : 
And gaid that thai wald se the fycht ; 
And help thair lordis at thair mycht. 
Quhen her till all assentyt wer, 
In a rout assemblit er ;7 
Fyftene thowsand thai war, or ma. 
And than in gret hy gan thai ga, 
With thair baneris, all in a rout. 
As thai had men bene styth*> and stout. 
Thai come, with all that assemble, 
Rycht quhill thai mycht the bataill se ; 
Than all at anys thai gave a cry, 
' Sla I sla I Apon thaim hastily !' " 

Barbour's Bruce, Book ix. v. 410. 

Tne unexpected apparition, of what seemed a new army, 
tompleled the confusion which already prevailed among the 
English, who fled in every direction, and were pursued with 
immense slaughter. The brook of Bannock, according to 
Barbour, was so choked with the bodies of men and horses, 
\hat it might have been passed dry-shod. The followers of 
(he Scottish camp fell upon the disheartened fugitives, and 
added to the confusion and slaughter. Many were driven 
irto the Foith, and perished there, which, by the way, could 
hardly have happered, had the armies been drawn up east 
ind west ; since, in that case, to get at the river, the English 
'^igitives must have fled through the victorious army. About 
B short mile from the field of battle is a place called the 
Bloody Folds. Here the "Earl of Gloucester is said to have 
•nade a stand, and died gallantly at the head of his own mili- 
,*ry tenants and vassals. He was much regretted by both 
odes ; and it is said the Scottish would gladly have saved his 
ife, bnt, neglecting to wear his snrcoat with armorial bear- 



1 Swain*. — 8 Rabble, — 3 Kept the proviBionj.- 
Somawbat —1 An.— S Stiff. 



ings over his armor, he fell unknown, after his .loise had beei 
stabbed with spears. 

Sir Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, contrived to 
conceal himself during the fury of the pursuit, and when it 
was somewhat slackened, approached King Robert. " Whose 
prisoner are yon. Sir Marmaduke V said Bruce to whom ha 
was personally known. " Yonrs, sir," answerei. he knight 
" I receive you," answered the king, and, treating him with 
the utmost courtesy, loaded him with gifts, and dismissed bin 
without ransom. The other prisoners were all well treated 
There might be policy in this, as Bruce would natura. v wisi 
to acquire the good opinion of the English barons, wno were 
at this time at great variance with tlieir king. But it also wel 
accords with his high chivalrous character. 



Note 4 E. 



Lying, — 5 Selves.— | 
1 



O / give their hapless prince his due. — P. 464. 

Edward II., according to the best authorities, showed, ii; 
the fatal field of Bannockburn, personal gallantry not un- 
worthy of his great sire and greater son. He remained or th« 
field till forced away by the Earl of Pembroke, when an was 
lost. He then rode to the Castle of Stirling, and demanded 
admittance ; but the governor, remonstrating upon the imjirn- 
dence of shutting himself up in that fortress, which must so 
soon surrender, he assembled around his person five hundred 
men-at-arms, and, avoiding the field of battle and the victo 
rious army, fled towards Linlithgow, pursued by Douglas witl 
about sixty horse. They were augmented by Sir Lawrence 
Abernethy with twenty more, whom Douglas met in the Tor- 
wood upon their way to join the English army, and whom he 
easily persuaded to desert the defeated monarch, and to assist 
in the pursuit. They hung upon Edward's flight as far as 
Dunbar, too few in number to assail him with effect, bnt enough 
to harass his retreat so constantly, that whoever fell an instant 
behind, was instantly slain or made prisoner. Edward's igno- 
minious flight terminated at Dunbar, where the Earl of March, 
who still professed allegiance to him, "received him full 
gently." From thence, the monarch of so great an empire 
and the late commander of so gallant and numerous an array, 
escaped to Bamborough in a fishing vessel. 

Bruce, as will appear from the following document, lost no 
time in directing the thunders of Parliamentary censure 3gain<1 
such part of his subjects as did not rettrn to their natural alle- 
giance after *he battle of Bannockburn. 

ApnO MONASTKRIUM DE CAIIIBUSEB.i^NETn, 
VI DIB NOVEMBRIa, M,CCC,XIV. 

Judicium Reditum apud Kamhuskinet contra omn<. illcs ~iu 
tunc fucrunt contra fidem et pacem Domini Regit. 

Anno gracie millesimo ttn.er.j»isLjo quarto deciino sexfc die 
Novembris tenente parliamentum suum Excellentissimo (.ii» 
cipe Domino Roberto Dei gracia Rege Scottorum Illastri <» 
monasterio de Cambnskyneth concordati m fuit finaliter Ja 
dicatum [ac super] hoc statutum de Concilio et Assensu Epis- 
coporum et ceterorum Prelatorum Comitum Baronum et alio- 
mm nobilium regni Seocie nee non et tocius communitatib 
regni predicti quod omnes qui contra fidem et pacem dicti 
domini regis in bello sen alibi raortui sunt [vel qui die] to die 
ad pacem ejus et fidem non venerant licet sepius vocati et le- 
gitime expectati fuissent de terris et tenementis et omni alio 
statu infra regnum Seocie perpetuo sint exheredat. et ha^'':^D■ 
tur de cetero tanquam inimici Regis et Regni ab omni venai 
cacione jnris hereditarii vel 'vrxv altenus cujuscunque in po» 
ternm pro se et heredibus snis in perpetuum privati Ad ner 
petuam igitur lei memoriam et evidentero probacionem hujni 



500 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



luiiicii et Statnti sij^illa Episcopornm et aliornm Prelatoniin 
iiec non et comitum Baronum ac ceterorum nobiliom dicti 
Regi. ,fesenti ordinacioni Judicio et statuto sunt appensa. 



Sigillnm 

igillnm 

Sigillura 

Sisiilum 



Sigillnm 
Sigillum 
Sigillnm 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillura 
Sigillum 
Sigillura 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillura 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillnm 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 
Sigillnm 
Sigillum 
Sigillum 



Domini Regis 

Willelmi Episcopi Sancti Andree 
Roberti Epbcopi Glascuensis 
Willelmi Episcopi Dunkeldensi* 

Episcop, • 

Episcopi 

Episcopi 

Alani Episcopi Sodorensis 
Johannis EpiscojH BrechynenslB 
Andree Episcopi Ergadiensis 
Frechardi Episcopi CathaneusM 
ASbatis de Scona 
Abbatia de Calco 
Abbatis de Abirbrothok 
Abbatis de Sancta Cruce 
Abbatis de Londoris 
Abbatis de Newbotill 
Abbatis de Cupro 
Abbatis de Paslet 
Abbatis de Dunfermelyn 
Abbatis de Lineluden 
Abbatis de Insula Missarnm 
Abbatis de Sancto Columba 
Abbatis de Deer 
Abbatis de Dulce Corde 
Prioris de Coldinghame 
Prioris de Rostynot 
Prioris Sancte Andree 
Prioris de Pittinwem 
Prioris de Insula de Lochlevin 
Senescalli Scocie 
Willelmi Coraitis de Ros 



Sigillum Gilbert! de la Haya Constabnlarii Scocie 

Sigillnm Rooerti de Keth MarispnlU Scocie 

Sigillum Hugonis de Ros 

Sigillnm Jacobi de Duglas 

Sigillura Johannis de Sancto Claro 

Sigillum Thome de Ros 

Sigillum Alexandri de Settone 

Sigillum Walteri Haliburtone 

Sigillnm Davidis de Balfour 

Sigillum Duncani de Wallays 

Sigillnm Thome de Dischington« 

Sigillum Anaree de Moravia 

Sigillum Archibaldi de Betun 

Sigillnm Ranulphi de Lyill 

Sigillura Malcomi de Balfonr 

Sigillnm Normanni de Lesley 

Sigillnm Nigelli de Campo bello 

Sigillnm Morni de Mnsco Campc 



Note 4 F. 



3^or for D-e Jirgentine alone. 

Through JtTinian's church these torches shone, 

^nd rose the death-prayer' s awful tone. — P. 465. 

The remarkable circumstances attending the death of De 
Irgentine have been abready noticed (Note L). Besides this 

I Together. ? Red, or gilded. 

t fThe (itncM from Barbour in this edition of Si« W;»lt«r Seott'i poem» 



renowned warrior, there fell many representatives of tht 
noblest houses in England, which never sustained a mort 
bloody and disastrous defeat. Barbour says that two hundred 
pairs of gilded spurs were taken from the field of battle ; and 
that some were left the author can bear witness, who has in 
his possession a curious antique spar, da? up in the morasi 
not long since. 

" It wes forsuth a gret ferly, 
To se samyni sa fele dede lie. 
Twa hundre payr of spuris reid,» 
War tane of knichtis that war deid." 

I am now to take ray leave of Barbour, not without a sinoen 
wish that the public may encourage the undertaking of my 
friend Dr. Jamieson, who has issued proposals for publishing 
an accurate edition of his poem, and of blinu Harry's Wal 
lace.3 The only good edition of The Bruce was published by 
Mr. Pinkerton, in 3 vols., in 1790 ; and, the learned edito! 
having had no personal access to consult the manuscript, it ij 
no{ without errors ; and it has besides become scarce. Ol 
Wallace there is no tolerable edition ; yet these two poems do 
no small honor to the early state of Scottish poetry, and Th" 
Bruce s justly regarded as containing authentic historical 
facts. 

The following list of the slain at Bannockbnm, extracted 
from the continuator of Trivet's Annals, will show the exteni 
of the national calamity. 

List of thb Sr.iiN. 



Knights and Knights Ban- 
nerets. 
Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Glou- 
cester, 
Robert de Clifford, 
Payan Tybetot, 
William Le Mareschal, 
John Comyn, 
William de Vescey, 
John de Montfort, 
Nicolas de Hasteleigh, 
William Dayncourt, 
iEgidius de Argenteyno 
Edmond Comjn, 
John Lovel (the rich), 
Edmund de Hastynge, 
Milo de Stapleton, 



Simon Ward, 
Robert de FeltOB, 
Michael Poyning, 
Edmund Maulley. 

Knights. 
Henry de Bonn, 
Thomas de Ufford, 
John de Ehingfelde, 
John de Harcourt, 
Walter de Hakelut, 
Philip de Courtenay, 
Hugo de Scales, 
Radulph de Beauchamp 
John de Penbrigge, 
With 33 others of the • 
rank, not named. 



Prisoners. 



Barons and Baronets. 
Henry de Bonn, Earl of Here- 
ford, 
.Lord John Giffard, 
William de Latimer, 
Maurice de Berkeley, 
Ingelram de Umfraville, 
Marraaduke de Twenge, 
John de Wyletone, 
Robert de Maulee, 
Henry Fitz-Hugh, 
Thoraas de Gray, 
Walter de Beauchamp, 
Richard de Charon, 
John de Wevelmton 
Robert de Nevil, 
John de Segrave, 
Gilbert Peeche, 
John de Clavering, 



Antony de Lucy. 
Radnlph de Carays, 
John ae Evere, 
Andrew, de Abremhyn. 

Knights. 
Thomas de Berkeley 
The son of Roger Tyrral 
Anselm de Maieschal, 
Giles de Beauchamp 
John de Cyfrewast, 
John Bluwet, 
Roger Corbet, 
Gilbert de Bonn, 
Bartholomew de Enefeld 
Thomas de Ferrers, [tan 

Radulph and Thomas Bott* 
lohn and Nicholas de Kinf 
stone (brothers), 



have been nnifoimly corrected by the text of Br. Jamieson'i Bnioe, po^ 
lished , along with Blind Harry's Wallace, Edin. 1 820, 2 \o\%, Ito.— Ed.] 



William Lovel, 
Henry de Wileton, 
Baldwin de Frevill, 
John de Clivedon,' 
Adomar la Zouche, 
>ohn de Merewode, 
loi.:i Maufe,3 



Thomas and Odo Lele Erce- 

acKcne, 
Robert Beaufel (the son), 
John Mautravers (the son), 
William and William Giffard, 
and 34 other knight«, not 
named by the historian. 



And in so in there were sliun, diong wiih the Earl of Glonces- 
ler, lorty-two barons and bannerets. The number of earls, 
barons, and bannerets made captive, was twenty-two, and 
iLity 'fiigV kuights. Many clerks and eeqaires were also there 
ilkin or taken. Roger de Northbnrge, keeper of the kig^' 

I ■oanw.i CUatw. 



signet (Cvstos Targiee Domini Regis), was made prisonet 
with his two clerks, Roger de Wakenfelde and Thomas de 
Switon, nnon which the king caused a seal to be made, and 
enthledn ma privy seal, to distinguish the same from the signet 
80 lost. The Earl of Hereford was exchanged against Bruce's 
queen, who had been detained m captivity ever since the year 
1306. The Targia, or signet, was restored to England through 
the intercession of Ralph de Monthermer, ancestor of Lonl 
Moira, who is said to have found favor in the eyes of the Scot- 
tish king. — Continuation of Trivet's Annals, Hall's edit 
Oxford, 1712, vol. ii. p. 14. 

Such were the immediate consequences of the Field ofBa* 
nockbnrn. Its more remote effects, in completely establishing 
Um national iadependeDce of Scotland, aflbrd a liODndla» 6a,(^ 
(t» VpMBlMHS. 



^l)t Ixtlh of iDatcrl00: 



A POEM ' 



" ThoQgh Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, 
And Albert msh'd on Henry's way-worn banc, 
With Europe's chosen sons, in arms renown'd, 
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, 
Nor Andley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd,— 
Tbev saw their standard fall, and left their monarch boand.' 

Akknsids 



TO 

HER GRACE 



TBI 

DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON 

paiiTCESS OF WATERLOO, 
&o. &c. 8(0. 

rSE FOLI.O\riNO VERSES 
A&E MOST EESFECTFULLT INSCRIBED 

BT 

THE AUTHOR. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

Jt nay be »nne apology for the imperfections of this poem, that ii was composed histily, and during « 
thort tour upon the Continent, when the Author's labors were liable to frequent irJerruption ; but itt 
heat apology is, that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription, 
Abbotsfoed, 1816 



5[l)c iiclb of lHatcnoo. 



J AIR Brussels, thou art far behind. 
Though, lingering on the morning wind. 

We yet may hear the hour 
Peal'd over orchard and canal, 
With voice prolong'd and measured fall. 

From proud St. Michael's tower ; 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds ua now,* 
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough 

' Pablished by Constable & Co. in October, 1815. 8vo. 5«. 
• " The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remiiant of the 
«tt >f Ardennes famous in Buiardo's Orlando, and immor- 



For many a league around. 
With birch and darksome oak between. 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Stems planted close by stems deiy 
The adventurous foot — the curious ejo 

For access seeks in vain ; 
And the brown tapestry of leaves, 
Strew'd on the blighted ground, receive* 

Nor sun, nor air, nor • ain. 
No opening glade dawns }n our way, 
No streamlet, glancing to the ray, 

tal in Shakspeare's ' As yon Like it.' It is also celebrated t> 
Tacitus as being the spot of successful defence by tlie Germaca 
against the Roman encroachmenu." — Byron. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



6(.'> 



Our woodland path has cross'd ; 
And the straight causeway wliich we tread. 
Prolongs a hne of dull arcade, 
'Jnvarymg through the unvaried shade 

Until in distance lost. 

II. 

A. brighter, livelier scene succeeds ;' 
In groups the scattering wood recedes, 
Hedgerows, and huts, and sunny meads, 

And corn-fields, glance between ; 
The peasant, at his labor blithe, 
Plies the hook'd staff and shorten'd scythe :' — 

But when these ears were green. 
Placed close within destruction's scope, 
FuD Uttle was that rustic's hope 

Thoir ripening to have seen ! 
And, lo, a hamlet and its fane : — 
Let not the gazer with disdain 

Their architecture view ; 
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine. 
And disproportion'd spire are thine,* 

Immortal Waterloo !* 

III. 
Fear not the heat, though f'dl and high 
The sun has scorch' d the autumn sky, 
And scarce a forest straggler now 
To shade us spreads a greenwood bough ; 
These fields have seen a hotter day 
Than e'er was fired by simny ray.' 

• " Southward from Brussels lies the field of oiooa. 

Some three hours' journey for a well-girt man ; 
A. horseman, who in haste pursued his road, 

Would reach it as the second hour began. 
The way is through a forest deep and wide, 
Extendnig many a mile on either side. 

'• No cheerful woodland this of antic trees, 

With thickets varied and with sunny glade ; 
Look where he will, the weary traveller sees 

One gloomy, thick, impenetrable shade 
Of tall straight trunks, which move before his sight, 
Vith interchange of lines of long green light. 

' Mere, where the woods receding from the road 

Have left on either hand an open space 

For fields and gardens, and for man's abode, 

Stands Waterloo ; a little lowly place. 
Obscure till no*, when it hath risen to fame. 
And given the victory its English name." 

Southky's Pilgrimage to Waterloo. 

• See Appendix, Note A. 

• MS. — " Let not the stranger with disdain 

Its misproportions view ; 

Yon \ , °"" , > ungraceful shrine, 
( awkward and ) 

And yonder humble spire, are thine." 

• ' What time the second Carlos ruled in Sjiain, 

Last of the Austrian line by fate decreed, 
Here Castan<iza rear'd a votive fane. 
Praying the patron saints to bless with seed 



Yet one mile on, yon shatter'd hedge 
Crests the soft hill whose long smooth rid^e 

Looks on the field below, 
And suiks so gently on the dale, 
That not the folds of Beauty's veil 

In easier curves can flow. 
Brief space from thence, the ground again 
Ascending slowly from the plain, 

Forms an opposing screen, 
Which, with its crest of upland ground, 
Shuts the horizon all aroimd. 

The soften'd vale between 
Slopes smooth and fair for com-ser's tread ; 
Not the most timid maid need dread 
To give her snow-white palfrey head 

On that wide stubble-ground f 
Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush, are there. 
Her com^se to intercept or scare. 

Nor fosse nor fence are found, 
Save where, from out her shatter'd bowers. 
Rise Hougomont's dismantled towers' 

IV. 

Now, see'st thou aught in this lone scene 
Can tell of that which late hath been { 

A stranger might reply, 
"The bare extent of stubble-plain 
Seems lately hghten'd of its grain ; 
And yonder sable tracks remain 
Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain, 

When harvest-home was nigh.* 

His childless sovereign. Heaven denied an heir. 
And Europe moum'd in blood the frustrate prayer.'* 

SOUTHEY 

To the original chapel of the Marqnis of Czistanaza has nun 
been added a building of considerable extent, the whole inte- 
rior of which is filled with monumental inscriptions for the 
heroes who fell in the battle. 

6 The MS. has not this couplet. 

6 "As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene ol 
some great action, though this may be mere imagination. I 
have viewed with attention, those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, 
Leuctra, Chjeronea, and Marathon ; and the field atouad 
Mont St. Jean and Hougomont appears to want little but a 
better cause, and that indefinable but impressive halo wlii^b 
the lapse of ages throws around a consecrated spot, to vie in 
interest with any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last men 
tioned." — Byron. 

' MS. — " Save wher^ ] ^ > fire-scathed bowers a,moD(;, 
f the ) 

Rise the rent towers of Hougomom. 

8 " Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust, 

Nor column trophied lor triumphal show t 

None : But the moral's truth tells simpler so, 

As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — 

How that red rain hath made the harvest grow f 

And is this all the world has gain'd by thee. 

Thou first and last of fields ! king-raaking Victory t' 

BYBCIi 



' Was it a soothing or a mournful thought, 
Amid this scene of slaugliter as ws -siood. 
Where armies had with recent turv ' bt 



504 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


On these broad spots of trampled ground, 


Death hover'd o'er the maddening rout, 


Perchance the rustics danced such round 


And, m the thrilhng battle-shout. 


As Teniers loved to draw ; 


Sent for the bloody banquet out 


And where the earth seems scorch'd by fla.me, 


A summons of his own. 


To dress the h(«nely feast they came, 


Through rolhng smoke the Demon's eye 


And toil'd the kerchief 'd village dame 


Could well each destined guest espy 


Around her fire of straw." 


Well could his ear in ecstasy 




Distinguish every tone 


V. 


Tliat fiU'd the chorus of the fray — 


So Jeem'st tlnu. — so each mortal deems. 


From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 


Of that winch is from that which seems : — 


From charging squadrons' wild hurra. 


But other harvest here. 


From the wild clang that mark'd their way «" 


Thau that which peasant's scythe demands. 


Down to the dying groan. 


Was gather'd in by sterner hands, 


And the last sob of life's decay. 


With bayonet, blade, and spear. 


When breath was all but flown. 


No vulgar crop was theirs to reap. 




No stinted harvest thin and cheap ! 


VIII. 


Heroes before each fatal sweep 


Feast on, stern foe of mortal life. 


Fell thick as ripen'd grain ; 


Feast on ! — but think not that a strife, 


And ere the darkening of the day, 


With such promiscuous carnage rife, 


Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay 


Protracted space may last ; 


The ghastly harvest of the fray, 


The deadly tug of war at length 


The corpses of the slain.' 


Must limits find in human strength. 




And cease when these are past. 


VL 


Vain hope 1 — that morn's o'erclouded sun 


Ay, look again — that line, so black 


Heard the wild shout of fight begun 


And trampled, marks the bivouac. 


Ere he attain'd his height. 


Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery's track, 


And through the war-smoke, volumed high. 


So often lost and won ; 


Still peals that unremitted cry, 


And close beside, the harden'd mud 


Though now he stoops to night. 


Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood, 


For ten long hours of doubt and dread, 


The fierce dragoon, through battle's flood. 


Fresh succors from the extended head 


Dash'd the hot war-horse on. 


Of either hill the contest fed ; 


These spots of excavation tell 


Still down the slope they drew, 


The ravage of the bursting shell — 


The charge of colunms paused not, 


And feel'st thou npt the tainted steam, 


Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot ; 


That reeks against the sultry beam, 


For all that war could do 


From yonder trenched mound ? 


Of skill and force was proved that day, 


The pestilential fumes declare 


And turn'd not yet the doubtful fray 


That Carnage has replenisli'd there 


On bloody Waterloo. 


Her garner-house profound. 


IX. 


VIL 


Pa'e Brussels ! then what thoughts were ^hhit 


Far other harvest-home and feast. 


When ceaseless from the distant Une 


Than claims the boor from scythe released, 


Continued thundeis came ! 


On these scorch'd fields were known ; 




Each burgher held his breath, to hear 


Te mark how gentle Nature still parsoed 


And friend and foe, wltliin thi general tomb. 


Her qnie; course, asif slie took uo care 


Equil had been their lot ; one fatal day 


For what her noblest work had snfTer'd there. 


Foi all, . . one labor, . . and one place of re«t 




They found within their commou parent's breait. 


•• The pears had npen'd on the garden wall ; 




Those leaves which on the antnmnal earth were spread, 


*' The passing seasons had not >et effaced 


The trees, though pierced and scared with many a ball, 


The stamp of numerous hoofs ini|)ress'd by tircm 


[lad only in their natural season shed ; 


Of cavalry, whose path might still be traced. 


Flowers were in seed, whose buds to swell began 


Yet Nature everywhere resumed her course,' 


When such wild havoc here was made by man." 


Low paiisies to the sun their purple gave, 


SoUTHET. 


And the soft poppy blossom'd on the grave." 


." Earth had received into her silent womb 


BCUTHBV 


Uei slaugliter'd creatures ; liorse and man they lay. 


9 See Appendix, Note B. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 504 


These foreninners' of havoc near, 


On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke ' 


Of rapine and of flame. 


Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 


What ghastly sights were tlime to meet, 


The war was waked anew. 


When rolling* through thy stately street, 


Three hundred cannon-mouths roar'd loud. 


The wounded :how'd their mangled plight' 


And from their throats, with flash and cloud. 


In toke" of the unfinish'd fight, 


Their showers of iron threw . 


Anc irom each anguish-laden w.iin 


Beneath their fire, m full career. 


The blood-drops laid thy dust like r«.in 1* 


Rush"d on the ponderous cuirassier. 


Ho-w often in the distant drum 


The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear, 


HeiiJ- J'st thou the fell Invader come. 


And hurrying as to havac nsar, 


While Rujr> shouting to his band, 


The cohorts' eagles flew. 


Shook high her torch and gory brand ! — 


In one dark torrent, broad and strong. 


Cheer thee, fair City ! From yon stand, 


The advancing onset roll'd along, 


Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand 


Forth harbinger'd by fierce acclaim, 


Points to his prey in vain, 


That, from the shi'oud of smoke and flame. 


While maddening in his eager mood, 


Peal'd wildly the imperial name. 


And aU unwont to be withstood. 




He fires the fight again. 


XIL 




But on the British heart were lost 


X. 


The terrors of the charging host ; 


On ! On !" was stiU his stem exclaim ; 


For not an eye the storm that view'd 


" Confront the battery's jaws of flame 1 


Changed its proud glance of fortitude, 


Rush on the levell'd gun l' 


Nor was one forward footstep staid, 


My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance I 


As dropp'd the dying and the dead.* 


Each Hulan forward with his lance. 


Fast as their ranks the thunders tear. 


My Guard — my Chosen — charge for France, 


Fast they renew'd each serried square ; 


France and Napoleon !" 


And on the wounded and the slain 


Loud answer'd their acclaiming shout. 


Closed their diminish'd files again, 


Greeting the mandate which sent out 


Till from their line scarce spears' lengths three 


iTieir bravest and their best to dare 


Emerging from the smoke they see 


The fate their leader shunn'd to share." 


Helmet, and plume, and panoply, — 


But Hk, his country's sword and shield, 


Then waked their fire at once I 


Still in the battle-front reveal'd, 


Each musketeer's revolving knell. 


Where danger fiercest swept the field, 


As fast, as regularly fell. 


Came like a beam of hght, 


As when they practise to display 


In action prompt, in sentence brief — 


Their discipline on festal day. 


" Soldiers, stand firm," exclaim'd the Chie^ 


Then down went helm and lanct. 


" England shall tell the fight 1"* 


Down were the eagle banners sent. 




Down reeling steeds and riders w'ent, 


XL 


Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent ; 


On came the whirlwind — like the last 


And, to augment the fray. 


But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — 


Wheel'd full against their staggering flanks 


M^.— " Harbingers." 


Was festering, and along the crowded ways. 


MS.—" Streaming." 


Hour after hour was heard the incessant souiJ 


MS>.— " Bloody plight." 


Of wheels, which o'er the rough and stony road 


Within those walls there linger'd at that hoar, 


Convey'd their living agonizing load ! 


Many a brave soldier on the bed of pain, 




l^'iiom aid of human art should ne'er restore 


" Hearts little to the melting mood inclined. 


T- see his country and his fjiends again j 


Grew sick to see their sufferings ; and the thonglK 


And many a victim of that fell debate. 


Still comes with horror to the shuddering mind 


Whose life yet waver'd in the scales of fate. 


Of those sad days, when Belgian ears were taaghl 




The British soldier's cry, half groan, half prayer. 


Others in wagons borne abroad I saw. 


Breathed when his pain is more than he can bear.' 


Albeit recovering, still a mournful sight ; 


SOUTHBI 


Languid and helpless, some were stretch'd on straw, 


' MS. " his stern exclaim ; 


Some more advanced, snstain'd themselves upright, 


' Where fails the sword make way by fiame 1 


And with bold eye and careless front, methonght. 


Recoil not from the cannon's aim ; 


Seem'H to set wounds and death agaia at naught. 


Confront them and they're won.' " 




See Appendix, Note C. « Ibid. Note D. ' Ibid. Note fi 


SVhat h-jd it been, '.hen, in the recent days 


* MS. — " Nor was one forward footstep stopp'd. 


»Of thai great trinmph, when the open wound 
S4 


TboDgh close beside a comiade dropp'd ' 



506 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced *heir resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — 
As plies the smith his clanging trade,' 
Against the cuirass rang the blade ;' 
And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way,' 
And wliile amid their scatter'd band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
RecoU'd in common rout and fear. 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horsemen and foot — a muigled host, 
Their leaders fidl'n their standards lost. 

XIII. 
Then, Wellington 1 thy piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destiny — 

The British host had stood 
That mom 'gainst charge of sword and lance* 
As their own ocean rocks hold stance. 
But when thy voice had said, " Advance l" 

They were their oceiin's flood. — 
Thou, whose inauspicious aim 
Hath wrought thy host tliis hour of shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bandf will bide 
Tlie terrors of yon rushing tiile f 
Or will thy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levell'd steel,* 

• See Api>endix, Note F. 

• " I heard the broadswords' deadly clang, 

As if an hundred anvils rang I" Lady of the Lake. 
> MS. — " Beneath tliat storm, in full career, 
Ruiih'd on the (londerous cuirHssier, 

The lancer \ '^'""'; ^I'l'. 'T"",''^ [ "pear, 
( couch d his latal > 



Sworn 



S each I 
i all S 



to do or die ; 



But not an instant would they bear 

The \ "'""''""' i of each serried square, 
( vollies J 

They halt, they turn, they fly I 
Not even their chosen brook to feel 
The liritish shock of levell'd steel ' 
Enough that tliroti^h their cloae array 
The well-pliud cannon tore their way ; 
Enoui;;h that 'raid their broken band 
The horsemen phed the bloody brand, 
Recoil'd," &c. 
« "• The cuirassiers continued their dreadful onset, and rode 
up V* the squares in the full confidence, apparently, of sweep- 
ing every thing before the impetuosity of their charge. Their 
tiiset end reception was like a furious ocean pouring itself 
against a chain of insulated rocks. The British square stood 
unmoved, and never j^ave tire until the cavalry were wiilitn 
ten yards when men rolled one way, horses galloped another, 
and the cuirassiers were in every instance driven back." — Life 
tf Bonaparte, vol. ix. p. 12. 
( See Appendix, Note G. '* 

• MS. — " Or can thy memory fail to quote, 

Heard to thy cost, the vengeful note 
Of Prussia's trumpet tone V 
' ' We obeeive a certain degree of similitude in tome paa- 



Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming stjuadruns gleam afar. 
And fresher thunders wake the war, 

And other standards fly ? — 
Think not that in yon columns, file 
Thy couquermg troops from distant Dyle— 

Is Blucher yet luikuown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill), 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

Li Prussia's trumpet tone ? — ° 
What yet remams ? — shall it be thine 
To head the rehcs of thy line 

In one dread effort more ? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved,' 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That Cliieftahi, who, of yore. 
Ambition's dizzy paths, essay'd. 
And with the gladiators' aid 

For empire enterprised — 
He stood the cast his raslmess play'd, 
Left not the victims he had made, 
Dug his red grave with his own blade 
And on the field he lost was laid, 

Abhorr'd — but not despised." 

XIV. 
But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety — howsoever bought, — 

sages of Mr. Scott's present work, to the compositions of Lon> 
Byron, and particularly his Lordshiji's Ode to Bona))arte ; anu 
we think that whoever peruses ' The Field of Waterloo,' with 
that Ode in his recollection, will be struck with this new re< 
semblance. We allude principally to such passages as thai 
which begins, 

' The Roman lore thy leisure loved,' &c. 
and to such lines as, 

' Now, seest thou aught in this loved scene. 
Can tell of that which late hath been V 



or, 



' So deem'st thou — so each mortal deems. 
Of that which is, from that which seems ;' 



lines, by the way, of which we cannot express any very great 
admiration. This sort of influence, however, over even the 
principal writers of the day (whether they are conscious of the 
influence or not), is one of the surest (ests of genius, and one 
of the proudest tributes which it receives." — Montltiy Review. 
8 " When the engagement was ended, it evidently appeared 
with what undaunted spirit .ind resolution Catiline's army had 
been fired ; for the body of every one was found on that ver) 
spot which, during the battle, he had occupied ; those only ex- 
cepted who were forced from their posts by the PriEtoriaii co- 
hort ; and even they, though they fell a little out of theji 
ranks, were all wounded before. Catiiine himself was found, 
far from his own men, amidst the dead bodies of the enemy, 
breathing a little, with an air of that fierceness still in his face 
which he had when alive. Finally, in all his iiriiiy there wai 
not so much as one free citizen taken prisoner, either in the en- 
gagement or in flight ,• for they spared their own lives as little 
as those of the enemy. The army of the republic obtained the 
victory, indeed, but it was neither a cheap nor a Joyful one, for 
their bravest men were either slain in battle or d.-ingerously 
wounded. As there were many, too, who wen* to view tli« 



TKk field of WATERLOO. 



60 ( 



Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, 


XVI. 


Though twice ten thousand men have died 


List — frequent to the hurrymg rout, 


On this eventful day, 


The stern pursuers' vengeful shout 


To gild the mihtary fame 


Tells, that upon their broken rear 


Which thou, for life, in traffic tame 


Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 


Wilt barter thus away. 


So fell a sliriek was none, 


Shall future ages tell this tale 


When Beresina's icy flood 


Of inconsistence faint and frail ? 


Redden'd and thaw'd with flame and bltod' 


And ai-t thou He of Lodi's bridge, 


And, pressmg on thy desperate way. 


Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge 1 


Raised oft and long their wild hm-ra. 


Or is thy soid like mountain-tide, 


The children of the Don. 


That, swell'd by winter storm and 


Thine ear no yell of horror cleft 


shower, 


So ominous, when, all bereft 


Rolls down in turbulence of power, 


Of aid, the vaUant Polack left — * 


A torrent fierce and wide ; 


Ay, left by thee — found soldier's grave* 


Reft of these aids, a rill obscure. 


In Leipsic's corpse-encumber'd wave. 


Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, 


Fate, in those various perils past. 


Whose chaLnel shows display'd 


Reserved thee still some future cast , 


The wrecks of its impetuous course, 


On the dread die thou now hast thrown, 


But not one symptom of the force 


Hangs not a single field alone, 


By which these wrecks were made 1 


Nor one campaign — thy martial fame, 




Thy empue, dynasty, and name, 


XV. 


Have felt the final stroke ; 


tipur on thy way ! — since now thine ear 


And now, o'er thy devoted head. 


Has brook'd thy veterans' wish to hear. 


The last stern vial's wrath is shed. 


Who, as thy flight they eyed, 


The last dread seal is broV«» • 


Exclaira'd, — wlule tears of anguish came, 




Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and 


XVIL 


shame, — 


Since live thou wilt — refuse not now 


" 0, that he had but died 1'" 


Before these demagogues to bow. 


But yet, to sum this hour of ill, 


Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 


Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill, 


W ho shall thy once imperial fiite 


Back on yon broken ranks — 


Make wordy theme of vain debate. — 


Upon whose wild confusion gleams 


Or shall we say, thou stoop'st less low 


The moon, as on the troubled streams 


In seeking refuge from the foe. 


When rivers break their banks. 


Against wliose heart, in prosperous life. 


And, to the ruin'd peasant's, eye, 


Thine hand hath ever held the knife J 


Objects half seen roll swiftly by. 


Such homage hath been paid 


Down the red current hurl'd — 


By Roman and by Grecian voice, 


So mingle banner, wain, and gun. 


And there were honor in the choice. 


Wliere the tumultuous flight rolls on 


If it were freely made. 


Of warriors, who, when morn begun,* 


Then safely come — in one so low, - 


Defied a banded world. 


So lost, — we cannot own a foe ; 


t>ki, eilher oat of coriosity or a desire of plnnder, in taming over 


* MS. — " Where in one tide of terror run 


Ik) dead bodies, some found a friend, some a relation, and some 


The warriors that, when morn begun 


k gn«s' ; others there were likewise who discovered their ene- 


a MS. — " So ominous a shriek was none, 


cuca ; «o that, thiough tlie whole army, there appeared a mix- 


Not even wlien Beresina's Hood 


|u« of gladness and sorrow, joy and mourning." — SaLLUSt. 


Was thawed by streams of tepid blood. ' 


1 The MS. adds, 


* For an account of the death of Poniatowski at Leiptie, ■■ 


' That pang sarvived, refuse not then 


Sir Walter Scott's Life of Bonaparte, vol. vii. p. 40L 


To humble thee before the men, 


» MS. — " Not such were nearu, when, all bereft 


Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 


Of aid, the valiant Polack left- 


Who shall thy once imperial fate 


Ay, left by thee — found gallant grave." 


Make wordy theme of vain debate. 


• " I who with faith unshaken from the first, 


And chaffer for thy crown ; 


Even when the tyrant seem'd to touch the skint 


As usurers wont, who suck the all 


Had look'd to see the high blown bubble boist. 


Of the fool-hardy prodigal, 


And for a fall conspicuous as his nse, 


When on the giddy dice's fall 


Even in that faith had look'd not for defeat 


His latest hope has flown. 


So swift, so overwhelming, so complete." 


Bat yet to sura," &c. 


SOUTHET. 



>08 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though dear experience bid U8 end, 
In thee we ne'er can hail a friend. — 
Come, howsoe'er — but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of pride, 
Erewhile, by gifted bard espied,' 

That "yet imperial hope ;"* 
Think not that for a fresh rebound, 
To raise ambition from the ground. 

We yield thee means or scope. 
In safety come — ^but ne'er again 
Hold type of independent reign ; 

No islet calls thee lord. 
We leave thee no confederate band. 
No symbol of thy lost command, 
To be a dagger in the hand 

From which we wrench'd the sword. 

xvnL 

Yet, even in yon sequester'd spot, 
May wortliier conquest be thy lot 

Than yet thy Ufe has known ; 
Conquest, unbought by blood or harm. 
That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, 

A triumph aU thine own. 
Su< h waits thee when thou shalt control 
Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, 

That marr'd thy prosperous scene : — 
Hear this — from no unmoved heart. 
Which sighs, comparing what thou aet 

With what thou might'st have been !* 

XIX. 

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew'd 
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude. 
To thine own noble heart must owe 
More than the meed she can bestow. 
For not a people's just acclaim. 
Not the full hail of Europe's fame, 
Thy Prince's smiles, thy State's decree, 
The ducal rank, the garter'd knee, 
Not these such pure deUght afford 
As that, when hanging up thy sword. 
Well may'st thou think, " This honest steel 
Was ever drawn for public weal ; 



MB 



-" but do not hiite 



Once more that secret germ of pride, 
Which erst yon gifted bard espied." 

" The Desolater desolate 1 
The Victor overtnrowL . 
The Arbiter of others' fate 
A Suppliant for his own I 
Is it some yet imperial hope, 
That with such change can calmly cope 1 

Or dread of death alone 7 
To die a prince — or live a slave-— 
Thy choice is most ignobly brave 1' 

Btron's Ode to J^afolttn, 
• * 'Tis done — but yesterday a King I 

And arm'd with Kings to strive— 



And, such was rightful Heaven's deorce^ 
Ne'er sheathed imless with victory 1" 

XX. 

Look forth, once more, with soften'd heart 
Ere from the field of fame we part * 
Triiunph and Sorrow border near, 
And joy oft melts into a tear. 
Alas 1 what links of love that morn 
Has War's rude hand asimder torn 1 
For ne'er was field so sternly fought. 
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought. 
Here piled in common slaughter sleep 
Those whom affection long shall weep • 
Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain 
His orphans to his heart again ; 
The son, whom, on his native shore. 
The parent's voice shall bless no more ; 
The bridegroom, who has hardly press'd 
His blusliing consort to his breast ; 
The husband, whom through many a year 
Long love and mutual faith endear. 
Thou canst not name one tender tie. 
But here dissolved its relics he I 
1 when thou see'st some mourner's veil 
Shroud her thin form and visage pale. 
Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears 
Stream when the stricken drum she hears' 
Or see'st how manlier gi'ief, suppress'd. 
Is laboring in a father's breast, — 
With no enquiry vain pursue 
The cause, but think on Waterloo! 

XXI 
Period of honor as of woes, 
What bright careers 'twas thine to close I— 
Mark'd on thy roll of blood what names 
To Briton's memory, and to Fame's, 
Laid there their last immortal claims I 
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire 
Redoubted Pioton's soul of fire — 
Saw'st in the mingled carnage he 
All that of PoNSONBY could die — 
De Lancet change Love's bridal-wreath, 



And now thoa art a nameless thing ; 

So abject — yet alive 1 
Is this the man of ihoasand thrones, 
Who strew'd our earth with hostile bonea, 

And can he thus survive ? 
Since he, miscali'd the Morning Star, 
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so "ar." 

Byron's Dde to J^apol»»m 

* < We left the field of battle in such mood 

As human hearts from thence should bear away ■ 
And, musing thus, our purposed route pursued. 

Which still through scenes of recent bloodshed Is; 
Where Prussia late, with strong and stem delight, 
Hong oo her fated foes to persecute *heir flight." 

SOUTBKT 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



50f 



For laurels from the hand of Death — * 
Saw'st gallant Miller's'' failing eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners fly, 
And Oameeon,' in the shock of steel, 
Die like the oifspring of Lochiel ; 
And generous Gordon,* 'mid the strife, 
Fall while he watch'd his leader's life.— 
Ah ! though her guardian angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the field, 
Fai." Qot the less her power made known, 
rhrougti liis friends' hearts to pierce his own ! 

XXII. 
Forgive brave Dead, the imperfect layl 
Who may your names, your numbers, say ? 
Wliat high-strung harp, what lofty line. 
To each the dear-earn'd praise assign. 
From high-born claiefs of martial fame 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day, 
From your cold couch of swamp luid clay, 
To fill, before the sun was low. 
The bed that morning cannot know. — 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep. 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep, 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave, 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 

Who fought with Wellington ! 

XXIII. 

Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted face 
"Wears desolation's withering trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain. 
With every mark of martial wrong. 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomontl* 
Yet though thy garden's green arcade 



' The Poet's friend, Colonel Sir William De Lancey, mar- 
ried the beautiful daughter of Sir James Hall, Bart., in April 
1815, and received his mortjyl wound on the 18th of June. 
See Captmn B. Hall's affecting narrative in the first series of 
his ' Fia^ttents of Voyages and Travels," vol. ii. p. 369. 

' Colonel Miller, of the Guards — son to Sir William Miller, 
Lo/d Gler'.ee. When mortally wounded in the attack on the 
Bois de Bossu, he dosired to see the colors of the regiment 
once more ere he died They were waved over his head, and 
the expiring officer declared himself satisfied. 

s " Ojlonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often distinguished 
in Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action 
BtCinitre Bras (16th June, 1815), while leading the 92d or 
Gordoi. Highlanders, to charge a body of cavalry, supported by 
infantry "' — Paul's Letters, p. 91. 

* Colttei the Honorable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to 
tfie Earl j" Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar o.. the spot 
where he fe.l by the side of the Dnke of Wellington. 

* " Beyond these points the fight extended not, — • 

Small theatre for such a tragedy ! 
^\a breath scarce more, from eastern Popelot 



The marksman's fatal post was made, 
Though on thy shatter'd beeches fell 
The blended rage of shot and shell. 
Though from thy blacken'd pG;-*^s t^m, 
Their fall tliy blighted fruit-trees morm. 
Has not such havoc bought a name 
Immortal in the rolls of fame ? 
Yes — Agincourt may be forgot, 
And Cressy be an imknown spot. 

And Blenheim's name be new ; 
But still in story and in song, 
For many an age remember'd long. 
Shall live the towers of Hougomont, 

And Field of Waterloo. 



CONCLUSION. 
Stern tide of human Time ! that know'st not rest^ 
But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast 
Successive generations to their doom ; 
While thy capacious stream has equal rooiu 
For the gay bark where Pleasure's streamer! 

sport, 
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom. 
The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a cotirt, 
Still wafting onward aU to one dark silent port ,— 

Stern tide of Time ! through what mysterious 
change [driven I 

Of hope and fear have our frail barks been 
For ne'er before, vicissitude so strange 
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. 
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven. 
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe, 
Such fearful strife as that where we have 

striven. 
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know, [flow ! 
UntU the awful term when Thou shalt cease to 



To where the groves of Hougomont on high 
Rear in the west their venerable head. 
And cover with their shade the cou'ntless dead 

" But wonldst thou tread this celebrated ground, 
And trace with understanding eyes a ac8P« 
Above all other fields of war renown'd. 

From western Hougomont thy way begin ; 
There was our strength on that side and there fim 
In all its force, the storm of battle bersf ' 

dOTITHBT 

Mr. Sotithey adds, in a note on these verses . — " So impart 
ant a battle, perhaps, was never before fought witnin so smaj 
an extent of ground. I computed the distance between Hou- 
gomont and Popelot at three miles ; in a straight line it might 
probably not exceed two and a half. Our guide wan verw 
much displeased at the name which the battle had obtained 
in England, — ' Why call it the battle of Waterloo V he said ! 
' Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Sainte, call it Popelot— 
anv thing but Waterloo.' " — Pilgrimage to Waterloo. 



510 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"Well haat thou stood, my Country ! — the brave 
fight [ill; 

Hast well maintain'd through good report and 
In thy just cause and in thy native might, 
And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still ; 
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill 
Of half the world against thee stood array'd. 
Or when, with better views and freer will. 
Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, 
Cacli emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. 

Well art thou now repaid — though slowly rose, 
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of 

fame, 
Wliile like the dawn that in the orient glows 
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came ;* 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, 
And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ray, 
WTiere first the soldier, stung with generous 

shame, 
RivaU'd the heroes of the wat'ry way, [away. 
And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach 

1 MS. — " On the broad ocean first its lustre came." 

2 In the Life of Sir W. Scott, vol. v., pp. 99-104, the reader 
will find a curious record of minute alterations on this poem, 
suggested, while it Wcis proceeding through the press, by the 

irinter and the bookseller, with the author's good-natured 
■cjilies, sometimes adopting, sometimes rejecting what was 
( roposed. 

3 " ' The Field of Waterloo' was published before the end 
jf October, in 8vo ; the profits of the first edition being the 
author's contribution to the fund raised for the relief of the 
w- clows snd children of the soldiers slain in the battle. This 
piece appears to have disappointed those most disposed to sym- 
pathize with the author's views and feelings. The descent 
's indeed heavy from his Bannocliburn to his Waterloo : the 
presence, or all but visible reality of what liis dreams cher- 
ished, seems to have overawed his imagination, and tamed it 
Into a weak pomposity of movement. The burst of pure na- 
tive enthusiasm upon the Scottish heroes that fell around the 
Duke of Wellington's person, bears, however, the broadest 
jiarks ol ' The Mighty Minstrel :' — 

' Saw gallant Miller's fading eye 



Still bent where Albion's standards fly. 
And Cameron, in the shock of steel, 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel,' &c. — 

etnd ibii it (mt from Uei ng the only redeeming pasiage. Then 



Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, 
And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, 
Gallant Saint George, the flower of Cliivauy, 
For thou hast faced, Like liim, a dragon foe. 
And rescued innocence from overthrow. 
And trampled down, like him, tyrannic Toi^ht, 
And to the gazing world may'st proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, 
Who quell'd devom-ing pride, and vindicitGd right 

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown. 
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquiied 
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down : 
'Tis not alone the heart with valor fired, 
The discipline so dreaded and admired, 
In many a field of bloody conquest known ; 
— Such may by fame be lared, by gold be hired— 
'Tis constancy in the good cause alone. 
Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won. 



ENn OF THE FIELD OF WATEELOC* 

is one, indeed, in which he illustrates what he then thonghl 
Buonaparte's poorness of si)irit in adversity, which alwayi 
struck me as pre-eminently characteristic of Scott's manner 
of interweaving, both in prose and verse, the moral energiei 
with analogous natural description, and combining thought 
with imagery : — 

' Or is thy soul like mountain tide. 
That swell'd by winter storm and shower, 
Rolls down in turbulence of power, 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure. 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, 

Whose channel shows display'd 
The wrecks of its impetuous course. 
But not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made !' 

" The poem was the first upon a subject i kely to be s.iffl 
ciently hackneyed ; and, having the advantage of coming out 
in a small cheap form — (prudently imitated from Munay's -n 
novation with the tales of Byron, which was the deathblow 
to tlie system of verse in quarto) — it attained rapidly a meu» 
nre of circulation above what had been reached either bj 
Rokeby or the Lord of the Islea," — Lockhart — Ltft «j/ 
SeoU, vol. V. pp 106-107 



^r 



^^■"•'Tianiff°i»»"*»^-''''->^ ^■^'^'-- 



--'■■■-v-'y.- 



rft-lll *■ — "'■"-■rirr... 



' ^ 



APPENDIX TO THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



51j 



APPENDIX. 



NuTE A.. 
Thf ^tasnf ., ^ his laboi blithe, 
Plus ihe ki jk' I staff and shorten' d scathe. — P. 503. 
Thi reaper in Fiandere carries in liis left hand a stick with 
u iron hook, with which he coDects as much grain as he can 
C3; at one sweep \r',ib a short scythe, which he holds in his 
TjIHtit hand. They carry on this double process with great 
pint and dnxterity. 



Note B. 

Fale Brussels ! then what thoughts were thine. — P. 504. 

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had 
jrcmised his army, in case of victory, twenty-foar hours' plun- 
ser of the city of Brussels. 



Note 0. 

•' On! On I' was still his stern exclaim. — P. 505. 

The charac'jri'.ic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more 
fully displa* dd .^ .n in what we may be permitted to hope 
will prove t*.e '«?. of his fields. He would listen to no ad- 
vice, and all iv o*" no obstacles. An eye-witness has given 
the follow'..^ aO';onnt of his demeanor towards the end of the 
action . — 

'■ It vas neir seven o'clock ; Bonaparte, who till then had 
remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best 
behold what passed, contemplated with a stern countenance, 
the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that oLstacles 
leemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to ii • 
crease. He became indignant at these unforeseen difficul 
ties ; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army 
whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to 
nour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward — 
to clwrge with the bayonet — to carry iiy storm. He was 
sepeatedly informed, from different points, that the day went 
against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered ; to 
which he only replied, — ' En-avant ! En-avnnt !' 

" One general sent to inform the Emperor that he was in a 
position which he could not mruntain, because it was com- 
manded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same 
line, in what way he should protect his division from the 
•nurderous fire of the English artillery. ' Let him storm the 
mattery,' replied Bonaparte, and turned liis back on the aide- 
Je-camp who brought tne message." — Relation de la Battaille 
ia Mimi-St-Jenn. Par it Temoin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 
15. 



Note D. 

Thcfatf their leader shunn'd to share. — P. 505. 

It has boen reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of 

hit "(uards, at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, 

however, is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow 

{.art of the high road, leading to Charleroi, within less tlian a 

quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of the 

r>oints most fiercely dispu'ed. Here he harangued the guards, 

and informed them that hie preceding operations had destroyed 

\he British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to 

njpport tne fire of the artillery, which they were to attack 

^ith the bavonet. This exhors''on \ as recei ed witir inonis 

yive F.mpereur, which '-e-e be/"*! over all our line ui'I 



bd to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. Bak tat 
guards were led on by Ney ; nor did Bonaparte approacr 
nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentione«i 
which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all 
such balls as did not come in a straight line. He witnesseo 
the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, par 
ticularly from an observatory which had been placed there by 
the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the pur 
pose of surveying the country.' It is not meant to infer from 
these particulars that Napoleon showed, ou that memorable 
occasion, the least deficiency in personal courage ; on the con- 
trary, he evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind 
during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has 
erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valor for re- 
covery of the battle ; and it is remarkable, that during the 
whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded 
whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal 
attendants escaped unhurt. 



Note E. 

England shall tell the fight I— V. 505. 

In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressed, the Dnitf 

called to the men, " Soldiers, we must never be beat, — whai 

will they say in England V It is needless to say how this ap 

peal was answered. 



Note F. 
.Is plies the smith his clanging trade. — P. 506. 
A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sonna 
which took place immediately upon the British cavalry min- 
gling with those of the enemy, to "a thousand tinkers ai 
work mending pots and kettles." 



Note G 
The British shock of levell'a steel. — P. 506. 

No persuasion or authority could prevsiil upon the Frencl. 
troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The Imperia' 
Guards, in particular, hardly stood till the British were withi^ 
thirty yards of them, although the French author, alreadj 

noted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment 
" The Guards never yield — they die." The same author has 
covered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which formed 
the British position, with redoubts and retrenchments whicl 
never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in man;. 
respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was proba 
bly deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch whien rsa 
along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising 
this work, that the writer mentions the Chateau of Hongo 
mont to have been carried by the French, although it was re« 
olutely and successfully defended during the whole action 
The enemy, indeed, possessed themselves of the wood bv 
which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to tne house it- 
self; but the British (a detachment of the Guards, under tlie 
command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colone' 
Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by theii 
desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of thn 
Duke of Wellington's right flank. 

1 The inistakes concerning this obscivatory have been mutual. Tb* 
"English STi^-'JOsed it war arectetl for t>*e use of Bonaparte - *nd a FrfDc» 
writer i^ffinnA it wu* ''<»np*'-ucttd by the iJuke of WeUrngtoa, 



(12 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



i^arolb tl)e JDauntUss: 



\ POEM,' IN SIX CANTOS. 



" Upon another occasion," says Sir Walter, " I sent up another of these trifles, which, like schnolbo^tf 
kites, served to show how the wind of popular taste was setting. The manner was supposed to be that oj 
a nide minstrel, or Scald, in opposition to ' The Bridal of Triermain,' which was designed to belong rather 
to the Italia-n. school. This new fugitive piece was called 'Harold the Dauntless ;' and I am still aston 
ished at my having committed the gross error of selecting the very 7iame which Lord Byron had made so 
famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, Mr. Jatnes Hogg, had published, 
about tlie same time, a work called the ' Poetic Mirror,' containing imitations of the principal living 
poets. There was in it a very good imitation of my own style, which bore such a resemblance to ' Harold 
the Dauntless,' that there was no discovering the original from the imitation; and I believe that many 
who took the trotible of thinking upon the subject, were rather of opinion that my ingenious friend was 
the true, and not the fictitious Simon Pure!' — Intkoduction to the Lokd of the Isles. 1830.* 



j^arolb the JDauntlcea. 



INTRODUCTION. 

There is a mood of mind, we all have knotra 
Ou drowsy eve, or dark and low'ring day. 
When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone, 
And naught can chase the Ungering hours away. 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray. 
And wisdom holds his steatUer torch in vain, 
/)bscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay, 
Nor dare we of our listless load complain. 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell 
of pain? 



' Poblistiod by Constable and Co., January, 1817, in 13mo. 
Tb, 6<I. 

^ " Within less than a month, the Black Dwarf and Old 
Mortalit) were followeil by ' Harold the Dauntless, by the au- 
thor ol the Bridal of Triermain.' Tiiis poem liad been, it ap- 
pears, begun seveial years back ; nay, part of it hr.d been ac- 
tually pnnted before the appearance of Childe Harold, though 
that circumstance had escaped tlie author's remembrance when 
oe penned, in 1830, his Introduction to the Lord of the Isles; 
fcr he there says, ' I am still astonished at my having commit- 
ted the pross error of selecting the very name which Lord By- 
ron had made so famous.' The volume was published by 
Meexa Constable, and had, in those booksellers' phrase, '"lOB- 



The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood, 
When bursts m deluge the autumnal rain, 
Clouding that morn which threats the heath- 
cock's brood ; . 
Of such, in smnmer's drought, the anglers plain, 
Wlio hope the soft mild southern shower in vain 
But, more than all, the discontented fair. 
Whom father stern, and sterner aunt, restrain 
From county -ball, or race occurring rare. 
While all her friends around their vestments gay 
prepare. 

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers caU'd thee. Spleen ' 
To thee we owe full many a rare device ; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, 
The roUing billiard-ball, the ratthng dice, 

siderable success.' It has never, however, been placed on « 
level with Triermain ; and, though it contains many vij.'oroas 
pictures, and splendid verses, and here and there some happy 
humor, the confusion and harsh transitions of the fable, and 
the dim rudeness of character and manners, seem sufficient to 
account for this inferiority in public favor. It is not surprising 
that the author should have redoubled his aversion to the notion 
of any more serious performances in verse. He had seized on 
an instrument of wider compass, and which, handled with 
whatever rapidity, seemed to reveal at every touch treasure! 
that bad hitherto slept nneonsoionsly within him. He hat 
thrown off his fetters, and might well go forth rejoicing in the 
nativeelasticity of his strength." — T.ife. of Scott, vol.t. p. 181 



17ANT0 I. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



51S 



The turning-lathe for fraramg gimcrack nice ; 
The amateur's blotch'd pallet thou mayst claijii, 
Retort and air-pump, threatening frogs and 

mice 
(Murders disguised by philosophic name), 
Vnd much of trifling grave and much of buxom 

game. 

Tlien of the books, to catch thy drowsy glance 
CompUed, what bard the catalogue may quote 1 
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — • 
But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote, 
ITiat bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; 
And not of such the strain my Thomson simg, 
Dehcious dreams inspiring by his note. 
What time to Indolence his harp he strung ; — 
01 might my lay bo rank'd that happier list 
among !' 

iSach hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 
For me, I love my study-fire to trim, 
And con right vac-mtly some idle tale. 
Displaying on the couch each hstless limb, 
Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim. 
And doubtful slumber half supplies the 

theme ; 
Wlule antique shapes of knight and giant grim, 
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, 
nd the Romancer's tale becomes the Reader's 

dream. 

'Tis thus my malady I well may bear, 
Albeit outstretch'd, like Pope's own Pai'idel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; 
And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell, 
Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, 
Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell. 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-wing'd Roc, 
Though tastp may blush and frown, and sober rea- 
son mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsought 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay ; 
Tlie which, as things unfitting graver thought. 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — 
These few survive — and proudly let me say. 
Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his 

frown ; 
They well may serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown, 
rhan Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops 

it down. 



« The dry humor, and sort of half Spenserian cast of these, 

w well as all the other introductory stanzas in the poem, we 

Ihink excellent, and scarcely outdone by any thing of the kind 

•« know of; and there are few parts, taken separately, that 

6.5 



§arolb tl)e ?Dauntlc05. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 

List to the valorous deeds that were done 

By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son . 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain, [mait 

And roved with his Norsemen the land ard th#> 
Woe to the realms which he coasted ! for 1 here 
Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair, 
Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest. 
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast : 
When he hoisted liis standard black. 
Before him was battle, behind him wrack. 
And he bm-n'd the churches, that heathen Dane, 
To light his band to their barks again. 



On Erin's shores was his outrage known. 

The winds of France had his banners blown 

Little was there to plunder, yet still 

His pirates had foray'd on Scottish hill : 

But upon merry England's coast 

More frequent he sail'd, for he won the most. 

So wide and so far his ravage they knew. 

If a sail but gleam'd white 'gainst the welkin bliM. 

Trumpet and bugle to arms did call. 

Burghers hasten'd to man the wall. 

Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape. 

Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, 

Bells were toU'd out, and aye as they rung 

Fearful and faintly the gray brothers sung, 

" Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire, 

From famine and pest, and Coimt Witikind's irt» ** 

IIL 

He liked the wealth of fair England so well, 

That he sought in h«r bosom as native to dwell 

He enter'd the Humber in fearful hour. 

And disembark'd with his Danish power. 

Three Earlt". came against him with aU their trair 

Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. 

Count Witikind left the Humber's rich strand. 

And he wasted aad warr'd in NcrthumberiaLn. 

But the Saxon King was a sire in age, 

Weak in battle, in councU sage ; 

Peace of that heathen leader he sought, 

Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; 

And the Count took upon him the peaceable style 

Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain's broad isle. 



have not something attractive to the lover of natural poetry 
while any one page will show how extremely like it it to tki 
manner of Scott." — Blackwood's Magaiine X^V! 



614 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CASTO I 



IV. 
Time will rust the sharpest sword, 
Time will consume the strongest cord ; 
That which moulders hemp and steel, 
Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 
Of the Danish band, whom Count Witikind led, 
Many wax'd aged, and many were dead : 
Himself found his armor fuU weighty to bear, 
Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hair ; 
lie laan'd on a staff, when his step went abroad, 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode. 
As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased, 
Zle made himself peace with prelate and priest, — 
Made liis peace, and, stooping his head, 
Patiently listed the counsel they said : 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and grave, 
Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 



" Thou hast murder'd, robb'd, and spoil'd, 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoil'd ; 
Priests didst thou slay, and churches burn, 
Time it is now to repentance to tiu^n ; 
Fiends hast thou worshipp'd, with fiendish rite, 
Leave now the darkness, and wend into light : 
! while life and space are given, 
Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven !" 
Tliat stern old heathen Ms head he raised, 
And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed; 
" Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, 
My laith I will leave, and I'll cleave unto thine." 

VL 

Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear, 
To be held of the church by bridle and spear ; 
Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part, 
To better hia will, and to soften liis heart : 
Count Witikind was a joyful man. 
Less for t^ie faith than the lands that he wan. 
Tlie high church of Durham is dress'd for the day, 
The clergy are rank'd in their solemn array : 
There came the Count, in a bear-skin warm, 
Leaning on Hilda his concubine's arm. 
He kneel'd before Saint Cuthbert's shrine. 
With patience unwonted at rites divine ; 
He abjured the gods of heathen race. 
And lie l)ent his head at the font of grace. 
But ^uch was the grisly old prosolyte's look, 
n.at the priest who baptized him grew pale and 

shook ; 
And the old monks mutter'd beneath their hood, 
" Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good I" 

VIL 

Qp then arose that grim convertite, 
Homeward he hied him when ended the rite 
The Prelate in honor will with liim ride, 
\nd feast si his castle on Tyne's fair side 



Banners and banderols danced in the wind. 
Monks rode before theia, and spearmen behind ; 
Onward they pass'd, till fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne ; 
And full in front did that fortress lower. 
In darksome strength with its buttress and Utwei 
At the castle gate was young Harold there, 
Count Witikind's only offspring and lieir. 

VIIL 
Young Harold was fear'd for his hardihood. 
His strength of frame, and his fury of mood. 
Rude he was and wild to behold, 
Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, 
Cap of vair uor rich array, 
Such as sliould grace that festal day : 
His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced. 
Uncover'd his head, and his sandal unlaced ' 
His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low. 
And his eyes glanced througli them a swarthy glov 
A Danish club in his hand he bore, 
The spikes were clotted with recent gore ; 
At his back a she-wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain, 
In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 
Rude was the greeting his father he made. 
None to the Bishop, — while thus he said : — 

IX. 

" What priest-led hypocrite art thou. 
With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, 
Like a shavehng who studies to cheat his vow ' 
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster knoMTi, 
Royal Eric's fearless son. 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord, 
Who won his bride by the axe and sword , 
From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who tote 
And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor ; 
With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the skull 
Before Odin's stone, of the Mountain Bull ? 
Then ye worsliipp'd with rites that to war-gods 
belong, [strong ; 

With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the 
And now, in thine age to dotage sunk. 
Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven monk,- 
Lay down tliy mail-shirt for clothing of hair, — 
Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou beai * 
Or, at best, be admitted m slothful bower 
To batten with priest and with paramour? 
Oh 1 out upon thine endless shame ! 
Eacli Scald's high harp shall bkst thy fame, 
And thy son will refuse thee a father's narae T 

X. 

Iref J wax'd old Witikind's look, 

His faltering voice with fury shook : — 

" Hear me, Harold of harden'd heart I 

Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. 

Thine outrage insane T command thee to ceama, 



CANTO I. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



5ie 



Fear my wrath and remain at peace : — 
Just is the debt of repentance I've paid, 
Richly the church has a recompense made, 
And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my 

blade, 
But reckoning to none of my actions I owe, 
A.nd least to n.y son such accounting will show. 
^Vhy speak I to thee of repentance or truth, 
Wli'j ufc er from thy childhood knew reason or ruth ? 
Hence ' to the wolf and the bear in her den; 
These are thy mates, and not rational men." 

XI. 

Grimly smUed Harold, and coldly replied, 

" We must honor our sues, if we fear when thej 

chide. 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, 
I was rock'd in a buckler and fed from a blade ; 
An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout 
From the roofs of the tower when the flame had 

broke out •, 
In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip, 
And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. — 
'Tis thou know'st not truth, that hast barter'd in eld, 
For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors 

held. [plain, — 

When this wolf," — and the carcass he flung on the 
" Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again, 
The face of his father will Harold review ; 
Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, adieu 1" 

XII. 

Priest, monk, and prelate, stood aghast. 

As through the pageant the heathen pass'd. 

A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung. 

Laid his hand on the pommel, and into it sprung. 

Loud was the shi-iek, and deep the groan. 

When the holy sign on the earth was thrown 1 

The fierce old Count unsheathed his brand, 

But the calmer Prelate stay'd his hand. 

* Let him pass free ! — Heaven knows its hour, — 

But he must own repentance's power, 

Fray and weep, and penance bear. 

Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear." 

Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 

Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. 

XIII. 

fcligh was the feasting in Witikind's hall, 
Revelld priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all • 
And e'en the good Bishop was fain to endure 
The scandal ,which time and instruction might cure : 
it were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to re- 
strain, 
in his wine and his wassail, a half-christen'd Dane. 
The mead flow'd aroimd, and the ale was drain'd 

dry, 
Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry ; 



With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesmen, Norweyan, and Finn 
Till man after man the contention gave o'er, 
Outstretch'd on the rushes that strew'd the hal 
• floor ; ^vonii 

And the tempest within, having ceased its wilt 
Gave place to the tempest that thunder'd with :• it 

XIV 
Apart from the wassail, in turret alone. 
Lay flaxen-hair'd Gunnar, old Ermengarde's son ; 
In the train of Lord Harold that Page was the 

first, 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master shouW 

roam. 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of rain, 
He saw the red hghtning through shot-hole aa<J 

pane ; 
" And oh !" said the Page, " on the shelterless wold 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! 
What though he was stubborn, and wayward, and 

wild, [child, — 

He endured me because I was Ermengarde's 
And often from dawn till the set of the sun. 
In the chase, by his stirrup, unbiddei. I run 
I would I were older, antl knighthood could bear, 
I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the 

Wear : [breath, 

For my mother's command, with her la^h parting 
Bade me follow her nurshng in life and to death. 

XV. 
" It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. 
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from liis chain ! 
Accursed by the Church, and expell'd by his sire. 
Nor Chpstian nor Dane give him shelter or fire. 
And this tempest what mortal may houseless en 

dure? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor 1 
Whate'er comes of Gunnar, he tarries not here." 
He leapt from his couch and he grasp'd to his 

spear ; [treaa 

Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturb'd by his 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead 
" Ungrateful and bestial !" his anger broke fcrtli, 
"To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of thf 

North ! [store 

And you, ye cowl'd priests, who have plentv i» 
Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.'' 

XVL ' 
Then, heeding full little of ban or of curse 
He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's purse •. 
Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning has miss'd 
His mantle, deep furr'd from the cape to the wris* 
The Seneschal's keys from his belt he las ta'en 



516 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



cAsro i 



(Well drencli'd od that eve was old Hildebrand's 

brain). 
To the stable-yard he made his way, 
.\nd mounted the Bishop's palfrey gay, 
Oaatle and hamlet beliind him has cast, 
.\r»i right on his way tn the moorland has pass'd, 
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face 
-X. weather so wild at so rash a pace ; 
io long 1,3 snorted, so loud he neigh'd, 
rhere answer'd a steed that was bound beside, 
A.nd the red flash of hghtning show'd there where 

lay 
His master, Lord Harold, outstretch'd on the clay. 

XVII. 
dp he started, and thunder'd out, " Stand !" 
And raised the club in his deadly hand, 
i'he flaxen-hair 'd Gunnar his purpose told, 
Show'd the palfrey and profFer'd the gold. 
" Back, back, and liome, thou simple boy 1 
Thou canst not share my grief or joy : 
Have I not mark'd thee wail and cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
-Vnd canst thou, as my follower should. 
Wade ankle-deep tlirough foeman's blood, 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the fiends below, 
.And man on earth, more hateful still, 
I'he very fountain-head of ill ? 
Desperate of hfe, and careless of death, 
Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe, 
Such must thou be with me to roam, 
\nd such thou canst not be — back, and home 1" 

XVIII. 
Foung Gunnar shook like an aspen bough, [brow, 
is he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark 
Ajid half he repented his purpose and vow. 
But now to draw back were bootless shame, 
And he loved his master, so urged his claim : 
' Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak. 
Bear with me a wliile for old Ermengarde's sake ; 
>ror deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith. 
As to fear he would break it for peril of death. 
Have I not risk'd it to fetch thee this gold, 
I'liis surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold ? 
And, did I bear a baser mind, 
Wljut lot remains if I stay behind ? 
riie priests' revenge, thy father's wrath, 
A dungeon, and a shameful death." 

XIX. 

With gentler look -Lord Harold eyed 
rhe Page, then tum'd his head aside ; 



■ " rt may be worthy of notice, that in Harold the Dannt- 

*9» there is a wise and good Eustace, as in the Monastery, and 
« Prior of Jorvaax, who is robbed (anW, ttanza xvi.) as in 



And either a tear did his eyelash stain, 

Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 

" Art thou an outcast, then ?" quoth he ; 

" The meeter page to follow me." 

'Twere bootless to teU what climes they «ought, 

Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; 

How oft with few, how oft alone. 

Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won. 

Men swore his eye, that flash'd so red 

When each other glance was quench'd with dreM| 

Bore oft a fight of deadly flame. 

That ne'er from mortal courage came. 

These limbs so strong, that mood so stern, 

That loved the couch of heath and fern, 

Afar from hamlet, tower, and town. 

More than to rest on driven down ; 

That stubborn frame, that sullen mood, 

Men deem'd must come of aught but good , 

And they whisper'd, the great Master Fiend wai 

at one 
With Harold the Daimtless, Count Witikind's acn 

XX. 

Tears after years had gone and fled, 

The good old Prelate fies lapp'd in lead ; 

In the chapel still is shown 

His sculptured form on a marble stone. 

With statf and ring and scapulaire. 

And folded hiiuds in the act of prayer. 

Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now 

On the hauglity Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow; 

The power of his crozier he loved to extend 

O'er whatever would break, or whatever wotd/ 

bend; 
And now hath he clothed liim in cope and in pall. 
And the Chapter of Durham has met at his call. 
" And hear ye not, brethren," the proud Bishoj 

said, [dead I 

" That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind's 
All his gold and liis goods hath he given 
To holy Church for the love of Heaven, 
And hath founded a chantry with stipend ani 

dole, [soul 

That priests and that beadsmen may pray for hij 
Harold his son is wandering abroad, 
Dreaded by man and abhorr'd by God ; 
Meet it is not, that such should heir [W cdw 

The lands of the church on the Tyne and th< 
And at her pleasure, her hallow'd hands 
May now resvune these wealthy lands." 

XXI. 
Answer'd good Eustace,' a canon old, — 
" Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold ; 



Ivanhoe."— Adolphus' Letteri on theAntlur of Waverut 
1822, p. 281. 



OANTO II. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



51-. 



Ever Renown blows a note of fame, 


In vapory folds, o'er the landscape straya, 


And a note of fear, when, she sounds his name : 


And half involves the woodland maze. 


Much of bloodshed and much of scathe 


Like an early widow's veil. 


Have been then- lot who have waked his wrath. 


Where wmipling tissue from the gaze 


Leave him these lands and lordships stiU, 


The form half hides, and half betrays, 


Heaven in its hour may change his will ; 


Of beauty wan and pale. 


But if reft of gold, and of living bare, 




An evil counsellor is despair." 


IIL 


Mcie had he said, but the Prelate frown'd. 


Fair MeteliU was a woodland maid. 


A.ud murmur'd his brethren who sate around. 


Her father a rover of greenwood shane^ 


A nd with one consent have they given their doom, 


By forest statutes undisma3r'd, 


That the Church should the lands of Saint Cuth- 


Who lived by bow and quiver ; 


bert resume. 


Well known was Wulfstane's archery. 


1^0 will'd the Prelate ; and canon and dean 


By merry Tyne both on moor and lea, 


Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 


Through wooded Weardale's glens so free, 




Well beside Stanliope's wUdwood tree. 




And well on Ganlesse river. 




Yet free though he trespass'd on woodland 
game. 






More known and more fear'd was the wizard 


i^arolb tlje JBauntUsff. 


fame 
Of Jutta of Rookhope, the Outlaw's dame ; 




Fear'd when she frown'd was lier eye of flam*.. 


OANTO SECOND. 


More fear'd when in wratli she laugh'd; 




For then, 'twas said, more fatal true 




To its dread aim her spell-glance flew. 


L 


Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew 


Tis merry in greenwood, — thus runs the old lay,— 


Sprung forth the gray-goose sliaft. 


In the gladsome mon' h of lively May, 




When the wild bu-ds song on stem and spray 


IV. 


Invites to forest bower ; 


Yet had this fierce and dreaded pan 


Then rears the ash his airy crest, 


So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; 


Then shines the birch in silver vest. 


None brighter crown'd the bed, 


And the beech in gUstening leaves is drest. 


In Britain's bounds, of peer or prmce, 


And dark between shows the oak's proud breast. 


Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since 


Like a chieftain's frowning tower ; 


In this fair isle been bred. 


Though a thousand branches join their screen, 


And naught of fraud, or ire, or iii, 


Yet the broken sunbeams glance between. 


Was known to gentle MeteUll, — 


And tip the leaves with hghter green. 


A simple maiden she ; 


With brighter tints the flower : 


The spells in dimpled smile that lie. 


Dull is the heart that loves not then 


And a downcast blush, and the darts thai ftj 


The deep recess of the wildwood glen, 


With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, 


Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den. 


Were her arms and witchery. 


When the sun is in his power. 


So young, so simple was she yet. 




She scarce could childhood's joys forget 


IL 


And still she loved, in secret set 


Iiess merry, perchance, is the fading leaf 


Beneath the greenwood tree, 


That follows so soon on the gather'd sheaf. 


To plait the rushy coronet. 


When the greenwood loses the name ; 


And braid with flowers her locks of jet, 


Silent is then the forest bound, 


As when in infancy ; — 


Save the redbreast's note, and the rustling sound 


Yet could that heart, so simple, provw 


Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, 


The early dawn of stealing love: 


Or the deep-mouth'd cry of the distant hound 


Ah 1 gentle maid, beware 1 


That opens on his game : 


The power who, now so mild a guest, 


Yet then, too, I love the forest wide, 


Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 


Whether the sun in splendor ride, 


To the calm pleasures of thy breaat, 


And gild its raany-color'd side ; 


WUl soon, a tyrant o'er the rest. 


Or whether he soft and silvery haze. 


Let none hie empire share. 



518 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. canto n 


V. 


vnr. 


One morr , in kirtle green array' d. 


Secured within his powerful hold, 
To bend her knee, her hands to fold. 


Deep in the wood the maiden stray'd, 


And, where a fountain sprung, 


Was all tlie maiden might ; 


She sate her down, unseen, to thread 


And " Oh ! forgive," she faintly said, 


The scarlet berry's mimic braid. 


" The terrors of a simple maid, 


And while the beads she strung, 


If thou art mortal wight ! 


■"'.ike the bUthe lark, whose carol gay 


But if — of such strange tales are told— 


GJT as a good*iorrow to the day, 


Unearthly warrior of the wold, 


So liglitsomely she sung. 


Thou comest to chide mine accents bold. 




My mother, Jutta, knows the spell, 


VL 


At noon and midniglit pleasing well 




The disembodied ear ; 


.Sotifl* 


Oh ! let her powerful charms atone 


" Lord "William was born in gilded bower, 


For aught my rashness may have done, 


The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; 


And cease thy grasp of fear." 


Yet better loves Lord WilUam now 


Tlien laugh'd the Knight — his laughter's Moad 


To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow ; 


Half in the hoUow helmet drown'd ; 


Ajid WiUiam has lived where ladies 


His barred visor then he raised, 


fair 


And steady on the maiden gazed. 


With gawds and jewels deck their hair, 


He smooth'd his brows, as best he might, 


Yet better loves the dew-drops still 


To the dread calm of autumn night, 


That pearl the locks of MetelilL 


Wlien sinks the tempest roar; 




Yet still the cautious fishers eye 


" The pious Palmer loves, I wis, 


The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky. 


Saint Cuthbert's hallow'd beads to kiss ; 


And haul their barks on shore. 


But I, though simple girl I be. 




Might have such homage paid to me ; 


IX. 


For did Lord WUham see me suit 


" Damsel," he said, " be wise, and learn 


This necklace of the bramble's fruit. 


Matters of weight and deep concern: 


He fain — but must not have his will — 


From distant realms I come, 


Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 


And, wanderer long, at length have plann'd 




In this my native Northern land 


" My nurse has told me many a tale. 


To seek myself a home. 


How vows of love are weak and frail ; 


Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; 


My mother says that courtly youth 


She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — 


By rustic maid means seldom s«wi.K 


No lordly dame for me ; 


What should they mean ? it cainux uo 


Myself am something rough of mood. 


That such a warning's meant for me, 


And feel the fire of royal blood. 


For naught — oh ! naught of fraud or ill 


And therefore do not hold it good 


Can William mean to Metelill !" 


To match in my degree. 




Then, since coy maidens say my face 


VIL 


Is harsh, my form devoid of gi-ace. 


Sudden she stops — and starts to feel 


For a fair lineage to provide, 


A weighty hand, a glove of steel, 


'Tis meet that my selected bride 


^} pon her sin-inking shoulders laid ; 


In lineaments be fair ; 


Fearful she turn'd, and saw, dismay'd, 


I love thine well — till now I ne'er 


A Kniirht in plate and mail array'd, 


Look'd patient on a face of fear, 


His crest and bearing worn and fray'd, 


But now that tremulous sob and tear 


His surcoat soil'd and riven. 


Become thy beauty rare. 


Form'd like that giant race of yore. 


One kiss — nay, damsel, coy it not I — 


Whose long-continued crimes outwore 


And now go seek thy parents' cot, 


The sufferance of Heaven. 


And say, a bridegroom soon I come. 


Stern accents made his pleasure known, 


To woo my love, and bear her home." 


Though then he used his gentlest tone : 




" Maiden," he said, " sing forth thy 


X. 


glee. 


Home sprung the maid without a ]>au8e, 


t 'tart not — sing on — it pleases me." 
1 


As leveret 'scaped from greyhound s \a.w 



CANl^ II. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



fiU 



But still she lock'd, howe'er distress' d, 


XIIL 


The secret iu her boding breast; 


Appall'd a while the parents stood, 


Dreading her su'e, who oft forbade 


Then chiuiged their fear to angry mood. 


Her strfips shouJd stray to distant glade. 


And foremost fell then- words of ill 


Night Ciune — to her accustom'd nook 


On unresisting Metelill : 


Her diatatf aged Jutta took, 


Was she not caution'd and forbid. 


Aad by tlie lamp's unperfect glow, 


Forewarn'd, hnplored, accused and chid, 


Rough Wulfstane triiiini'd his shafts and 


And must sh-i still to greenwood roam. 


bow. 


To marshal such misfortune home ? 


&'jf3']'?ti find clamorous, from the ground 


" Hence, minion — to thy chamber hence— 


Uy.''t:irted slumbering brach and hound; 


There prudence learn, and penitence."' 


Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, 


She went — her lonely couch to steep 


And Wulfstane snatches at his arms, 


Li tears wliich absent lovers weep ; 


When open flew the yielding door, 


Or if she gain'd a troubled sleep. 


And that grim Warrior press'd the floor. 


Fierce Harold's suit was stiU the theme 


XL 

•* All peace be here — What 1 none replies f 


And terror of her feverish dream. 


XIV. 


Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 


Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire 


Tis I — that Maid hath told my tale, — 


Upon each other bent their ire ; 


Or, trembler, did thy courage fail 1 


" A woodsman thou, and hast a spear. 


It recks not — it is I demand 


And couldst thou such an msult bear J" 


Fair Metelill in marriage band ; 


Sullen he said, " A man contends 


Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 


With men, a witch with sprites and fiend« 


Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame." 


Not to mere mortal wight belong 


The parents sought each other's eyes. 


Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. 


With awe, resentment, and surprise : 


But thou — is this thy promise fair. 


Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began 


That your Lord WUliam, wealthy heir 


The stranger's size and thewes to scan ; 


To Uh-ick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, 


But as he scann'd, his com'age sunk, 


Should Metehll to altar bear ? 


And from unequal strife he shrunk. 


Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine 


Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies 


Serve but to slay some peasant's kine. 


The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes ; 


His grain in autimin's storms to steep. 


Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell 


Or thorough fog and fen to sweep. 


On Harold innocently fell ! 


And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep ? 


And disappointment and amaze 


Is such mean miscliief worth the fame 


Were in the witch's wilder'd gaza 


Of sorceress and witch's name ? 




Fame, which with aU men's wish conspire^ 


XIL 


With thy deserts and my desires, 


But soon the wit of woman woke, 


To damn thy corpse to penal fii'es? 


And to the Warrior mild she spoke : 


Out on thee, witch ! arouit ! aroint ! 


" Her child was all too young." — " A toy, 


What now shall put thy schemes m joint » 


The refuge of a maiden coy." — 


What save this trusty arrow's pomt. 


Agaui, " A powerful baron's heir 


From the dark dmgle when it flies. 


Claims in her heart an interest fair." — 


And he who meets it gasps and dies." 


" A trifle — wliisper m his ear, 




That Harold is a suitor here !" — 


XV. 


Baffled at length she sought delay : 


Stern she replied, " I will not wage 


" Would not the Knight till morning stay f 


War with thy foUy or thy rage ; 


Late was the hour — he there might rest 


But ere the morrow's sun be low, 


Till morn, their lodge's honor'd guest." 


Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know. 


Such were her words, — her craft might 


If I can venge me on a foe. 


cast, 


Believe the while, that whatsoe'er 


Hei honor'd guest should sleep his last : 


I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, 


" No, not to-night — but soon," he swore, 


It IS not Harold's destmy 


"He would return, nor leaye^them more." 


The death of pilfer'd deer to die. 


The threshold then his huge stride crost. 


But he, and thou, ;ind yon pale moon 


And soon he > as in darkiioss lost. 


(That shall be yet more pallid soon 



!>20 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CAirro n 



Before she sink behind the dell), 


The cloudless moon grc ws dark and dim, 


Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell 


And bristling hair and quakmg limb 


What Jutta knows of charm or spelL" 


Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — 


Thus muttering, to the door she bent 


Those who view his form shall die ! 


Her wayward steps, and forth she went, 


Lo 1 I stoop and veil my head ; 


And left alone the moody sire, 


Thou who ridest the tempest dread. 


To cherish or to slake his ire 


Shaking hill and rendmg oak — 




Spare me 1 spare me ! Zernebock. 


XVI. 




Pai fastei ♦han belong'd to age 


" He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 


Has Jutta made her pilgi-image. 


Thy votaress at her need repay ? 


A priest has met her as she pass'd, 


Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend ? — 


And cross'd himself and stood aghast : 


Let others on thy mood attend 


She traced a hamlet — not a cur 


With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms 


His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; 


Are necromantic words and charms ; 


By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, 


Mine is the spell, that utter'd once. 


They made her hated presence known 1 


Shall wake Thy Master from his trance. 


But when she trode the sable fell. 


Shake his red mansion-house of pain. 


Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 


And burst his seven-times-twisted chain !— 


For far was heard the fox's yeU, 


So ! com'st thou ere the speU is spoke ? 


The black-cock waked and faintly crew, 


I own thy presence, Zernebock." — 


Scream'd o'er the moss the scared curlew : 




Wliere o'er the cataract the oak 


XVHL 


Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 


" Daughter of dust," the Deep Voice said. 


The mountain-cat, which sought his prey, 


— Shook while it spoke the vale for dread. 


Glared, scream'd, and started from her way 


Rock'd on the base that massive stone, 


Such music cheer'd her journey lone 


The Evil Deity to own, — 


To the deep dell and rocking stone : 


" Daughter of dust ! not mine the power 


There, with unhallow'd hymn of praise. 


Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 


She called a God of heathei5 days. 


'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife 




Waged for his soul and for liis Ufe, 


XVIL 


And fain would we the combat win, 




And snatch him in his hour of sin. 


Knbocatf on. 


There is a star now rismg red. 


• From thy Pomeranian throne. 


That threats him with an influence iread: 


Hewn in rock of Uving stone. 


Woman, thine arts of maUce whet. 


Where, to thy godhead faithful yet, 


To use the space before it set. 


Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 


Involve him with the church in strife. 


And their swords in vengeance whet, 


Pu?h on adventurous chance liis life ; 


That shaU make thine altars wet. 


Ourself will in the hour of need. 


Wet and rea for ages more 


As best we may thy counsels speed." 


With the Christians' hated gore, — 


So cea9°,d the Voice ; for seven leagues rouiM^ 


Hear me ! Sovereign of the Rock, 


Each hainl^it started at the sound ; 


Hear me ! mighty Zernebock I 


But slept again, as slowly died 




Its thundert on the hiU's blown side. 


" Mightiest of the mighty known, 




Here thy wonders have been shown ; 


XIX 


Hundred tribes in various tongue 


"And is tMi all," said Jutta stern, 


Oft have here thy praises sung : 


" That thoL canst teach and I Ciin learn 1 


Down that stone with Runic seam'd. 


Hence 1 to the lai-M of fog and waste, 


Hundred victims' blood hath stream'd 1 


There fittest is thine influence placed. 


Now one woman comes alone, 


Thou powerless sluggish Deity 1 


And but wets it with her own. 


But ne'er shall Briton bend thp knee 


The last, the feeblest of thy flock, — 


Again befoie ao poor a god." 


Hear — and be present, Zernebock 1 


She struck the altiir with her rod ; 




Slight was- the tjauch, as when at need 


" Hark ! he comes ! the night-blast cold 


A damsel stiri' htr tardy steed ; 


Wilder sweeps along the wol i ; 


But to the blow the stone gave place, 



CANTO ni. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



521 



And, starting from its balanced base, 
RoU'd thundering down the moonlight dell,- 
Re-echo'd moorland, rock, and fell ; 
Into the moonlight tarn it dash'd, 
Their shores the sounding surges lash'd. 

And there was ripple, rage, and foam ; 
Bat on that lake, so dark and lone, 
Placid and pale tl^ moonbeam shone 

A<» Jutta hied her home 



j^arolb tl)e ?Dauntlt00. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Geat towers of Durham ! there was once a time 
I vie w'd yovu- battlements with such vague hope. 
As brightens life m its first dawning prime ; 
Not that e'en then came witliin fancy's scope 
A vision vain of mitre, tlirone, or cope ; 
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall, 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 
Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, — 
^ nd thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth alL' 

Well yet I love thy mix'd and massive piles. 
Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, 
And long to roam these venerable aisles. 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; 
There might I share my Surtees'^ happier lot, 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack every crypt and hallow'd spot. 
And from obhvion rend the spoils they yield, 
gesturing priestly chant and clang of knightly 
shield. 

Vain is the wish — since other cares demand 
Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand. 
Which tells the wonder of thine earher time ; 
Aiid fain its numbers would I now command 
To paint the beauties of that dawning fair, 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, 
S*v Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding 
Wear. 



' In this stanza occnrs one of many touches by which, in 

the introductory passages of Harold the Dauntless as of Trier- 

inain, Sir Walter Scott betrays his half-purpose of identifying 

the author with his friend William Erskine. That gentleman, 

the eon of an Episcopalian clergyman, a stanch churchman, 

End a man of the gentlest I tbits, if he did not in early life de- 

1(11 to follow the paternal profession, might easily be Bup- 
fi6 



II. 

Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeanu 

danced, 
Betraying it beneath the woodland bank. 
And fair between the Gotliic turrets glanced 
Broad lights, and shadows iC^ on front and flank 
Where tower and buttress ros* in martial rank 
And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, 
And from their ckcuit peal'd o'er bush and banl 
The matin beU with summons long and deep, 
And echo answer'd still with long resounding swee] 

III. 

The morning mists rose from the ground. 
Each merry bird awaken'd round, 

As if in revelry ; 
Afar the bugles' clanging sound 
CaU'd to the chase the lagging hound ; 

The gale breathed soft and free, 
And seem'd to linger on its way 
To catch fresh odors from the spray, 
And waved it hi its wanton play 

So liglit and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveal. 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round him steal. 
It melted Harold's heart of steel. 
And, hardly wotting why, 
He doff 'd his helmet's gloomy pride, 
And hung it on a tree beside. 

Laid mace and falcliion by. 
And on the greensward sate liim down, 
And from liis dark habitual frown 

Relax'd his rugged brow — 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
From that stern Dane a boon to ask. 

Were wise to ask it now. 

IV. 

His place beside young Gimnar took. 
And mark'd his master's softening look, 
And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
The gloom of stormy thoughts subside, 
And cautious watch'd the fittest tine 

To speak a warning word. 
So wlien the torrent's bUlows sluink. 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sink. 

Ere he dare brave the ford, 
And often, after doubtful pause, 
His step advances or withdraws : 

posed to have nourished such an intentiDC — one which no OM 
could ever have dreamt of ascribing at any ptiiod of hia dayi 
to Sir Walter Scott himself. 

3 Robert Surtees of Mainsforth, Esq., F. 8. A., amhot • 
"The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine ol Oiir 
nam," 3 vola foUo, 1216-20-23 



521 



iiCOTT S POETICAL WOKKS. 



CAsro m 



Fearfiol to move the slumbering ire 
Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire, 

TUl Harold raised his eye, 
That glanced as when athwart the shroud 
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 

The bui'sting sunbeams fly. 



•' Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 
Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 
Take hajp, and greet this lovely prune 
With some liigli stram of Runic rhyme, 
Strong, deep, but powerful ! Peal it 

round 
Like that loud bbll's sonorous sound, 
Yet wild by fits, as wlien the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire Eric's sport, 
When dawn gleam'd on his martial court. 
Heymar the Scald, with harp's high sound, 
Summon'd the chiefs who slept around ; 
Couch'd on the spoils of wolf and bear, 
They roused hke hons from their lair. 
Then rush'd in emulation forth 
To enhance the glories of the North. — 
Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, 
Wliere is thy shadowy resting-place ? 
In wild ValhaUa hast thou quaff' d 
From foeman's skull metheglin draught, 
Oi waiiderest where thy cau'n waa piled 
To frown o'er oceans wide and wild ? 
Jr have the milder Christians given 
Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven ? 
Where'er thou art, to thee are known 
Our toils endured, our trophies won. 
Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes." 
He ceased, and Gunnar's «ong arose. 

VL 

Song. 

" Hawk and osprey screara'd for joy 
3'er the beetling cUffs of Hoy, 
Jrimson foam the beach o'erspread, 
rhe heath was dyed with darker red, 
When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, 
Dane and Northman piled the stone ; 
Singing wild the war-song stern, 
' Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn 1' 

" Where eddying currents foam and boil 
By Bersa's burgh and Grsemaay's isle. 
The seaman sees a martial form 
Half-mingled with the mist and storm. 
In anxious awe he bears away 
To moor his bark in Stromna's bay, 
/Vnd murmurs from the bounding stem. 
Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn l* 



" What cares disturb the mighty dead ? 
Each honor'd rite was duly paid ; 
No daring hand thy helm unlaced, 
Tliy sword, thj shifeld, were near thee plarod,- 
Thy fimty couch no tear profaned, 
Without, with hostile blood was stain'd ; 
Within, 'twas Uned with moss \nd fern.— 
Then rest thee. Dweller ofrthe Cairn 1— 

" He may rest not : from realms itar 
Come voice of battle and of war, 
Of conquest wrought with bioocij baud 
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan s strand, 
When Odiji's warlike son couid daunt 
The turban'd race of Termagaunt;' 

VIL 
" Peace," said the Knight, " the noble Scald 
Our warlike fathers' deeds recall' d. 
But never strove to soothe the son 
With tales of what himself had done. 
At Odin's board 'the bard sits high 
Whose harp ne'er stoop'd to flattery ; 
But highest he whose daring lay 
Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." 
With doubtful smile yoimg Gunnar eyed 
His master's looks, and naught replied — 
But well that smile his master led 
To construe what he left unsaid. 
" Is it to me, thou timid youth. 
Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth! 
My soul no more thy censure grieves 
Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves 
Say on — and yet — beware the rude 
And wild distemper of my blood ; 
Loth were I that mhie ire should wrong 
The youth that bore my shield so long. 
And who, in service constant still. 
Though weak in frame, art strong in will.''— 
" Oh 1" quoth the page, " even there depend 
My counsel — there my warning tends- 
Oft seems as of my master's breast 
Some demon were the sudden guest ; 
Then at the first misconstrued word 
His hand is on the mace and sword. 
From her firm seat his wisdom driven, 
His life to countless dangers given. — 
! would that Gunnar could suffice 
To be the fiend's last sacrifice. 
So that, when glutted with my gore. 
He fled and tempted thee no more I" 

VIIL 
Then waved his hand, and shook his heaa 
The impatient Dane, while thus he saia 
" Pre fane not, youth— it is not thius 
To judge the spirit of our line — 
The bold Berserkars raee divine. 



5ANT0 in. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



627> 



'n»rough whose inspiring, deeds are wrought 
Past human strength and human thought. 
When full upon his gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence roll. 
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall — 
Secids not the depth, nor plumbs the fall^ 
tJnsliielded, mail-less, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes ; 
Their spears he holds like wither'd reeds, 
Their mail like maiden's silken weeds ; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive, 
Take countless wounds, and yet survive. 
Then rush the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victory, — 
And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl, 
Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks his 

soul; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, 
And couches till he's man agen. — 
Thou know'st the signs of look and limb, 
When 'gins that rage to overbrim — 
Thou kuow'st when I am moved, and why ; 
And when tliou see'st me roll mine eye, 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot. 
Regard thy safety and be mute ; 
But else speak boldly out whate'er 
Is fitting that a knight should hear. 
I love thee, youth. Thy lay has power 
Upon my dark and sullen hour ; — 
So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charm'd away ; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
ni of thy speech whate'er the theme." 

IX. 
As down some strait in doubt and dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead, 
And, cautious in the midst to steer. 
The shoaling channel sounds witli fear ; 
So, lost on dangerous ground he swerved, 
The Page his master s brow observed, 
Pauf'ing at intervals to fling 
His hand o'er the melodious strmg. 
And to his moody breast apply 
The soothing charm of harmony. 
While liinted half, and half exprest, 
ThJa warning song convey'd the rest. — 

Soitfi. 

1, 

" 111 fares the bark with tackle riven. 
And ill when on the breakers driven, — 
111 when the storm-sprite shrieks in air. 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; 
But worse wlieii on her helni the hand 
Of some false traitor holds command 



2. 

" HI fares the fainting Palmer, placed 

'Mid Hebron's rocks or Rana's waste, — 

111 when the scorching sun is high, 

And the expected font is dry, — 

Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath. 

The barbarous Copt, has planu'd his death 

8. 

" HI fares the Knight with buckler cleft. 
And ill when of liis hehn bereft, — 
lU when his steed to earth is flung, 
Or from his grasp his falclilrii wrung ; 
But worse, if instant ruin token, 
When he hsts rede by woman spoken." — 



" How now, fond boy ? — Canst thou think ill 
Said Harold, " of fair Metelill ("— 
" She may be fair," the Page replied, 

As tlirough the strings he ranged, — 
" She may be fair ; but yet," he cried. 

And then the strain he changed, 

1. 

•* She may be fair," he sang, " but yet 

Far fairer have I seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet, 

Ajid eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms, 

As one day I maj be. 
My heaj-t should own no foreign charing— 

A Danish maid for me. 



" I love my fathers' northern land. 

Where the dark pine-trees grow. 
And the bold Baltic's echoing stran'* 

Looks o'er each grassy oe. 
I love to mark the lingering sun, 

From Denmaik lotli to go. 
And leaving on the billows brght. 
To cheer the short-lived soiriifler night 

A path of ruddy glow. 

8. 

" But most the northern maid 1 love. 

With breast Uke Denmark's snow 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine. 
Who loves with purple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow ; 
And sweetly blend that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue. 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

That eye of matchless blue. 

1 0<— lalanJ. 



y24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CA:rTO i» 



4. 
" "Tis hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear, 
To bend the bow by stream and grove. 

And lift the hunter's spear. 
She can her chosen champion's flight 

With eye undazzled see, 
Clasp him victorious from the strife, 
C^ OD his corpse yield up her life, — 

A Danish maid for me I" 

XL 

Then smiled the Dane — " Thou canst so well 
The virtues of o-ir maidens tell, 
Half could I wish my choice had been 
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen. 
And lofty soxil ; — yet what of ill 
Hast thou to charge on Metelill ?" — 
" Nothing on her,"* young Gmmar said^ 
" But her base sire's ignoble trade. 
Her mother, too — the general fame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name. 
And in lier gray eye is a flame 
Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. — 
riiat sordid woodman's peasant cot 
Twice have thine honor'd footsteps sought, 
And twice retui-n'd with such ill rede 
As sent thee on some desperate deed." — 

XII. 

" Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, 

He that comes suitor to a maid. 

Ere link'd in marriage, should provide 

Lands and a dwelling for his bride — 

My father's, by the Tyne and Wear, 

I have reclaim'd." — " 0, all too dear, 

And all too dangerous the prize. 

E'en were it won," young Gunnar cries -.^ 

" And then this Jutta's fresh device. 

That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, 

From Durham's priests a boon to gain, 

When thou hast left their vassals slain 

In their o^vn halls 1" — Flash'd Harold's eye. 

Thunder' r* his vojce — " False Page, you lie I 

Tlie castle, hall and tower, is mine, 

Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 

The wild-cat will defend his den, 

?ighta for her nest the tunid wren ; 

And think'st thou I'll forego my right 

' " Nothing on her," U the reading of the interleaved copy 
^ 1631—" Ob her nanght," in all the former editions. 

All is hush'd, and still as death — 'tis drcadfall 
How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads 
To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof, 
By its own weight made stedfast and immovable, 
Liooking tranquillity ! It xtrikes an awe 
Xnd terror on my aching sight. The tombi 



For dread of monk or monKieb knight ?— 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the Bishop's conclave tell. 
Thither will I, in marinei due. 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 
And, if to right nie they are loth. 
Then woe to church and chapter both !" 
Now shift tnt, scene, and let the curtain fall, 
And our hext entry be Saint Cuthbert's halL 



^arol^ tl)e JDanntlcss. 



CANTO FOCBTH. 



Full many a bard hath stmg the solemn gloom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb'd roof^ 
O'er-canopying slirine and gorgeous tomb, 
Carved screen, and altar glinmieriug far aloof. 
And blending with the shade — a matchless proo! 
Of high devotion, wliich hath now wax'd cold ;* 
Yiet legends say, that Luxury's brute hoof 
Intruded oft within such sacred fold, [of old. 
Like step of Bel's false priest, track'd in his fane 

Well pleased am I, how e'er, that when the route 
Of om- rude neighbors whUome deign'd to come, 
Uncall'd, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
To cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, 
They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own. 
But spared the martyr'd saint and storied tomb 
Though papal miracles had graced the stone. 
And though the aisles still loved the organ's swel 
ling tone. 

And deem not, though tis now my part to paini 
A Prelate sway'd by love of power and gold. 
That all who wore the mitre of our Saip* 
Like to ambitious Aldingar I hold ; 
Since both in modern times and days of old 
It sate on those whose vu-tues might atone 
Their predecessors' frailties trebly told: 
Matthew and Morton we as such may own — 
And such (if fame speak truth) *he honor'd Bar 
rington.* 

And monumental caves of deatL look cold. 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart." 

Conoreve's Mourning Bride, Act ii. Scene 1. 
See also Joanna Baillie's " De Montfort," Acts iv. and ? 
' See, in the Apocryphal Books, " The History of Bei >d4 
the Dragon." 

* See, for the lives of Bishop Matthew and Bishop Morton, 
here alluded to, Mr. Surtees's History of the Bishopric of Dnr 
hara : the venerable Sliute Barrington, their honored suocessoi 
ever a kind friend of Sir Walter Scott, died in l&i& 



PANTO IV. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



520 



II. 
B«. now to earlier and to ruder times, 
As subject meet, I tune mv rugged rhymes, 
1'elling how fairly the chapter was met, 
And rood and books in seemly order set ; 
H^'-ge brass-clasp'd volumes, which the hand 
0'" studious priesv but rarely scann'd, 
Now on fair carved desk display'd, 
'Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. 
O'p'-ln-ad with many a scutcheon graced, 
And quaint devices interlaced, 
A labyrinth of crossing rows, 
The roof in lessening arches shows ; 
Benealh its shade placed proud and high 
With footstool and with canopy, 
Sate Aldingar, — and prelate ne'er 
More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert's chair ; 
Canons and deacons were placed below. 
In due degree and lengthen'd row. 
Unmoved and silent each sat there, 
Like image in liis oaken chair ; 
Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirr'd, 
Nur lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; 
And of their eyes severe alone 
The twinkle show'd they were not stone. 

TIL 

The Prelate was to speech address'd, 
Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; 
But ere his voice was heard — without 
Arose a wild tumultuous shout, 
Offspring of wonder mix'd with fear, 
Such as in crowded streets we hear 
Hailing the flames, that, bursting out, 
Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 
Ere it had ceased, a giant hand 
Sfiook oaken door and iron band. 
Till oak and iron both gave way, 
Clash'd the long bolts, the hinges bray. 
And, ere upon angel or saint they can call. 
Stands Harold the Daimtless in midst of the halL 

IV. 
" Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and rood. 
From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! 
For here stands Count Harold, old Witildnd's son. 
Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors 
won." [eye, 

The Prelate looVd round him with sore troubled 
Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; 
While each Canon and Deacon who heard the 

Dane speak. 
To be safely at home would have fasted a week : — 
Then Aldingar roused him, and answer'd agaifi, 
* Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not ob- 
tain ; 
rhe Church hath no fiefs for an unchristen'd Dane. 
Th^ father was wise, and his treasure hath given, 



That the priests of a chantry mi^lit hy^mn bim t< 

heaven ; [due, 

And the fiefs which whilome he possess'd as hia 
Have lapsed to the Church, and been granted 

anew 
To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vera, 
For the service Saint Cuthbert's bless'd banner Ic 

bear, [Wear 

When the bands of the North come to foray the 
Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling o: 

blame, [came.' 

But in peace and in patience pa^a hence an va 



Loud laugh'd the stem Pagan, — " They're free from 

the care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere, - 
Six feet of your chancel is all they wUl need, 
A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead. — 
Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens ;" — and, sever d anew. 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Then shudder'd with terror both Canon and Monfe, 
They knew the glazed eye and the countenancfl 

shrunk. 
And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair. 
And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere. 
There was not a churchman or priest that was there^, 
But grew pale at the sight, and betook bin: ♦« 

prayer. . . 

VL 

Count Harold laugh'd at their looks of fear : 

" Was this the hand should your banner beai 

Was that the head should wear the casque 

In battle at the Church's task ? 

Was it to such you gave the place 

Of Harold with the heavy mace ? 

Find me between the Wear and Tyne 

A knight will wield this club of mine,— 

Give him my fiefs, and I will say 

There's wit beneath the cowl of gray." 

He raised it, rough with many a stain, 

Caught from crush'd skull and spouting bralu , 

He wheel'd it that it shrilly sung. 

And the aisles echo'd as it swimg. 

Then dash'd it down with sheer descent. 

And split King Osric's monument. — 

" How like ye this music ? How trow ye the hau'i 

That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land ! 

No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree. 

And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be. 

Ten strides through your chancel, ten «trokes <»n 

your beU, * 

And again I am with you — grave fathers, fareweU." 

VIL 

He tum'd from their presenco, he clash'd the nta 
door. 



526 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO It 



And the clang of his stride died away on the floor ; 
Aua liis head from his bosom the Prelate uproars 
With a ghost-seer's look when the ghost disappears. 
' Ye priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give rae your 

rede, 
For never of counsel had Bishop more need 1 
Were the arch-fiend iucarnate in flesh and in bone, 
Tlie language, the look, and the laugh were hi? 

own. 
In the bounds oi isaial Cuthbert there is not a 

knight 
Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; 
Tlien rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'Tis unlawful to grant, and 'tis death to deny." 

VIII. 
On ven'son and malmsie that morning had fed 
riie Cellarer Vlnsauf — 'twas thus that he said : — 
" Delay till to-morrow the Chi,pter's reply ; 
Let the feast be spread fair, aiid the wine be 

pour'd high : 
If he's mortal he drinks, — if he drills, he is ours — 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed in o\tX towers." 
Tliis man had a laugliing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such jou spy ; 
A beaker's depth he well o }uld drain, 
Revel, sport, and jest amair — 
The haunch of the deer a')d the grape's blight dye 
Never bard loved them b I'^tt.T than I ; 
But sooner than Vmsavf fi\"il me mj -wu-e, 
Pass'd me his jest, and ia^it ^'^^ ^t niim. 
Though the buck were ui H arpark, of Bourdeaux 

the vine. 
With the dullest hermit I'd ather dine 
On an oaken cake and a drai ght of the Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn the leech spoke 'neu'i — he knew 
Each plant that loves the suii aud dew, 
But special those whose juice can gain 
Dominion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw liira by pale moonbeaii 
Gatiiering such herbs by bank and ctream, 
Deem'd his thin form and soundless tread 
Were those of wanderer from the dead. — 
" Vinsauf, thy wine," he said, "hath power, 
Our gj'ves are heavy, strong our tower ; 
Yet three drops from tliis flask of mine. 
More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wino 
Shall give him prison under ground 
More dart, more narrow, more profoimd. 
Short rede, good rede, let Harold have — 
A. dog's death Mid a heathen's grave." 
I have lain on a sick man's bed, 
Watcliing for hours for the leech's tread, 
As if I deem'd that his presence alone 
Were of power to bid my pain begone ; 
' )wive listed his words of eimfort given 



As if to oracles from heaven ; 
I have counted his steps from my chamber donT, 
And bless'd them when they were heard no more 
But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch shoulu 

nigh, 
My choice were, by leech-craft unaided, to die 



" Such service done in fervent zeal, 

Tlie Church may pardon and conceal," 

The doubtful Prelate said, " but ne'er 

Tlie counsel ere the act should hear. — 

Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now. 

The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow ; 

Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, 

Are stiU to mystic learning lent ; — 

Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 

Thou well mayst give counsel to Prelate or Pope' 

XL 
Answer'd the Prior — " 'Tis wisdom's use 
Still to delay what we dare not refuse ; 
Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask, 
Shape for the giant gigantic task ; 
Let us see how a step so sounding can tread 
In paths of darkness, danger, and dread ; 
He may not, he will not, impugn our decree. 
That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; 
And were Guy to return, or Sir Bevis the Stron^ 
Our wilds have adventm-e might cumber the7ii 

long — [no more 1 

The Castle of Seven Shields" " Kind Ansehn, 

The step of the Pagan approaches the door." 
The churchmen were hush'd. — In his mantle of sldn. 
With his mace on liis shoulder, Count Harold strode 

in. 
There was foam on his lips, there was fire in his eye 
For, chafed by attendance, his fury was nigh. 
" Ho I Bishop," he said, " dost thou grant me mj 

claim ? 
Or must I assert it by falchion and flame ?" — 

XIL 

" On thy suit, gallant Harold," the Bishop replied 
In accents which trembled, " we may not decide, 
Until proof of your strength and your valoi we 

saw — 
'Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law." — 
" And would you. Sir Prelate, have Harold make 

sport [c/uirt J 

For the cowls and tlie shavelings that herd in thy 
Say what shall he do ? — From the slu-ine shall he 

tear 
The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it m air, 
And through the long chancel make Cuthbert take 

wing, [sling ?"— 

With the speed of a bullet dismiss'd from th« 
" Nay, spare such probation," the Cellai'er said. 



CAWTO IV. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



52* 



" From the mouth of our minstrels thy task shall 

be read. 
W"!iil3 the wine sparkles liigh in the goblet of gold, 
A.nd the revel is loudest, tlij task shaU be told ; 
And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing it, tell 
Tha^; ibe Bisliop, liis co-wls, and his shavelings, 

meant weU." 

XIII. 
'»ad revell'd the guests, and the goblets loud rang, 
B.:t louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville, sang ; 
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul, 
E'en wheu verging to fury, own'd music's control, 
Still bent ••n the harper his broad sable eye, 
A.nd often untasted the goblet pass'd by ; 
ITian wine, or than wassail, to liim was more dear 
The mmstrel's high tale of enchantment to hear ; 
And the Bishop that day might of Vinsauf complain 
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain. 

XIV. 

E\)t ffiastle of tlje 5beben StjfelBs. 

A BALLAD. 

The Druid Urien had daughters seven, 
Their skill could call the moon from heaven ; 
So fair their forms and so high thei'' fame, 
That seven proud kings for their suitors ''ame. 

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales, 
Unshorn was their hair, and unpruned were their 
nails ; [lame. 

From Strath-Clwyae wa"' Ewain, and Ewain was 
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchback'd from youth ; 
Dunmail of Cumbria had never a tooth ; 
But Adulf of Bambrough, Northumberland's heir. 
Was gay and was gallant, was young and was fau\ 

There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one 

would have 
For husband King Adolf, the gallant and brave ; 
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows, 
Wl»en the firm earth was cleft, and the Arch-fiend 

arose 1 

He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil — 
Th( y swore to the foe they would work by liis wilL 
A- spindle and distaff to each hath he given, 
*N(W hearken my spell," said the Outcast of 
heaven. 

•Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, 

^ " The word ' peril' ii continually used as a verb by both 
V ilftre : - 

' Nor peril anght for me agen.' 

Lady of the Lake. Canto ii. stanza 26. 
I perl.l'd thi s the helpless child.' 

/.era oj the Isles. Canto v. stanza 10 



Anu for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong shaT 

have power. 
And there shall ye dwell with your paramour." 

Beneath the pale moonlight thej sate on the wold 
And the rhymes which they chanted mast neve? 

be told ; 
And as the black wool from the distafi" they sped, 
With blood frot.- their bosom they moisten'd t)i* 

thread. 

[gleam 
As light danced the spindles beneath the cole 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream — 
The seven towers ascended like mist from the 

ground, 
Seven portals defend them, seven ditches surroimd. 

Within that dread castle seven monarchs were wed 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead ; 
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all red. 
Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian's bed. 

" Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done, 
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won. 
Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do, 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandlesstoo.' 

Well chanced it that Adolf the night when he weci 
Had confess'd and had sain'd him ere bonne to his 
bed ; [drew 

He sprung from the couch and his broadsword ho 
And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and seal'd. 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a shield 
To the cells of Saint Dunstan then wended his way 
And died in his cloister Vn anchorite gray. 

Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle hes stow'd, 
The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad 
Whoever shall guesten these chambers witliin. 
From curfew till matins, that treasure sliall win. 

But manhood grows faint as the worla waxes old 
There lives not in Britain a champion so bold. 
So datuitless of heart, and so prudent of brain, 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the ryt 
Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland fly. 
And the flint clifts of Bambro' shall melt in the sun 
Before that adventure be perill'd and won.' 

' Were the blood of all my ancestors in my veins, I woald 
have perilled it in this quarrel.' — Waverley. 

' I were undeserving his grace, did I not peril it for his goo<' 
— Ivanhoe. 
&c. &:c." — ADOLPHns' _jetlers on the Jiuthor of Waverlet 



028 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



OANTO y 



XV. 

A.nd IS this my probation?" wild Harold he said, 
W^itliin a lone castle to press a lone bed ? — 

iood even, my Lord Bishop, — Saint Cuthbert to 
• borrow, [row." 

\e Castle ">f Seven Shields receives me to-mor- 



fiaroib t\)t JBanntUss. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



Denmark's sage coiirtier to her princely youth, 
Granting liis cloud an ouzel or a whale,' 
Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth; 
For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. 
Tlie tints of ruddy eve, or davming pale, 
Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze, 
• Are but the ground-work of the rich detail 
Wliicli Fantsay with pencil wild portrays, 
blending what seems and is, in the wrapt muser's 
gaze. 

JNor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 
Less to the Sorceress's empire given ; 
For not with unsubstantial hues alone. 
Caught from the varying surge, or vacant 

lieaven, 
From bursting sxmbeam, or from flashing levin. 
She limns her pictures : on the earth, as air. 
Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; 
And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, 
B»t of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the 



sliare. 



II. 



Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; 
Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love, 
FiVer companion of liis master's way. 
Midward their path, a rock of granite gray 
From the adjoining cliff had made descent, — 
A barren mass — yet with her drooping spray 
Had a young birch-tree crown'd its battlement, 
I'wifcting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw 
and rent. 

This rock and tree could Gunnar's thoiight 

engage 
Till Fanoy brought the tear-drop to his eye, 

: "Hamlet. Do yon see yonder cload, that's almost in 8ha|e 
' a camel 1 

Polonhis. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed I 
Ham, Methmlu, it is like a weasel 



And at his master ask'd the timid Page, 
" What is the emblem that a bard shou'd spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy ?" 
And Harold said, " Like to the helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie. 
And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wave 
Not all unlike the plume his lady's favor gave."— 

" Ah, no !" replied the Page ; " the ill-starr'd lova 
Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, 
"Whose fates are with some hero's interwove 
And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 
Nourish those drooping boughs, and as tue 

scathe 
Of the red hghtning rends both tree and stone, 
So fares it with her unrequited faith, — 
Her sole relief is tears — her only refuge death."— 

III. 
"Thou art a fond fantastic boy," 
Harold replied, " to females coy. 

Yet prating still of love ; 
Even so amid the clash of war 
I know thou lovest to keep afar. 
Though destined by thy evil star 

With one like me to rove. 
Whose business and whose joys are found 
Upon the bloody battle-ground. 
Yet, foolish trembler as thou art. 
Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, 
And thou and I will never part ; — 
Harold would wrap the world in flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came 1" 

IV. 
The grateful Page made no reply, 
But turn'd to Heaven his gentle eye. 
And clasp'd his hands, as one who said, 
" My toils — my wanderings are o'erpaid I" 
Then in a gayer, lighter strain, 
Compell'd him self to speech again ; 

And, as they flow'd along, 
His words took cadence soft and slow, 
And liquid, like dissolving snow, 

They melted into song. 



" What though through fields of carnage wide 
I may not follow Harold's stride, 
Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride 

Lord Harold's feats can see ? 
And dearcjr than the couch of pride. 
He loves the bed of gray wolf's hide. 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
Ham, Or, like a wliale } 
Pol. Very like a whale." 



1 

cAsro V. HAROLD THE 


. DAUNTLESS. 529 


When slumbering by Lord Harold's side 


The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 


Tn forest, field, or lea." — 


In this thine hour, yet turn and hear 


VT 


For life is brief and judgment near." • 


"Break off!" said Harold, in a tone 


IX. 


Where hurry and surprise were showu, 


Then ceased The Voice. — The Dane replied 


With some slight touch of fear, — 


In tones where awe and mborn pride 


" Break off, we are not here alone ; 


For mastery strove, — " In vain ye chide 


A Palmer form comes slowly on ! 


The wolf for ravaging the flock. 


By cowl, and staff, and mantle known. 


Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 


My monitor is near. 


I am as they — my Danish strain 


Now mark liim, Gumiar, heedfully ; 


Sends streams of fire through every vein. 


He pauses by the blighted tree — 


Amid thy realms of goule and ghost. 


Dost see him, youth ? — Thou couldst not see 


Say, is the fame of Eric lost. 


When in the vale of Gahlee 


Or Witikiiid's the Waster, known . 


I first beheld his form, 


Where fame or spoil was to be won; 


Nor wlien we met that other wlule 


Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore 


In Cephalonia's rocky isle. 


They left not black with flame ? — 


Before the fearful storm, — 


He was my sire, — and, sprung of him, 


Dost see him now ?" — The Page, distraught 


That rover merciless and grim, 


With terror, answer'd, " I see naught, 


Can I be soft and tame ? [m», 


And there is naught to see. 


Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid 


Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling dowu 


I am that Waster's son, and am but what he mad<» 


Upon the path a shadow brown. 


me." 


That, like a pilgrim s dusky gowu. 




Waves with the waving tree." 


X. 




The Phantom groan'd ; — the mountain ehix)k 


VII. 


around, 


Count Harold gazed upon the oak 


The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound, 


As if liis eyestrings would have broke, 


The gorse and fern did wildly round them waT«. 


And then resolvedly said, — 


As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. 


" Be what it will yon phantom gray — 


" AU thou hast said is truth — Yet on the head 


Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 


Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid, 


That for their shadows from his way 


That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace, 


Count Harold turn'd dismay'd : 


From grave to cradle ran the evil race : — 


rU speak him, though his accents fill 


Relentless in liis avarice and u'e, 


My heart with that unwonted thrill 


Churches and towns he gave to sword and fir© 


Which vulgar minds call fear.' 


Shed blood like water, wasted every land. 


I will subdue it !" — Forth he strode, 


Like the destroying angel's burning brand ; 


Paused where the blighted oak-tree show'd 


Fulfill'd whate'er of ill might be invented. 


Its sable shadow on the road, 


Yes — all these things he did — he did, but he 


And, folding on his bosom broad 


REPENTED ! 


His arms, said, " Speak — I hear." 


Perchance it is part of his punishment still. 




That his offspring pursues his example of ill 


VIII. 


But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall uei< 


The Deep Voice' said, " wild of will, 


shake thee, thee 


Furious thy purpose to fulfil — 


Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and nwakff 


Heart-sear'd and unrepentant still, 


If thou yield' st to thy fury, how tempted soevei; 


How long, Harold, shall thy tread 


The gate of repentance shall ope for thee neveb I"— 


Disturb the slumbers of the dead ? 




Each step in thy wild way thou makest. 


XL 


The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; 


" He is gone," said Lord Harold, and ^ze 1 as It 


And shout in triumph o'er thy path 


spoke ; 


■ " I'll speak to it, thongh hell itself shonld gape." 


Thou aged carle, so stern and gray ? 


Hamlet. 


d 




' Know'et thou not roe T' the Deep Voice crietl 


' " Whv sit'st thot by that rnin'd hall 
67 


tVaverley JYovels — Antiquary, vol. v o ■"< 



»3C 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO > 



"" There is nauem on the path but the shade of the 

oak. 
He is gone, whv»e strange presence my feeling 

oppress'd, [breast. 

Like the night-hij^ that sits on the slumberer's 
My heart ))eats as ciiick as a fugitive's tread, 
A.nd cold dews dMp from my brow and my 

heatL — 
Uol Grunn»x the flasiet yon almoner gave; 
He said that three urops would recall froTn the 

grave. [has power, 

For the first time Co mt Harold owns leech-craft 
Or, liis courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower !" 
The page gave tlie dasket, which Walwayn had 

fill'd [distill'd— 

With the juice of /cild roots that his art had 
So baneful their infttience on all that had breath, 
One drop had beei» phrensy, and two had been 

death. 
Harold took it, but drank not ; for jubilee shrill, 
Anil music and clamor were heard on the hill, 
.\nd down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o'er 

stone, 
riie train of a bridal came blithesomely on ; 
There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, 

and still 
llie burden was, " Joy to the fair Metelill 1" 

XII. 

Harold might see from his high stance, 
Himself unseen, that train advance 

With mirth and melody ; — 
On horse and foot a mingled tlirong. 
Measuring their steps to bridal song 

And bridal minstrelsy ; 
And ever when the blithesome rout 
Lent to the song their choral shout, 
Redoubling echoes roll'd about, 
Wliile echoing cave and cUff sent out 

The answering symphony 
Of all those mimic notes which dwsll 
In lioUow rock and sounding dell 

XIIL 
Joy shook his torch above the band, 
Hy many a various passion fann'd; — 
Ki elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed 
Gentle, or stormy, or refined, 
Joy takes the colors of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure but unrepress'd. 
He fired the bridegriom's gallant breast : 
More feebly strove with maiden fear, 
Yet still joy glimmer'd through the tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek, tliat shows 
Like dew-drop on the budding rose ; 
^^^lile Wulfstane's gloomy smile declnred 
I'be glee that selfish avarice shared, 



And pleased revenge and malice high 

Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. 

On dangerous adventure sped. 

The witch deem'd Harold with the dead, 

For thus that morn her Demon said : 

" If, ere the set of sun^ be tied 

Tlie knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride. 

The Dane shall have no power of iU 

O'er William and o'er Metelill." 

And the pleasea witch made answer, " Tliei, 

Must Harold have pass'd from the pat lis •■ 

men ! 
Evil repose may his spirit have, — 
May hemlock and mandrake find root in hif 

grave,— 
May his death-sleep be dogged by dream? o; 

dismay, 
And his waking be worse at the answering da^ ' 

XIV. 

Such was their various mood of glee 
Blent hi one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when Joy is brimming highest. 
Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest, 
Of Terror with lier ague cheek. 
And liu-king Danger, sages speak : — 
Tliese haunt each path, but chief they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose way. — 
Thus found that bridal band their path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
Trembling beneath liis maddening mood. 
High on a rock the giant stood ; 
His shout was Hke the doom of df ath 
Spoke o'er their heads that pass'd beneatk 
His destined victims might not spy 
The reddening terrors of his eye, — 
The frown of rage that writhed his face, — 
The hp that foam'd hke boar's in chase ; — 
But all could see — and, seeing, all 
Bore back to shun the threaten'd faU — 
The fragment which their giant foe 
Rent from the cliff and heaved to throw. 

XV. 

Backward they bore ; — yet are there two 

For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William knew 

Ere liis good blade was bare ; 
And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew. 
But ere the silken cord he drew. 
As hurl'd from Hecla's thunder, flew 

That ruin tlirough the air I 
Full on the outlaw's front it came. 
And all that late had human name. 
And human face, and human frame 
That lived, and moved, and had free will 
To choose the path of good or ill. 

Is to its reckoning gone ; 



SANTO V. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



63. 



And naught of Wiilfstane rests behind, 

Save that beneath that stone, 
Half-b'u-ied in the rlinted clay, 
A red ai'd shapeless mass there lay 
Of mingled flesh and bone 1 

XVL 

As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle larts amain, 
rhiee bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train; 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
Tlie noble falcon dares the fight, 

But dares the fight in vain. 
So fought the bridegroom ; from his hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand, 
Its glittering fragments strew the sand, 

Its lord lies on the plain. 
Xow, Heaven ! take noble William's part. 
And melt that yet unraelted heart. 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart. 

The hapless bridegroom's slain 1 

XVIL 
Count HaroVI's phrensied rage is high. 
There is a death-fire in his eye, 
Deep furrows on his brow are trench' d, 
His teeth are set, his hand is clench' d. 
The foam upon his Up is white. 
His deadly arm is up to smite 1 
But, as the mace aloft he swung. 
To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung, 
Around his master's knees he clung. 

And cried, " In mercy spare 1 
0, think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold is here, — 

Grant mercy, — or despair !" 
This word suspended Harold's mood, 
Yet still with arm upraised he stood. 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
" mark thee with the blessed rood," 
The Page implored ; " Speak word of good, 
Resist the fiend, or be subdued 1" 

He sign'd the cross divine — 
Instant his eye hath human light. 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright ; 
His brow relax'd the obdurate frown, 
rhe fatal mace siriks gently down, 



He turns and strides away ; 
Yet oft, hke revellers who leave 
Unfinish'd feast, looks back to grieve, 
As if repenting the reprieve 
He granted to liis prey. 
Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given, 
And fierce Witikind's son made one step towarr^ 
heaven 

XVIIl. 
But though his dreaded footsteps part 
Death is behind and shakes his dart ; 
Lord William on the plain is lying, 
Beside him MetelQl seems dying ! — 
Bring odors — essences in haste — 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she loves — 
Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted. 
For when three drops the hag had tasted, 

So dismal was her yeU, 
Each bird of evil omen woke. 
The raven gave his fatal croak. 
And shriek'd the night-crow from the 

oak. 
The screech-owl from the thicket broke. 

And flutter'd down the dell 1 
So fearful was the sound and stern. 
The slumbers of the full-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern 

Of forest and of fell, 
Tlie fox and famish'd wolf replied 
(For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side) 
From mountain head to mountain head. 
The unliallow'd soimds around were spea ; 
But when their latest echo fled. 
The sorceress on the groiaid lay dead. 

XIX. 

Such was the scene of blood and woes, 
With which the bridal" morn arose 

Of William and of Metehll ; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread. 
The summer morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill, 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The lung of Splendor walks abroad ; 
So, when this cloud had pass'd away. 
Bright was the noontide of their day, " 
And all serene its sotting ray. 

1 See a note o" the Lord of the Islee, Canto t. at. 31 " »a< 



I* I iri^r 



»-^ 



i32 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO \a 



f)aroli) tlje Pauntleas. 



ONTO SIXTH. 



Weli do I hope that this my minstrel tale 
Will tempt no traveller from southern fields, 
WTietlier in tilbury, barouche, or mail, 
To view the Castle of these Seven Pi-oud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To MeueviJJe's high lay, — No towers are seen 
0» the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds. 
And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with 
green, [been. 

[9 naught remains to tell of what may there have 

And yet grave authors, with the no small waste 
Of their grave time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prove the fortress placed 
By Roman bands, to curb the invading Scot. 
Hutcliinson, Horsley, Camden, I might quote, 
But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things forgot. 
Refer still to the origin of evil, [fiend the Devil. 
\jid for their master-mason choose that master- 

II. 

Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering 

gaze, 
When evening dew was on the heather flowers, 
And the last simbeams made the moimtain 

blaze. 
And tinged the battlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere sinking down. — 
Illumined thus, the Dauntless Dane sm-veys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal 

frown, [renown. 

\jid on their blazons traced high marks of old 

A wolf Nftrth Wales had m his armor-coat, 
And Rh} 8 of Powis-land a couchant stag ; 
Strath-Clwyd's estrange emblem was a stranded 

boat, 
Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag ; 
A com-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's orag ; 
A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 
Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a cross — such signs were borne 
Tpon these antique shields, all wasted now and 

worn. 

III. 

Itese scann d. Count Harold sought the castle- 
door. 
Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; 



Yet till that hour adventui dus kniglit forbore 
The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong than armed warders in array, 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay, 
Cast spells across the gate, and bair'd the onward 
way. 

Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clani 
The feebly-fasten'd gate was inward push'd. 
And, as it oped, through that emblazon'd rank 
Of anl 'que shields, the wind of evening rush'd 
With sound most like a groan, and then wai 

hush'd. 
Is none who on such spot such soimds could heal 
But to his heart the blood had faster rush'd ; 
Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was leai • 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. 

IV. 

Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced 
Within the castle, that of danger show'd ; 
For stiU the halls and courts were wild and waste, 
As through their precuicts the adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers ruse stately, tall, and 

broad. 
Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall in which a king might make abode, 
And fast beside, garnish'd both proud and high, 
Was placed a bower for rest in wliich a king migh< 
' lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been, 
Deck'd stood the table in each gorgeous hall , 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 
Since date of that unhallow'd festival. 
Flagons, and ewers, and standmg cups, were all 
Of tarnish'd gold, or silver nothing clear, 
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, [sear— 
And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appeax. 

V. 

In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed. 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flimg 
The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread, [stone, 
Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious 
And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head ; 
While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, 
Tlie wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust be- 
Btrown. 

For these were they who, drunken with delighi 
On pleasure's opiate p'dlow laid their head. 



CANTO VI. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



581 



For ■whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, 
"A'as clianged ere morning to the murderer's tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the frail thread 
Of human life are aU so closely twined. 
That tiU the shears of Fate the texture shred, 
The close succession cannot be disjoin'd, 
S'y* dare ws, from one hour, judge that which comes 
behind. 

VL 

But where the work of vengeance had been done. 
In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight ; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, 
Still in the posture as to death when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; 
And that, as one who struggled long in dying; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying.* 

The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see,— 
For his chafed thought return'd to Metelill ; — 
And " Well," he said, " hath woman's perfidy, 
Empty as air, as water volatile. 
Been here avenged — The origin of ill 
Thi'ough woman rose, the Christian doctrine 

saith : 
Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill 
Can show example where a woman's breath 
fi ith made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept 

her faitL" 

VII. 
The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh'd, 
And his half filling eyes he dried. 
And said, " The theme I should but wrong, 
Unless it were my dying song 
(Our Scalds have said, in dying hour 
The Northern harp has treble power), 
Else could I tell of woman's faith. 
Defying danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that faith, — as diamond stone 
Pure and unflaw'd, — her love unknown. 
And unrequited ; — firm and pure. 
Her stainless faith could all f ndm-e , 
From clime to clime, — from pla 3e to place, — 
Through want, and danf^er, pnd disgrace, 
A wanderer's wayward "te^s could trace. — 
AU this she did, and g'-.erdoa none 
Required, save thft \er burial-stone 
Should make at length the secret known, 
■ Thus hath a fait lif'it woman done.' — 



. ' " In an invention ik< this we are hardly to look for prob- 
«lii'ities, bat all the--* rief>arations and ornaments are not quite 
•onsistent with tht ?'Me of society two hundred years before 
ne Dani- .1 In.as-yn, as far as we know ar.y thing of it. In 
those •iia»*'is, 'aw.fer, the author is never very scrupulous, 
ko>i ha« ^o 'Iitlo re? rirded orooriety in the mi; :or ciicumstan- 



Not in each breast such truth is laid, 
But Eivir was a Danish maid." — 

VIII. 
" Thou art a wild enthusiast," saia 
Count Harold, " for thy Danish maid • 
And yet, young Gunnar, I wiU own 
Hers were a faith to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone. 
And all resemblmg her are gone. 
What maid e'er show'd such constancy 
Li plighted faith, like thine to me ? 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome shad* 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismayed 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we ; our little day 
O'erspent. and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid. 
Thy couch upon my mantle made. 
That thou mayst think, should fear invade 

Thy master slumbers nigh." 
Thus couch'd they hi that dread abode. 
Until the beams of dawning glow'd. 

IX. 

An alter'd man Lord Harold rose. 
When he beheld that dawn unclose — 

There's trouble in his eyes. 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder speak : 

" My page," he said, " arise ; — 
Leave we tliis place, my page." — No more 
He utter'd till the castle door 
They cross' d — but there he paused and said, 
" My wUdness hath awaked the dead — 

Disturb'd the sacred tomb ! 
Methought this night I stood on high. 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky, 
And in her cavern'd gulfs could spy 

The central place of doom ; 
And there before my mortal eye 
Souls of the dead came flitting by. 
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry, 

Bore to that evil den ! 
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain 
Was wilder'd, as the elvish train. 
With shriek and howl, dragg'd on anuun 

Those who had late been men. 

X. 

*' With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there. 



ces : thus Harold is clad in a kind of armor not wort until sooH 
hundred years after the era of the poem, and many of th« 
scenes described, like that last quoted (stanzas iv. v. vi.'l, b» 
long even to ii still later period. At least this defect is njt ftl 
imitation of Mr. Scott, who, being a skilful antiqoary, is e«- 
tremely careful as to niceties of this sort." — Critital Revien 



ft84 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO n 



And tl<ere pass'd Wulfstaue, lately slain. 

All crush'd and foul with bloody stain. — 

More had I seen, but that uprose 

A. whirl-wind wild, and swept the snows ; 

And with such sound as when at need 

A cliampion spurs his horse to speed. 

Three arm'd knights rush on, who lead 

Caparison'd a sable steed. 

Sable their harness, and there came 

Tlirough their closed vizors sparks of flame. 

Tlie first proclaim' d, in sounds of fear, 

' Harold the Dauntless, welcome here !' 

"Pie next cried, ' Jubilee ! we've won 

Count Witikind the Waster's son !' 

And the third rider sternly spoke, 

' Mount, in the name of Zernebock ! — 

From us, Harold, were thy powers, — 

Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours; 

Nor tliink, a vassal thou of hell. 

With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true ! 

My inmost soul the summons knew, 

As captives know the knell 
That says the headsman's sword is bare, 
And, with an accent of despair, 

Commando them quit their ceU. 
I felt resistance was in vain, 
My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en. 
My hand was on the fatal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That Palmer's visionary form, 
And — like the passing of a storm — 

The demons yell'd and fled ! 

XL 
" His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd 
Tlie features it before conceal'd ; 

And, Gunnar, I could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful way, 

My father Witikind ! 
Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd for mine, 
A wanderer upon earth to pine 
Until his son shall turn to grace, 
ATid smooth for him a resting-place. — 
Gunnar, he must not hunt in vain 
Tliis wtrld of wretchedness and pain : 
111 tame my wilftil heart to live 
In peace — to pity and forgive — 
And thou, for so the Vision said, 
Must in thy Lord's repentance aid. 
Thy mother was a prophetess. 
He said, who by her skill could guess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knit thy thread of life with mine ; 
Then, dark, he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious eyes, 
riuvt not a moment might divide 
Thy fatcil footsteps froni i^y side 



Methought while thus my sire did tea-' h, 
I caught the meaning of his speech. 
Yet seems its purport doubtful now." 
His I'aud then sought his thouglitful brow ■ 
Then first he mark'd, that in the tower 
His glove was left at waking hour. 

XIL 
Trembling at fii'st, and deadly pale. 
Had Gunnar heard the vision'd tale ; 
But when he learn'd the dubious close. 
He blush'd like any opening rose, 
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek. 
Hied back that glove of mail to seek 
When soon a slniek of deadly dread 
Summon'd his master to his aid. 

XIIL 
What sees Count Harold in that bowe 

So late his resting-place ? — 
The semblance of the EvU Power, 

Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in Uving form stood there, 
His cloak the spoils of Polar bear ; 
For plumy crest a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head. 
Yet veil'd its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eye. 
Such height was liis, that when in stone 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown : 

So flow'd Ills hoary beard ; 
Such was liis lance of mountain-pine. 
So did his sevenfold buckler shine ; — 

But Avhen his voice he rear'd, 
Deep, without harshness, slow and strong; 
The powerful accents roll'd along. 
And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 
On captive Gunuar's shi-inking head. 

XIV. 
" Harold," he said, " what rage is thn.t> 
To quit the worsliip of thy line. 

To leave thy Warrior-God ? — 
With me is glory or disgrace. 
Mine is the onset and the chase, 
Embattled hosts before my face 

Are wither'd by a nod. 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 
Deserved by many a dauntless feat, 
Among the heroes of thy line, 
Eric and fiery Thorarine ? — 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The joys for wliich the valiant Uve, 
Victory and vengeance — only I 
Can give the joys for wliich they die, 
Tlie immortal tilt — the banquet full. 
The brimming draught fi-om foenan» 
skulL 



BANTO VI 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



;3l 



Mine art thou, witness this thy glove, 
The faithful jiledge of vassal's love." 

XV. 

■* Tempter," said Harold, fij-m of heart, 

" I charge thee hence ! whate'er thou art. 

I do defy thee — and resist 

Thf kindling phrensy of my breast. 

Waked by thy words ; and of my mail, 

Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nor nail, 

Shall rest with thee — that youth "release, 

And God, rr Demon, part in peace." — 

" Eivir," the Shape replied, " is mine, 

Mark'd in the birth-hour with my sign. 

Tliink'st thou that priest with di'ops of spray 

Could wash that blood-red mark away ? 

Or that a borrow'd sex and name 

Can abrogate a Godliead's claim ?" 

Thrill'd this strange speech through Harold's 

brain. 
He clench'd his teeth in high disdain, 
For not liis new-born faith subdued 
Some tokens of his ancient mood. — 
" Now, by the hope so lately given 
Of better trust and purer heaven, 
I will assail thee, fiend !" — Then rose 
His mace, and with a storm of blows 
The mortal and the Demon close. 

XVI. 
Smoke roU'd above, fire flash'd around, 
Darken'd the sky and shook the ground 

But not the artillery of hell, 
Tlie bickering Ughtning, nor the rock 
Of turrets to the earthquake's shock. 

Could Harold's courage quelL 
Sternly the Dane his purpose kept. 
And blows on blows resistless heap'd. 

Till quail'd that Demon Form, 
And — for his power to hurt or kiQ 
Was bounded by a higher will — 

Evanish'd in the storm. 
Nor paused the Champion of the North, 
But raised, and bore his Eivir forth. 
From that wild scene of fiendish strife, 
)'o light, to hberty, and life 1 

XVIL 
He placed her on a bank of moss, 

A silver runnel bubbled by, 
And new-born thoughts his soul engross. 
And tremors yet unknown across 

His stubborn sinews fly. 
The while with timid hand the dew 



' Mr. Adolphus, in his Letters on the Author of Waverley, 
p 230 remarks on the coincidence between " the cata^strophe 
^ • The Blacli Dwarf,' the recognition of Monham's lost 



Upon her brow and neck he threw, 
And mark'd how hfe with rosy hue 
On her pale cheek revived anew, 

And gUmmer'd in her eye. 
Inly he said, " That silken tress, — 
What blindness mine that could not gneas , 
Or how could page's rugged dress 

That bosom's pride behe ? 
0, dull of heart, through wild and wa\e 
In search of blood and death to rave, 

With such a partner nigh !'" 

XVIII. 
Then in the mirror'd pool he peer'd, 
Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard. 
The stains of recent conflict clear'd, — 

And thus the Champion proved, 
That he fears now who never fear'd. 

And loves who never loved. 
And Eivir — life is on her cheek, 
And yet she will not move or speak, 

Nor will her eyehd fully ope ; 
Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye, , 

Through its long fringe, reserved and slij, 
Aftection's opening dawn to spy : 
And the deep blush, which bids its dy« 
O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly, 

Speaks shame-facedness and hope. 

XIX. 
But vainly seems the Dane to seek 
For terms his new-born love to speak, — 
For words, save those of wrath and wrong. 
Till now were strangers to his tongue ; 
So, when he raised the blushing maid. 
In blunt and honest terms he said 
('Twere well that maids, when lovers woo, 
Heard none more soft, were all as true), 
" Eivir ! suice thou for many a day 
Hast follow'd Harold's wayward way. 
It is but meet that in the line 
Of after-Ufe 1 follow thine. 
To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's tide. 
And we will grace his altar's side, 
A Christian knight and Cluustian bride ; 
And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be 8a*<i, 
That on the same morn he was chri=t«D'-? ai»^ 
wed." 



CONCLUSION. 

And now. Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid I 
And why these hstless looks of yawning sorrow ' 

son in the Irish orphan of ' Rokeby,' and the >jnversion (A 
Harold's page into a femile," — all which he calls ' specimen! 
of ui^successful contrivance, at a great expense of pNtbabilitv ' 



SS6 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



CANTO VI 



No need to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, 
Or flinff aside the volume till to-morrow. — 
Be cheer'd — 'tis ended — and I will not borrow, 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 

'• ' Harold the Dauntless,' like ' The Bridal of Triermain,' 
I a tolerably successful imitation of some parts of the style i»f 
Mr. Walter Scott ; but like all imitations, it is clearly distin- 
guishable from the prototype , .t wants the life and seasoning 
>f originality. To illustrate this familiarly from the stage : — 
We have all witnessed a hundred imitations of popular actors — 
•f Kemble, for instance, in which the voice, the gesture, and 
•oraewhat even of the look, were copied. In externals the re- 
leniblance might be sufficiently correct ; but where was the 
'nfi)rming soul, the mind that dictated the action and expres- 
•ioii ? Who could endure the tedium of seeing the imitator go 
through a whole character? In ' Harold the Dauntless,' the 
imitation of Mr. Scott is pretty obvious, but we are weary of 
it before we arrive near the end. The author has talent, and 
considerable facility in versification, and on this account it is 
Bomewiiat lamentable, not only that he should not have se- 
lected a better model, but that he should copy the parts of that 
model which are least worthy of study. Perhaps it was not 
easy to equal the energy of Mr. Scott's line, or his picturesque 
descriptions. His peculiarities and defects were more attaina- 
ble, and with these the writer of this novel in verse has gener- 
ally contented himself; he will also content a certain number 
Df readers, who merely look for a few amusing or surprising 
incidents. In these, however, ' Harold the Dauntless' does 
not abound so much as ' The Bridal of Triermain.' They 
are, indeed, romantic enough to satisfy all the parloi^boarders 
"ladies' schools in England ; but they want that appearance 
j{ probability which should give them iaterest." — Critical He- 
view, April, 1817. 



From Bartholine or Perinskiold, or Snoiro, 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrotf 
A Tale six cantt)s long, yet scorn'd to add s 
note.' 



" We had formerly occasion to notice, with considerable 
oraise. The Bridal of Triermain. We remarked it as a pretty 
close imitation of Mr. Scott's poetry ; and as that great master 
«eems, for the present, to have left his lyre unstrung, a substi- 
tute, even of inferior value, may be welcomed by the public. 
It appeared to us, however, and still does, that the merit of the 
present author consists rather in the soft and wildly tender 
passages, than in those rougher scenes of feud and fray, through 
which the poet of early times conducts his reader. His war- 
horse follows with somewhat of a hobbling pace the proud and 
ira|ietuous courser whom he seeks to rival. Unfortunately, as 
it 4;i|)ears to us, the last style of poetical excellence is rather 
more aimed at here than in the former poem ; and as we do 
not discover any improvement in the mode of treating it, Ha- 
rold the Dauntless scarcely appears to us to equal the Bridal of 
Triermain. It contains, indeed, passages of similar merit, but 
not quite ao numerous ; and such, we suspect, will ever be the 
case while the author continues to follow after this line of 
xietry '' -Scots Mag. Feb. 1817. 



'•Tm« IS an elegant, sprightly, and aelightful little poem, 
„rttt*T apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who 
eithti p)ssesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, 
■r regarris it only as a secondary and subordinate object. In 
this we do not widely difter from him, but are sensible, mean- 
time, ihal many others will ; and tliat the rambling and un- 
certain nature of the story will he the principal objection 
•rgea against the poem before us, an well as the greatest bar 
lo its extensive popularity. The character of Mr. Scott's ro- 
mances lias effected a material change in our mode of esti- 
mating poetical compositions. In all the estimable works of 
»ui lormer poets, from S[)enserdown toThomsv.- »nd C<iwper, 
Ihe plot Beems to have been regarded as good O' bad, only in 



pmnortion to the advantages which it furnished for poetical 
description ; but, of late years one half, at least, of the merii 
of a poem is supposed to rest on the interest and managemen' 
of the tale. 

" We speak not exclusively of that numerous class ol' -ead 
ers who peruse and estimate a new poem, or any poem wit.' 
the same feelings, and precisely on the same |irinc'ipies. a-; the. 
do a novel. It is natural for such persons to judge only by the 
effect produced by the incidents ; but we have often beei 
surprised that some of our literary critics, even those to whos« 
judgment we were most disposed to bow, should lay so much 
stress 0/1 the probability and fitness of every incident which 
the fancy of the poet may lead him to embellish in the course 
of a narrative poem, a great proportion of which must neces- 
sarily be descriptive. The author of Harold the Dauntless 
seems to have judged differently from these critics ; and in 
the liglitsome rapid strain of poetry whitHi he iias choser, we 
feel no disjjosition to quarrel with him on account of tie easy 
and careless manner in which he has arranged his story. Ii 
many instances he undoubtedly shows the hand of a master, 
and has truly studied and seized the essential character of the 
antique — his attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and va- 
ried with demi-tints, possessing much of tlie lustre, freshness, 
and spirit of Rembrandt. The airs of his heads have grace, 
and his distances something of the lightness and keeping ol 
Salvator Rosa. The want of harmony and onion in the car- 
nations of his females is a slight objection, and there is like- 
wise a meagre sheetintus in his contrasts of cAinro.so/ro ; bul 
these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and niastei 
traits distinguishable in his grouping, as in a A.urillo or Carra 
veggio. 

But the work has another quality, and though its leading 
one, we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is 
an avowed imitation, and therefore loses part ot its value, it 
viewed as an original production. On the otl:er hand, regarded 
solely as an imitation, it is one of the closest and most success- 
ful, without being either a caricature or a parody, 'hat perhaps 
ever appeared in any language. Not only is the general man- 
ner of Scott ably maintained throughout, but the very structure 
of the language, the asso«iations, and the train of thinking, 
appear to be precisely the same. It was once alleged by some 
writers, that it was impossible to imitate Mr. Scott's style . 
but it is now fully proved to the world that there is no style 
more accessible to imitation ; for it will be remarked (layin;; 
parodies aside, which any one may execute), tliat Mr. David, 
son and Miss Halford, as well as Lord Byion and Word^worth. 
each in one instance, have all, without we Oelieve intendini; 
it, imitated him with considerable closeness. The author ol 
the Poetic Mirror has given us one s|)ecimen of his most pol- 
ished and tender style, and another, still more close, ot hit 
rapid and careless manner ; but all of them fall greatly shon 
of the Bridal of Triermain, and the poem note before u* 
We are sHre the author will laugh heartily in his sleeve at OU' 
silliness and want of perception, when we confess to him thai 
we never could oi)en either of these works, and peruse his page» 
for two minutes with attention, and at the same ..me divest 
our minds of the idea that we were engaged in an early oi 
exp -rimental work of that great master. That they are gene- 
rally inferior to the works of Mr. Scott in vigor and interest, 
admits no* of dispute ; still they have many of his wild and 
softer beauties; and if they fail to be read and admired, w« 
shall not on that account think the better of the taste oJ th« 
age." — Blackwood's Magazine, April, 1817. 

ENIl OF HAROLD THE DAUNTLESa 



Jntrotructor^ Hem ark «* 



ON 



Jpopitlar Poetru, 



AND ON THE 



*AIOUS COLLECTIONS OF BALLADS OF BRITAIN, PARTICULAKLT THOSE 

OF SCOTLAND. 



iHi. Introduction originally prefixed to "The 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," was rather of 
t historical than a Uterary nature ; and the re- 
marks vhich follow have been added, to afford the 
general reader some information upon the charac- 
ter of Ballad Poetry. 

It would be tlirowing away words to prove, 
what all must admit, the general taste and pro- 
pensity of nations in their early state, to cultivate 
some species of rude poetry. When the organs 
and faculties of a primitive race have developed 
themselves, each for its proper and necessary use, 
there is a natural tendency to employ them in a 
more refined and regulated manner for purposes 
of amusement. The savage, after proving the ac- 
tivity of his limbs in the chase or the battle, trains 
them to more measured movements, to dance at 
Che festivals of his tribe, or to perform obeisance 
before the altars of his deity. From the same im- 
pulse, he is disposed to refine the ordinary speech 
which forms the vehicle of social communication 
betwixt him and his brethren, until, by a more or- 
Late diction, modulated by certain rules of rhythm, 
Cidence, assonance of termination, or recurrence of 
sound or letter, he obtains a dialect more solemn 
m expression, to record the laws or exploits of his 
tribe, or more sweet in sound, in which to plead 
his own cause to his mistress. 

This primeval poetry nmst have one general 
character in all nations, both as to its merits and 
its imperfections. The earlier poets have the ad- 
vai:tdge, and it is not a small one, of having the 
first choice out of the stock of materials wliich are 
proper to tl :i art; and^thus they compel later au- 
thors, II they would avoid slavisldy imitating the 
fathers of verse, into various devices, often more 

> These remarks were first appended to the edition of the 
Minetrelsy of the Scottish Border," 1830.— Ed. 

' Sir Walter Scott, as this paragraph intimates, never donbt- 
68 



ingenious than elegant, that they may establish, i< 
not an absolute claim to origiuahty, at least a visi 
ble distinction betwixt themselves and their pre 
decessors. Thus it happens, that early poets al 
most uniformly display a bold, rude, original cast 
of genius and expression. They have walked ai 
free-will, and witli unconstrained steps, along the 
wilds of Parnassus, while their followers move 
with constrained gestures and forced attitudes, in 
order to avoid placing their feet where their pre- 
decessors have stepped befoit them. The firsi 
bard who compared his hero to a lion, struck a 
bold and congenial note, though the simile, in a 
nation of hunters, be a very obvious one; but 
every subsequent poet who shall use it, must 
either struggle hard to give liis hon, as heralds 
say, with a difference, or lie under the imputatior 
of being a servile imitator. 

It is not probable that, by any researches ol 
modern times, we shall ever reach back to an ear- 
lier model of poetry than Homer ; but as there 
hved heroes before Agamemnon, so, unquestiona- 
bly, poets existed befi)re the immortal Bard who 
gave the Iving of kings his fame ; and he whom all 
civilized nations now acknowledge as the Father 
of P»ietry, must have himself looked back to an 
ancestry of poetical predecessors, and is only held 
original because we know not from whom he copied 
Indeed, though much must be ascribed to the rich© 
of his own individual genius, the poetry of Homei 
argues a degree of perfection m an art which prac- 
tice had already rendered regular, and concernuig 
which, liis frequent mention of the bards, or chant- 
ers of poetry, indicates plainly that it was studied 
by many, and known and admired by alL* 

It is uideed easily discovered, that the quahties 

ed that the Iliad and Odyssey were snbstantially the works ol 
one and the same individual. He said of the VVolfian hypo 
thesis, that it was the most irreligious one he had he'jrd «' 
and could never be believed in b/ any voet. — Ed 



538 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS: 



necessary for composing such poems ai'e not the 
portion of every niiin in the tribe ; that the bard, 
to reach excellence in liis art, must possess some- 
thing more thau a full command of words and 
phrases, and the knack of arranging them m such 
form as ancient exanijjles have fixed upon as the 
recognized structure ot national verse The tribe 
speedily become sensible, that besides this degree 
of mechanical facility, -which (like making what 
are called at school nonsense verses) may be at- 
tamed by dint of memory and practice, much 
bigher qualifications are demanded. A keen and 
active power of observation, capable of perceiv- 
ing at a glance the leading circumstances from 
srhich the incident described derives its charac- 
ter ; quick antl powerful feelings, to enable the 
bartl to comprehend and delineate those of the 
actors in his piece ; and a command of language, 
alternately soft and elevated, and suited to express 
the conceptions which he had formed in liis mind, 
ore all necessary to eminence in the poetical art. 

Above all, to attain the highest point of his pro- 
fession, the poet must have that original power of 
embodying and detailmg chcumstances, which can 
|)lace before the eyes of others a scene which only 
exists in his own imagination. This last high and 
creative faculty, namely, that of impressing the 
mind of the • hearers with scenes and sentiments 
having no existence save through their art, has 
procured for the bards of Greece the term of 
noinmi;, wliich, as it singularly happens, is hterally 
translated by the Scottish epithet for the same 
class of persons, whom they termed the Makers. 
The P'reuch phrase of Trouveurs, or Troubadours, 
namely, the Finders, or Inventors, has the same 
reference to the quality of original conception and 
invention proper to the poetical art, and without 
which it can hardly be said to exist to any pleas- 
ing or useful purpose. 

The mere arrangement of words into poetical 
ihytlmi, or combining them according to a tech- 
nical rule or measure, is so closely connected with 
the art of music, tliat an alliance between these 
two fine arts is very soon closely formed. It is 
fruitless t-" uiqnire which of tliem has been first 
invented, since doubtless the precedence is acci- 
dental ; and it signifies httle whether the musician 
adapts verses to a rude time, or whether the pri- 
mitive poet, in reciting his productions, falls natu- 
rally into a chant or song. With this additional 
accomplishment, the poet becomes doiioj, or the 
•nan of song, and his character is complete when 
the additional accompaniment of a lute or harp is 
added to hia vocal performance. 



> The " Poema del Cid" (of which Mr. Frere has translated 
.ome specimens) is, however, considered by every historian of 
Hpanish literature, as the work of one hand ; luid is ei 'dently 



Here, therefore, we have the history of earh 
poetry in all nations. But it is evident that 
though poetry seems a plant pi-oper to almost alJ 
soils, yet not only is it of various kinds, according 
to the chmate and country in wliich it has its ori- 
gin, but the poetry of different nations dift'ers still 
more widely in the degree of excellence which it 
attains. Tliis must depend in some measme, n'l 
doubt, on the temper and manners of the people 
or their proximity to those spirit-stirrmg eventi 
which are natm-ally selected as the subject oi 
poetry, and on the more comprehensiv*- or ener- 
getic character of the language spoken by the 
tribe. But the progress of the art is far r^ore de- 
pendent upon the rise of some highly gifted indi- 
vidual, possessing in a pre-eminent and uncommon 
degree the powers demanded, whose talents in 
fluence the taste of a whole nation, and entail on 
their posterity and language a character almost 
indehbly sacred. In this respect Homer stands 
alone and unrivalled, as a light from whose lamp 
the genius of successive ages, and of distant na- 
tions, has caught fire and illumination ; and who, 
though the early poet of a rude age, has pm-ch;xsed 
for the era he has celebrated, so much reverence 
that, not daring to bestow on it the term of bar- 
barous, we distinguish it as the heroic period. 

No other poet (sacred and inspired authors ex- 
cepted) ever did, or ever will, possess the same 
influence over posterity, in so many distant lands, 
as has been acquired by the blind old man ol 
Chios ; yet we are assured that his works, collected 
by the pious care of Pisistratus, who caused to be 
united into their present form those divine poems, 
would otherwise, if preserved at all, have ap- 
peared to succeeding generations in the humble 
state of a collection of detached ballads, connected 
only as referrinir to the same age, the same gene- 
ral subjects, and the same cycje of heroes, like the 
metrical jioems of the Cid in Spain,' or of Robin 
Hood in England. 

In other countries, less favored, either in lan- 
guage or hi picturesque incident, it cannot be sup- 
posed that even the genius of Homer could have 
st)iu'ed to such exclusive eminence, since he »iust 
at once have been deprived of the subjecta and 
themes so well adapted for his muse, and of tht 
lofty, melotliou.s, and flexible language in which he 
recorded them. Other natiou-s, during the (ormn- 
tion of their ancient poetry, Avaiited the gemus oi 
Homer, as well as Ms picturesque scenery and 
lofty language. Yet the investigation of the early 
poetry of every nation, even the rudest, carriei 
with it an object of curiosity and uiterest. It is a 



more ancient than the detached ballads on the Adventures 01 
the Campeador which are included in the Cancioneros.— 
Ed. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



OAr 



fhapter in the histoiy of the childhood of society, 
and its resemblan'.o to, or dissimilarity from, the 
popular rhymes oi jther nations in the same stage, 
aiust needs Hlus'^rate the ancient history of states ; 
Jheii" slower or swifter progress towards civiliza 
tion ; their grat/aal or more rapid adoption of man- 
ners, sentii.ifcuts. and religion. The study, there- 
fore, of lays rtscued from the gulf of oblivion, must 
in every case possess considerable interest for the 
choral pliilosoplier and general liistorian. 

The historian of an individual nation is equally 
If more deeply interested in the researches into 
popular poetry, since he must not disdain to ga- 
ther from the tradition conveyed in ancient ditties 
and ballads, the information necessary to confirm 
)r correct intelligence cjllected from more certain 
ources. And althoufrh the poets were a fabling 
race from the very be.'^iuning of time, and so much 
a-ldicted to exaggo'-ation, that their accounts are 
seldom to be relied on without corroborative evi- 
dence, yet instancf^i frequently occur where the 
Btatenients of poetical tradition are unexpectedly 
confirmed. 

To the loveri" '\'id admirers of poetry as an art, 
il cannot be ud ji teresting to have a glimpse of the 
National Muse m her cradle, or to hear her bab- 
bhng the earl'est attempts at the formation of the 
tuneful pounds with which she was afterwards to 
cliarm poster yj And I may venture to add, that 
among p"- .ly, which, however rude, was a gift of 
Nature's first fruits, even a reader of refined taste 
will find his patience rewarded, by passages in 
which the rude minstrel rises into sx/Olimity or 
melts into pathos. These were the merits which 
induced the classical Addison' to write an elabo- 
rate commentary upon the ballad of Chevy Chase, 
and which roused, like the sound of a trumpet, the 
heroic blood of Sir Plulip Sidney.'* 

It is true that passages of this high character 
seldom occur ; for, during the infancy of the art of 
poetry, the bards have been generally satisfied 
with a rude and careless expression (jf their senti- 
ments ; and even when a more felicitous expres- 
sion, or loftier numbers, have been dictated by the 
tnthusiasm of the composition, the advantage came 
an6a».^ht for, and perhaps unnoticed, either by 
the minstrel or the audience. 

Another cause contributed to the tenuity of 
thought and poverty uf expression, by which old 
ballads aie too often distinguished. The apparent 
punplicity of the ballad stanza carried with it a 
strong temptation to loose and trivial composition. 
The collection of rhymes, accumulated by the ear- 
liest of the craft, appear to have been considered 

> f?ce The Spectatoi. Nos 70 and 74. 

< ' I never hearrt the old song of Percie and Douglas, that 1 



as forming a joint stock for the common use of the 
profession ; and not mere rhymes only, but versei 
and stanzas, have been used as common property 
so as to give an appearance of sameness and cru 
dity to tlie whole series of popular poetry. Siicli, 
for instance, is the salutation so often repeated, — 

" Now Heaven thee save, thou brave young knight, 
Now Heaven thee save and see." 

And such the usual expression for taking coudm 
with, 

" Rede me, rede me, brother dear. 
My rede shall rise at thee 

Such also is the unvaried account of the rose ana 
the brier, wliich are said to spring out of the gr.ive 
of the hero and heroine of these metrical legends, 
with httle eftort at a variation of the expressions 
in wliich the incident is presciiptively told. The 
least acquaintance with the subject will recidl a 
great number of commonplace verses, which eacL 
ballad-maker has unceremoniously appropriated to 
liimself ; thereby greatly facilitating his own taak, 
and at the same time degrading liis art by hia 
slovenly use of over-scutched plu-ases. From the 
same indolence, the ballad-mongers of most nations 
have availed themselves of every opportuuity of 
prolonging their pieces, of the same kind, without 
the labor of actual composition. If a message is 
to be delivered, the poet saves liimself a little 
trouble, by using exactly the same words in which 
it was originally couched, to secure its beuig trans 
mitted to the person for whose ear it was intended. 
The bards of ruder climes, and less favored lan- 
guages, niay indeed claun the comiteuance of 
Homer for such repetitions; but wliilst, in the 
Father of Poetry, they give the reader an oppor 
tm>ity to pause, and look bac:k upon the enchanted 
grounJ over which they have travelled, they afford 
nothing to the modern bard, save facilitating the 
power of stupefying the audience with stanzas ol 
dull and tedious iteration 

Another cause of the flatness and insipidity, 
which is the gi-eat imperfection of ballad poetry, 
is to be ascribed less to the compositions in their 
original state, when rehearsed by th<iir ovthcrs, 
than to the ignorance and eiTors of the reciter<> jt 
transcribers, by whom they ha>"e been transmittt*-! 
to us. The more popular the ocniposition oi an 
ancient poet, or Maker, became, the greater chancfi 
there was of its being corrupted ; for a poem 
transmitted tnrough a number of reciters, like a 
book reprinted in a multitude of editions, incurs 
the risk of impertinent interpolations from the con- 
ceit of one rehearser, unintelligible blunders iron. 

fonnd not my heart moved more than with the sound o' t 
trumpet ; and j-et it is sung but by some blind crowder wiw 
no rougher voice than rude style." — Sidney. 



the stupidity of another, and omissions equally to be 
regretted, from the want of memory in a third. This 
sort of injury is felt very early and the reader 
will find a curious instance in the Introduction to 
the Romance of Sir Tristrem. Robert de Brunne 
there comjlain?, that thougli the Romance of Sir 
Tristrem was the best which had ever been made, 
sf it could be recited as composed by the author, 
Thoma? o: Erceldomie, yet that it was written in 
»uch an ornaie style of language, and such a diffi- 
cult strain of versification, as to lose all value in the 
mouths of ordinary minstrels, who could scarcely 
repi^at one stanza without omitting some part of 
>t, and marring, consequently, both the sense and 
the rhythm of the passage.' This deterioration 
could not be limited to one author alone ; others 
must have suffered from the the same cause, in 
the same or a greater degree. Nay, we are au- 
thorized to conclude, that in proportion to the care 
bestowed by the author upon any poem, to attain 
what his age might suppose to be the highest 
graces of poetry, the greater was the damage which 
it sustained by the inaccuracy of reciters, or their 
desire to humble both the sense and diction of the 
poem to their powers of recollection, and the com- 
prehension of a vulgar audience. It camiot be ex- 
pected that compositions subjected in this way to 
mutilation and corruption, should continue to pre- 
sent their original sense or diction ; and the accu- 
racy of our editions of popular poetry, unless in 
the rare event of recovering original or early copies, 
is lessened in proportion. 

But the chance of these corruptions is incalcu- 
lably increased, when we consider that the ballads 
have been, not in one, but innumerable instances 
i?f transmission, liable to similar alterations, through 
a long course of centuries, duruig which they have 
beeu handed from one ignorant reciter to another, 
each discarding whatever original words or phrases 
time or fashion had, in his opinion, rendered obso- 
lete, and substituting anachronisms by expressions 
taken from the customs of his own day. And here 
it may be remarked, that the desire of the reciter 
to bf- intelligible, however natural and laudable, 
has bc':» one of the greatest causes of the deterio- 
■HticJi of aiv'ient poetry. The minstrel who en- 
•.ea.ored to recite wi'h fidelity the words of the 
mthor, might ind«;ed faL into errors of soimd and 
sens* and substitute corruptions for words he did 
lo* 'xlp.rstand. But the ingenuity of a skilful 

> " That thon may hear a Sir Tristrem : 
Over gestes it has the steem, 
Over all that is or was. 
If men it sayd as made Thomas ; 
But I hear it no man bo say — 
Bit of some copple some is away," &e. 

4n l:itance occurs in the valaable old ballad, called Aold 

» 



critic could often, in that case, revive and resttin 
the original meaning ; while the corrupted wordi 
became, in such cases, a warrant foi the authen 
ticity of the whole poem.' 

In general, however, the later reciters appeal 
to have been far less desuous to speak the author'* 
words, than to introduce amendments and new 
readings of their own, which have always produ'Ted 
the effect of modernizing, and usually that of de 
grading and vulgarizing, the rugged serjse tnii 
spirit of the antique minstrel. Thus, underg. ling 
from age to age a gradual process of alteratioi 
and recomposition, our popular and oral minstrelsy 
has lost, in a great measure, its original appear 
ance ; and the strong touches by which it nad 
beeu formerly chai-acterized, have been generally 
smoothed down and destroyed by a process simi 
lar to that by which a coin, passing from hand to 
hand, loses in circulation all the finer marks of tho 
impress. 

The very fine ballad of Chevy Chase is an ex- 
ample of this degrading species of alchymy. by 
which the ore of antiquity is deteriorated and 
adulterated. While Addison, in an age which had 
never attended to popular poetry, wrote his clas- 
sical criticism on that balla/i, he naturally took for 
his text the ordinary stall-copy, although he might 
and ought to have suspected, that a ditty couched 
in the language nearly of his own time, could not 
be the same with that which Sir Philip Sidney, 
more than one hundred years before, had spoken 
of, as being " evil apparelled in the dust and cob- 
webs of an unciviUzed age." The venerable Bish- 
op Percy was the first to correct this mistake, by 
producing a copy of the song, as old at least as 
the reign of Henry VII., bearing the name of the 
author or transcriber, Richard Sheale.' But even 
the Rev. Editor himself fell under the mistake of 
supposing the modern Chevy Chase to be a new 
copy of the original ballad, expressly modernized 
by some one later bard. l>n the contrary, the 
current version is now universally allowed to havti 
been produced by the gradual ilterations of nu 
merous reciters, during two centui ies, in the course 
of which the ballad has been gravlually moulded 
into a composition bearing only a general resem 
blance to the original — expressing tlie same eveuK. 
and sentiments in much smoothei languiigtr, and 
more flowing and easy versificatic n ; but losing 
in poetical fire and energy, and in the vigor auJ 

Maitlaiia. The ree:ter repeated a verse, descriptive of t')e ae 
fence of a castle, thus : 

" With sprivg-v)idl, staiies, and goads ot aim, 
Among them fast he threw." 
Spring-wall, is n corru|)tion of spring aid. a military engin* 
for casting darts or stones ; the restoration of which lea.'i n| 
gives a orecise and clear sense to the lin^t 
s Bee Percy's Reliques, vol. i. p. S. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



54, 



pithiness of the expression, a great deal more than 
t. has gained in suavity of diction. Thus : — 

■' The Percy owt of North omberland, 
And a vowe to God mayd he, 
That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 

Off' Cheviot within dayes thre, 
In the mauger ot douglity Dougles, 
And all that pver with liim be." 



The !<toul Firl of Northumberland 

A vow lO God did malie. 
His pleasure in the Scottish woods 

Three summer days to take," &c. 

/rem this, and other examples of the same kind, 
,>f wliicli many might be quoted, we must often 
expect to find the remams of Minstrel poetry, com- 
posed originally for the courts of princes and halls 
of nobles, disguised in the more modern and vul- 
gar tlialect in which they have been of late svmg 
to the frequenters of the rustic ale-bench. It is 
mnecessary to mention more than one other re- 
markable and humbling instance, printed in the 
curious collection entitled, a Ballad-Book, where 
we find, in the words of the ingenious Editor,' a 
stupid ballad, prmted as it was sung in Annandale, 
founded on the well-known story of the Prince of 
Salerno's daughter, but with the uncouth change 
of Dysmal for Ghismonda, and Guiscard trans- 
ff)rmed mto a greasy kitchen-boy. 

" To what base uses may we not return !" 

tSometim'».s a still more material and systematic 
difference f ppears between the poems of antiqui- 
ty, as they iP^ere originally composed, and as they 
now exist This occurs in cases where the longer 
netrical r mances, which were in fashion dm-ing 
the midd ' ages, were reduced to shorter compo- 
sition*', i j . /der tliat they might be chanted before 
an inf ,r.fr audience. A ballad, for example, of 
Thojui?j jf Erceldoune, and liis intrigues with the 
Qr.eeu jf Faery-Land, is, or has been, long current 
m I'e /iotdale, and other parts of Scotland. Two 
anc'.dr.t copies of a poem, or romance, on the same 
subject, and containing very often the same words 
and turns of expression, are preserved in the hbra- 
ties of the Cathedral of Lincoln and Peterborough. 
We /vra left to conjecture whether the originals of 
such ballads have been gradually contracted into 
their modern shape by the impatience of later 
audiences, combined with the lack of memory 
displayed by more modern reciters, or whether, 
in particular cases, some ballad-maker may have 

' Chwles KirKpatrick Bharpe, Esq. The Ballad-Book waa 
i»rin;,ed in 182.S, and inscribed to Sir Walter .Scott ; the im- 
pression coniisling of only thirty copies. 

2 Th'-sfc k -vo ancient Romances are reprinted in a volume 
if" Ea>)y Metrical Tales," edited by Mr. David Laing, Edin- 
*araP. iEiSt- »ni<>" Svo, Only 175 copies printed. 



actually set himself to vork to retrench the old 
details of the minstrels, and regularly and syb 
tematically to modernize, and if the phrase be per- 
mitted, to balladize, a metrical romance. We are 
assured, however, that " Roswal and LiliiUi" was 
sung through the streets of Edmburgh two gene- 
rations since ; and we know that the romance ol 
" Sir Eger, Sir Grime, and Sir Greysteil,"'' had also 
its own particular chant, or tune. The st:ill-copiea 
of both these romances, as they now exist, are very 
much abbreviated, and probably exljibit thezn 
when they were undergoing, or had nearly 
undergone, the process of being cut down into 
ballads. 

Taking into consideration the various indirect 
channels by wliich the popular poetry of our an 
cestors has been transmitted to their posterity, ii 
is nothing surprising that it sliould reach us in a 
mutilated and degraded state, and that it should 
Uttle correspond with the ideas we are apt to form 
of the first productions of national genius ; nay, it 
is more to be wondered at that we possess so many 
ballads of considerable merit, than that the much 
greater number of them which must have one? 
existed, should have perished before our time. 

Having given this brief account of ballad poetrj 
in general, the purpose of the present prefatorj 
remarks will be accomplished, by shortly noticing 
the popular poetry of Scotland, and some of th« 
efforts which have been made to collect and illus- 
trate it. 

It is now generally admitted that the Scots and 
Picts, however differing otherwise, were each by 
descent a Celtic race ; that they advanced m a 
course of victory somewhat farther than the pres- 
ent frontier between England and Scotland, and 
about the end of the eleventh century subdued 
and rendered tributary the Britons of Strathcluyd 
who were also a Celtic race like themselves. Ex 
cepting, therefore, the provinces of Berwickshire 
and the Lotliians, which were cliiefly inhabited by 
an Anglo-Saxon population, the whole of Scotland 
was peopled by different tribes of the same abo- 
riginal race,' — a race passionately addicted to mu 
sic, as appears from the kindred Celtic nations oi 
Irish, Welsh, and Scottish, preserving each to thia 
day a style and character of music pecuhar to their 
own country, though all three bear marks oi geu« 
ral resemblance to each other. That of Scotland 
in particular, is early noticed and extoUed by 
ancient authors, and its remains, to which the na- 
tives are passionately attached, are still foiuid t« 

3 The author seems to have latterly modified his origina) 
opinion on some parts of this subject. In his reviewal of Mr 
P. F. Tytler's History of Scotland (duart. Rev. vol. xli. p 
328), he says, speaking of the period of the final snbjojritioi 
of the Picts, " It would appear the Scandinavians had colo 
nies along the fertile shores of Mrray, aud among the mota 



642 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



afford pleasure even to those who cultivate the art 
upon a more refined and varied system. 

This skill in music did not, of course, exist with- 
out a corresponding degree of talent for a speciea 
of poetry, adapted to the habits of the country, 
celebrating the victories of triumphant clans, pour- 
ing forth lamentations over f^illen lieroes, and re- 
ccrding such marvellous adventures as were cal- 
culated to amuse individual families around their 
bousoliold fires, or the whole tribe when regaling 
in the hall of the chief. It happened, however, 
singularh enough, tliat while the music continued 
to be Celtic in its general measure, the language 
of Scotland, most commonly spoken, began to be 
that of their'neighbors, the Enghsh, introduced by 
the multitude of Saxons who thronged to the court 
of Malcolm Canmore and his successors; by the 
crowds of prisoners of war, whom the repeated 
ravages of the Scots in N'orthumberland carried off 
as slaves to their country ; by the influence of the 
inliabitants of the richest and most populous prov- 
inces in Scotland, Berwickshire, namely, and the 
Lothians, over the more mountainous ; lastly, by 
the superiority which a language like the Anglo- 
Saxon, considerably refined, long since reduced to 
writing, and capable of expressmg the wants, 
wishes, and sentiments of the speakers, must have 
possessed over the jargon of various tribes of Irish 
and British origin, hmited and contracted in every 
varying dialect, and differing, at the same time, 
from each other. This superiority being consid- 
ered, and a fair length of time being allowed, it is 
;io wonder that, whilo the Scottish people retained 
their Celtic music, and many of then- Celtic cus- 
toms, together with their Celtic dynasty, they 
should nevertheless have adopted, throughout the 
Lowlands, the Saxon language, wliile in the High- 
lands they retained the Celtic dialect, along with 
*be dress, arms, manners, and government of their 
fathers. 

There was, for a time, a solemn national recog- 
niyjince that the Saxon language and poetry had 
not originally been that of the royal family. For, 
af the coronations of the kings of Scotland, previ- 
ous to Alexander III., it was a part of the solem- 
oity, that a Celtic bard stepped forth, so soon as 
tVe .King assumed his seat upon the fated stone, 
aa* recited the genealogy of the monarch in Celtic 
Ter»e, setting forth his descent, and the right 
which he had by birth to occupy the place of sov- 
e)-oignty. Ff^ a time, no doubt, the Celtic songs 



lalna of Bntnerisnii, whose name sneaka for itseIC that it was 
given by the Norwegians , and prohably they had ajso settle- 
menU in Caithness and the Orcades." In this essay, however, 
te adheres in the main to his Anti-Pinkertonian doctrine, and 
feats the Picts as Celts. — Ed. 

' A cunook fti^coont of the reception of an Irish or Celtic 



and poems remained current in the Lowlands 
while any remnant of the language yet lasted. 
The QaeUc or Irish bards, we are also aware, oc- 
casionally strolled into the Lowlands where thoir 
music might be received with favor, even aftei 
their recitation Avas no longer understood But 
though these aboriginal poets showed themselves 
at festivals and other places of public resort, it 
does not appear that, as in Homer's +i.»ne, thej 
were honored with high places at the bc/ard, anc 
savory morsels of the chine ; but they seem rathei 
to have been accounted fit compaiiv for the feigned 
fools and sturdy beggars, with .vhom they were 
ranked by a Scottish statute.' 

Time was necessary wholly to eratlicate one 
language and mtroduce another ; but it is remark- 
able that, at the death of Alexander he Third, 
the last Scottish king of the pure Celtic race, the 
popular lament for his death was composed in 
Scoto-English, and, though closely resembling th< 
modern dialect, is the earliest example we have of 
that language, whether in prose or poetry.'' About 
the same time flourished the celebrated Thomas 
the Rhymer, whose poem, written in EngUsh, or 
Lowland Scottish, with the most anxious attention 
both to versification and alliteration, forms, even 
as it now exists, a very curious specimen of the 
early romance. Such complicated construction 
was greatly too concise for the public ear, which 
is best amus".d by a looser diction, in which nume- 
rous repetitions, and prolonged descriptions, enable 
the comprehension of the audience to keep up with 
the voice of the singer or reciter, and supply the 
gaps which in general must have taken place, 
either tlirough a failure of attention in the hear- 
ers, or of voice and distinct enunciation on the 
jjart of the minstrel. 

The usual stanza which was sehcted as the 
most natural to the language and the sweetest to 
the ear, after the complex system of the more 
courtlv measures, used by Thomas of Erceldoime, 
was laid aside, was that wliich, when originally 
introduced, we very often find arranged in two 
hues, thus : — 

" Earl Donglas on his milk-white steed, most like a baroD 
bold. 
Rode foremost of his company, whose armor shone 'ik« 
gold;" 

but which, after being divided into four, consti 
tutes what is now generally called the ballad 
stanza, — 



bard at a festival, is given in Sir John Hollam"- Bike sf tM 

Houlat, Bannatyne edition, p. liii 

1 " Whan Alexander our king was ded, 
Wlia Scotland led in luve and lee 
Away was sons of ale and breil. 
Of wine and wax, of game and giee," &0> 




Enri Donglas on his milk-white steed, 

Most like a baron bold, 
Rode foremost of his company, 

Whose armor slione like gold." 

The creaking u:" the lines contains a plainer in- 
jiaation how th« stanza ought to be read, than 
every one ctruld gather from the original mode of 
writing out the poem, where the position of the 
eajsura, w inflection of voice, is left to the individ- 
njil's own taste. This was sometimes exchanged 
V a stanza of six Unes, tne thira and sixth rhym- 
'ne together. For works of more miportance and 
pretension, a more compUcated versiiication was 
r,till retained, and may be found in the tale of 
Ralph Coilzear,' the Adventures of Artliur at the 
Tarn-Wathelyn, Sir Gawain, and Sh' Gologras, and 
other scarce romances. A specimen of this struc- 
ture of verse has been handed down to our times 
in the stanza of Christ Kirk on the Green, trans- 
mitted by King James L, to Allan Ramsay and 
to Bums. The excessive passion for alliteration, 
wliich formed a rule of the Saxon poutry, was also 
retained in the Scottish poems of a more elevated 
character, though the more ordinary nunstrels and 
lallad-makers threw off the restraint. 

The varieties of stanza thus adopted for popular 
poetry were not, we may easUy suppose, left long 
unemployed. In frontier regions, where men are 
contitiually engaged in active enterprise, betwixt 
ile task of defending themselves and annoying 
thoir neighbors, they may be said to hve in an 
atmosphere of danger, the excitation of which is 
peculiarly favorable to the encouragement of po- 
etry. Hence, the expressions of Lesly the Mstori- 
an, quoted in the following Introduction,'' in which 
he paints the delight taken by the Borderers in 
their jieculiar species of music, and the rhyming 
ballads in which they celebrated the feats of their 
ancestors, or recorded their own ingenious strata- 
gems in predatory warfare. In the same Intro- 
duction, the reader will find the reasons alleged 
why the taste for song was and must have been 
long' r preserved on the Border than in the inte- 
ri " of the country. 

fJaving thus made some remarks on early poe- 
I'T in general, and on that of Scotland in particu- 
lar, the Editor's purpose is, to mention the fate of 
Bome previous attempts to collect ballad poetry, 
ina th? principles of selection and publication 
which have been adopted by various editors of 
learning and infoimation ; and although the pres- 

- This ant. ^.o»i of tne other romances here referred to, 
umy be found reprinted in a volume, entitled, "Select Re- 
na'ns of the Ar'jient Potiuhir Poetry o( Scotland" (Edin. 
!822 Small 4io.) Edited by Mr Oavid Lamg, and inscribed 
o Sir Walter Sofitt. 

» See M';n3t»ei8v of the S ;ott sh Border vol. i. p. 213. 



ent work chiefly reg-irds the Ballads of Scotland, 
yet the investigation must necessarily include 
some of the principal collections among the Sng 
Ush also. 

Of manuscript records of ancient ballads, very 
few have been yet discovered. It is probable 
that the minstrels, seldom kno-nang either how tc 
read or write, trusted to their well-exercised 
memories. Noi was it a difficult task to acfjrOre 
a sufficient stock in trade for tlieir purpose, smce 
the Editor has not only known many persons ca- 
pable of retainipg a very large collection of legend- 
ary lore of tliis kind, but there was a period in hig 
own hfe, when a memory that ought to have been 
cliarged with more valuable matter, enabled him 
to recollect as many of these old S(.ngs a« would 
have occupied several days in the rt citation. 

The press, however, at length superseded the 
necessity of such exertions of recollection, and 
sheafs of ballads issued from it weekly, for thf 
amusement of the sojourners at the alehouse, and 
the lovers of poetry in grange and hall, where 
such of the audience as could not read, had at 
least read unto them. These fugitive leaves, gen 
erally printed upon broadsides, or in small mis 
cellaiiies called Garlands, and circulating amongsl 
persons of loose and careless habits — so far a? 
books were concerned — were subject to destruc- 
tion from many causes •, and as the editions hi the 
early age of printing were probably much limited 
even those published as chap-books in the early 
part of the 1 8th century, are rarely met with. 

Some persons, however, seem to have had what 
their contemporaries probably thought the bizarrt 
taste of gathering and preserving collections ol 
this fugitive poetry. Hence the great body of 
ballads in the Pepysian collection of Cambridge, 
made by that Secretary Pepys, whose Diary is si. 
very amusing ; and hence the still more valuable 
deposit, ui tlirce volumes folio, in wliich the lati- 
Duke John of Roxburghe took so much pleasure 
that he was often found enlarging it with fresh 
acquisitions, which he pasted in and registered 
with lii? own hand. 

The first attempt, however, to -eprmt a colleo 
tion of ballads for a class of reac.ers disrmct from 
those for whose use the stall-copies were intenaad, 
was that of an anonymous editor of three 12mo 
volumes, which appeared in London, with engrav- 
ings. Tliese volumes came out m various years, 
in the beginning of the IStli certury.* The editor 

s " A Collection of Old' Ballads, vX)llected from the best and 
most ancient Copies extant, with Introductions, Ilistoncai am 
Critical, illustrated with copper-plates." This anonymoo, 
collection, first published in 1723, was so well received, thai 
It soon passed to a second edition, and two more volume* "'er* 
added in 1723 aid 1725. The third edition <d tb^ first vuiamt 
is dated 1727.— Ei» 



.44 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



writes with some flippancy, but with the air of a 
|)erson superior to the ordinary drudgery of a mere 
roUector. His work appears to have been got up 
at considerable expense, and the general introduc- 
tions and historical illustrations which are prefixed 
to the various ballads, are written with an ac- 
.-.uracy of which srch a subject had not till then 
'weE deemed worthy. The prmcipal part of the 
.■v)l lection consists of stall-baDads, neither possess- 
■iig much poetical merit, nor any particular rarity 
ir curiosity. Still tliis original Miscellany holds a 
'.onsiderable value amongst collectors ; and as the 
rlu-ee volumes — being published at different times 
— are seldom found together, they sell for a high 
price when complete. 

We may now turn our eyes to Scotland, where 
the facility of the dialect, which cuts off the con- 
sonants in the termination of the words, so as 
greatly to simplify the task of rhyming, and the 
habits, dispositions, and manners of the people, 
were of old so fevorable to the composition of bal- 
lad-poetry, that, had the Scottish songs been pre- 
served, there is no doubt a very curious history 
might have been composed by means of minstrelsy 
only, fi-om the reign of Alexander III. in 1285, 
down to the close of the Civil Wars in 1746. That 
materials for such a collection existed, cannot be 
disputed, since the Scottish liistorians often refer 
to old ballads as authorities for general tradition. 
But their regular preservation was not to be 
hoped for or expected. Successive garlands of 
song sprung, flourished, faded, and were forgotten, 
in their turn; and the names of a '"ew specimens 
are only preserved, to show us how abundant the 
display of tliese wild flowers had been. 

Like the natural free gifts of Flora, these poeti- 
cal garlands can only be successfully sought for 
where the land is uncultivated; and civilization 
and increase of learning are sure to banish them, 
as the plough of the agriculturist bears down the 
mountain daisy. Yet it is to be recorded with 
some interest, that the earliest surviving specimen 
of the Scottish press, is a Miscellany of Millar and 
Chapman,' which preserves a considerable fund of 
Scottish popular poetry, and among other things, 
no bad specimen of the gests of Robin Hood, " the 
English oallad-maker's joy," and whose renown 
seems to have been as freshly preserved in the 
north as on the southern shores of the Tweed. 
ITiere were probably several collections of Scot- 
tish ballads and metrical pieces during the seven- 

' A facsimile reprint, in black-letter, of the Original Tracts 
A-hich issued from the press of Walter Chepir.an and Andro 
Myllar at Edinburgh, in the year 1508, was published nndei 
•he title of "The Knightly Tale of Golagrus and Gawaim, 
»nd other Ancient Poems," in 1827, 4to. The " litil gesie ' 
if Robin Hood, referred to in the text, is a fragment of a 
xece contained in Ritsos'* Collection. — Ed. 



teenth century. A very fine one, belonging t' 
Lord Montagu, perished in the fire which con- 
stmaed Ditton House, about twenty years ago. 

James Watson, in 1706, pubhshed, at Edinbiu-gh, 
a miscellaneous collection in three parts, contain- 
ing some ancient poetry. But the first editor who 
seems to have made a determhied effort to pre 
serve our ancient popular poetry was the well- 
known Allan Ramsay, in liis Evergreen, containing 
chiefly extracts from the ancient Scottish Makers, 
whose poems have been preserved in the Banna- 
tyne Maimscript, but exhibiting amongst them 
some popular ballads. Amongst these is the 
Battle of Harlaw, apparently from a modernized 
copy, being probably the most ancient Sco.ttish 
historical ballad of any length now in existence. 
He also inserted m the same collection, the genu- 
ine Scottish Border ballad of Johnnie Armstrong, 
copied from the recitation of a descendant of the 
unfortunate hero, in the sixth generation. This 
poet also included in the Evergreen, Hardyknute, 
which, though evidently modern, is a most spirited 
and beautiful imitation of the ancient ballad. Id 
a subsequent collection of lyrical pieces, called the 
Tea-Table Miscellany, Allan Ramsay inserted sev- 
eral old ballads, such as Cruel Barbara Allan, 
The Bon7iie Earl of Murray, There came a Ghost 
to Margaret's door, and two or three others. But 
his unliappy plan of writing new words to old 
tunes, without at the same time preserving the 
ancient verses, led him, with the assistance ot 
" some ingenious yomig gentlemen," to throw 
aside many originals, the preservation of which 
would have been much more interesting than any 
thing which has been substituted in their stead.' 

In fine, the task of collecting and illustrating 
ancient popular poetry, whethe' m England oi 
Scotland, was never executed by a competent 
per.son, possessing the necessary powe^^s of selec 
tion and annotation, till it was imdertaken by Di 
Percy, afterwards Bishop of Dromore in Ireland 
This reverend gentleman, himself a poet, and rank 
ing high among the hterati of the day, command- 
ing access to the individuals and institutions which 
could best afford hnn materials, gave the publir 
the result of his researclies in a work entitled 
" Reliques of Ancient Enghsh Poetry," in thre* 
volumes, pubhshed in London 1765, which ha* 
since gone through four editions.* The taste with 
which the materials were chosen, the e.<trera» 
felicity with which they were illustrated, the dia- 

a See Appendix, Note A. 

s S«e Appendix, Note B. 

* Sir Walter Scott corresponded fremently with the ituhoi 
of Dromore, at the time when he was collecting the mateimj 
of the " Border MiustreUv." — Ed. 



play at once of antiquarian knowledge and classi- 
cal reading which the collecti' — "''dicated, render 
It difficult to imitate, and impossible to excel, a 
w^ork which must always be held among the first 
u( Its clh,ss in point of merit, though not actually 
^.he foremost in point of time. But neither the 
'ugn character of the work, nor the rank and re- 
spectability of the author, could protect him or 
his labors, from the invidious attacks of criticism. 

The most formidable of these were directed by 
Joseph Ritson, a man of acute observation, pro- 
found research, and great labor. These valuable 
attributes were unhappily combined with an eager 
irritability of temper, which induced him to treat 
antiquarian trifles with the same seriousness wliich 
men of the world reserve for matters oi i.nport- 
ance, and disposed him to drive controversies into 
personal quarrels, by neglecting in literary de- 
jate, the courtesies of ordinary society.' it ought 
to be said, however, by one who knew him well 
that this irritability of disposition was a constitu- 
tional and physical infirmity, and that Ritson's 
extreme attachment to the severity of truth, cor- 
responded to the rigor of his criticisms upon the 
labors of others. He seems to have attacked 
Bishop Percy with the greater animositv as bear- 
ing no good will to the liierarchy, in which that 
prelate held a distinguished place. 

Ritson's criticism, in which there was too much 
horse-play, was grounded on two points of accusa- 
tion. The first point regarded Dr. Percy's definition 
of the order and office of minstrels, which Ritson 
considered as designedly overcharged, for the sake 
of giving an undue importance to his subject. The 
second objection respected the liberties which Dr. 
Percy had taken with his materials, in adding to, 
retrenching, and improving them, so as to bring 
them nearer to the taste of his own period. We 
will take some brief notice of both topics. 

First, Dr. Percy, in the first edition of his work, 
certainly laid liimself open to the charge of having 
given an inaccurate, and somewhat exaggerated 
account of the English Minstrels, whom he d"^"'od 
to be an " order of men in the middle ages, who 
Bubsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and 
Bung to the harp the verses wliich they themselves 
composed." The reverend editor of the Reliques 
produced in support of this definition many curious 
quotations, to show that in many instances the 
persons of these minstrels had been honored and 
respected, their performances applauded and re- 
warded by the great and the courtly, and their 
craft imitated by princes themselves. 

Against both these propositions, Ritson made a 
determined opposition. He contended, and pro- 

1 See Appendix, Note C. 
69 



bably with justice, that the minstrels -v^e^re not 
necessarily poets, or in the regular habit of com- 
posing the verses which they sung to the harp ; 
and mdeed, that the word minstrel, in its ordiiiary 
acceptation, meant no more than musician. 

Dr. Percy, from an amended edition of his Essay 
on Minstrelsy, prefixed to the fourth edition of the 
Reliques of Ancient Poetry, seems to have been, 
to a certain point, convinced by the critic's reason- 
ing; for he has extended the definition impugned 
by Ritson, and the minstrels are thus described 
as singing verses " composed by themselves or 
others." This we apprehend to be a tenable posi- 
tion ; for, as on the one hand it seems too broad an 
averment to say that all minstrels were by pro» 
fession poets, so on the other, it is extravagant to 
affirm, that men who were constantly in tht habit 
of reciting verse, should not frequently havo ac 
quired that of composing it, especially when thei? 
bread depended on giving pleasure , and to hav*> 
the power of producing noveky, is a great step 
towards that desirable end. No unprejudiced 
reader, therefore, can have any hesitation in adoj4 
ing Bishop Percy's definition of the minstrels, and 
their occupation, as qualified in the fourth eclitio'* 
of his Essay, implying that they were sometimes 
poets, sometimes the mere reciters of the poetry 
of others. 

On the critic's second proposition. Dr. Percy sue 
cessfuUy showed, that at no period of history was 
the word minstrel applied to instrumental music 
exclusively; and he has produced sufficient evi- 
dence, that the talents of the profession were a» 
frequently employed in chanting or reciting po 
etry as in playing the mere tunes. There is ap 
pearance of distinction being sometimes made be 
tween minstrel recitations and minstrelsy of music 
alone ; and we may add a curious instance, to thoa# 
quoted by the Bishop. It is from the singula 
ballad respecting Thomas of Erceldoune," whicl 
announces the proposition, that tongue is chief ol 
minstrelsy. 

"We may also notice, that the word minstrel be 
ing in fact derived from the Minn6-singer of the 
Germans, means, in its primary sense, one who 
sings of love, a sense totally inapplicable to a mere 
instrumental rousician. 

A second general point on which Dr. Percy waa 
fiercely attacked by Mr. Ritson, was also one on 
which both the parties might claim a right to sing 
Te Denm, It respected the rank or status which 
was held by the minstrels in society during thp 
middle ages. On this point the editor of the Re- 
liques of Ancient Poetry had produced the most 
satisfactory evidence, that, at the courts of the 

2 Select Remains of Popular Pieces of Poetry. Edinborcii 
1822. 



Aiiglo-Normau princes, the professors of the gay 
jcience were the favorite solacers of the leisure 
hours of princes, who did not themselves disdam 
to share their tuneful labors, and imitate their 
compositions. Mr. Ritson replied to this with great 
mgeuuity, arguing, that such instancp" ?;f respect 
paid to French minstrels reciimg in thek native 
language in the court of Norman monarchs, though 
held in Britain, argued nothing in favor of English 
ai lists professing the same trade ; and of whose 
compositions, and not of those existing in the 
French language. Dr. Percy professed to form his 
collection. The reason of the distinction betwixt 
the respectability of the French minstrels, and the 
degradation of the same class of men in England, 
Mi Ritson plausibly alleged to be, that the Eng- 
Usli language, a mixed speech betwixt Anglo- 
Saxon and Norman-French, was not known at the 
court of the Anglo-Norman kings until the reign 
of Ed^\ ard III. ;' and that, therefore, until a very 
late period, and when the lays of minstrelsy were 
going out of fasliion, English performers in that 
capacity must have confined the exercise of their 
talents to the amusement of the vulgar. Now, as 
it must be conceded to Mr. Ritson, that almost all 
the English metrical romances which have been 
preserved till the present day, are translated from 
the French, it may also be allowed, that a class of 
men employed cliiefly in rendering into Enghsh 
the works of others, could not hold so high a sta- 
tion as those who aspired to original composition ; 
and so far the critic has the best of the dispute. 
But Mr. Ritson has over-driven his argument, since 
Miere was assuredly a period in English history, 
when the national minstrels, writing in the nation- 
al dialect, were, ui proportion to their merit in 
their calling, held in hoifbr and respect. 

Tliomas the Rhymer, for example, a minstrel who 
Bourished in the end of the twelfth centiuy, was 
;iot only a man of talent in liis art, but of some 
rank in society; the companion of nobles, and him- 
self a man of landed property. He, and his con- 
temporary Kendal, wrote, as we are assured by 
Robert de Brunne, in a passage already alluded 
to, a kind of Enghsh, which was designed for " pride 
Hid ncjbleye,'"' and not for such inferior persons as 
Bxilirt himself addressed, and to whose compre- 
hensi'in he avowedly lowered his language and 
iitrufture of versification. Tliere existed, there- 
t.ire, dming the time of this historian, a more re- 

1 That monarch first used the vernacular English dialect in 
k mott-. which he displayed on liis shield at a celebrated toui^ 
naroent. Tlie legend which graced the representation cS a white 
IWkn on the king's buckler, ran thus : — 

"Ha! ha! the whyte swan 1 
By Goddia soule I am thy man." 

• The learned editor of VVartoii's History of English Poetry, 
(• (rfopuiioa Ui«t Sir IVa.ter Scott misinterpreted the passage 



fined dialect of the English language, used by bu-jS 
composers of popular poetry as moved in a highei 
circle ; and there can be no doubt, that while 
their productions were held in such high esteejn, 
the authors must have been honored in proportion 

The education bestowed upon James I. of Scot 
land, when brought up under the charge of Henrj 
IV., comprehended both music and the art of ver 
nacular poetry ; in other words, Minstrtdsy m both 
branches. That poetry, of wliicli the King left 
several specimens, was, as is well known, Englisli 
nor is it to be supposed that a prince, upon whosf 
education such sedulous care was bestowed, would 
have been instructed in an art which, if we are tn 
beheve Mr. Ritson, was degraded to the last de- 
gree, and discreditable to its professors. The same 
argument is strengthened by the poetical exercises 
of the Duke of Orleans, in Enghsh, written during 
his captivity after the battle of Agincourt.' It 
could not be supposed that the noble prisoner was 
to solace his hours of unprisonment with a degra- 
ding and vulgar species of composition. 

"We could produce other mstances to show that 
this acute critic has carried his argument con.sid- 
erably too far. But we prefer taking a general 
view of the subject, which seems to explain clear- 
ly how contradictory evidence should exist on it, 
and why instances of great personal respect to 
individual minstrels, and a high esteem of the art, 
are quite reconcilable with much contempt thrown 
on the order at large. 

All professors of the fine arts — all those who 
contribute, not to the necessities of hte, but to the 
enjoyments of society, hold their professional re 
spectability by the severe tenure of exliibiting ex- 
cellence in their department. We are well enough 
satisfied with the tradesman who goes through his 
task in a workmanlike manner, nor are we disposed 
to look down upon the divme, the lawyer, or lti€ 
physician, unless they display gross ignoranc.^ oi 
their profession : we hold it enougli, that if they 
do not possess the liighest knowledge of their re- 
spective sciences, they can at least instruct us on 
the points we desire to know. But 

" mediocribus esse poetis 



Non di, non homines, non concessere colamns." 

Tlie same is true respecting the professom of 
painting, of sculpture, of music, and the fine art* 
in general. If they exhibit paramount excellence, 

referred to. De Brnnne, according to this anthor's text, >*»• 

of the elder reciters of the metrical romance, 

" They said it for pride and nobleye, 
That non were soulk as they ;" 

i, e. they recited it in a styje so lofty and noble, that none havt 
since equalled them. — JVarton, edit. 1824, vol. i. p. 18.3. — Ed 
3 See the edition printed by Mr. Watson Taylot Sor tiM 
Ro.xbnrglie Clab. 



inthoductory remarks on popular poetry. 



5i1 



no sii nation in society is too high for them which 
theii- manners enable them to fill ; if they fall 
short of the highest point of aim, they degenerate 
into sign-painters, stone-cutters, common crowders, 
doggerel rhymers, and so forth, the most contempt- 
ible of mankind. The reason of this is evident. 
Men must be satisfied with such a supply of their 
actual wants as can be obtained m the circum- 
stances, and should an individual want a coat, he 
aiost employ the village tailor if Stultze is not to 
be had. But if he seeks for dehght, the case is 
quite diff'erent ; and he that cannot hear Pasta or 
Sont'ig, would be little solaced for the absence of 
tbesf. sirens, by the strains of a crack-voiced bal- 
lad-singer. Nay, on the contrary, the oS"er of such 
inadequate compensation would only be regarded 
as an insult, and resented accordingly. 

The theatre affords the most appropriate exam- 
ple of what we mean. The first circles in society 
are open to persons eminently distinguished in the 
drama ; and their rewards are, in proportion to 
those who profess the useful arts, incalculably 
highei But those who lag m the rear of the dra- 
matic art ar'> Droportionally poorer and more de- 
graded than those who are the lowest of a useful 
trade or profession. These instances will enable 
us readily to explain why the greater part of the 
minstrels, practising their profession in scenes of 
vulgar mirth and debauchery, humbling their art 
to please the ears of druuken clown.^, and Uving 
with the dissipation natural to men whose preca- 
rious subsistence is, according to the ordinary 
phrase, from hand to mouth orly, .should fall un- 
der general contempt, while t)ie stars of the pro- 
fession, to use a modern phrase, looked down on 
{hem from the distant empyrean, as the planets 
do upon those shooting exhalations arising from 
jross vapors in the nether atmosphere. 

The debate, tliereforc, resembles the apologue 
>f the gold and silver shield. Dr. Percy looked 
OT the minstrel in the palmy and exalted state to 
which, no doubt^ many were elevated by their 
talents, hke those who possess excellence in the 
jine arts in the present day ; and Ritson consid- 
ered the reverse of the medal, when the poor and 
wandering glee-man was glad to ])urchase his bread 
by singing his ballads at the alehouse, wearing a 
fantastic habit, and latterly sinking into a mere 
crowder upon an untuned fiddle, accompanying 
ais rude strains with a ruder ditty, the helpless 
associate of drunken revellers, and marvellously 
ifraid of the constable ar.d parish-beadle.' The 
difference betwix^. those holding the extreme po- 
Etions of liighest and lowest in such a profession, 
tannot surely be more marked than that which 
(nparated David Garrick or John Kemble from the 

1 See Appendix Note D. 



outcasts of a strolling company, exposed to penury 
indigence, and persecution according to law.'' 

There was still another and more important 
subject of debate between Dr. Percy and liis hos- 
tile critic. The former, as a poet and a mac, ol 
taste, was tempted to take such freedoms with b.u 
original ballads as might enable him to please ii 
more critical age than that in which they woie 
composed. "Words were thus altered, phrasiis im 
proved, and whole verses were inserted or umit 
ted at pleasure. Such freedoms were especially 
taken with the poems published from a folio man 
uscript in Dr. Percy's own possession, very curious 
from the miscellaneous nature of its contents, but 
unfortunately having many of the leaves mutila- 
ted, and injured in other respects, by the grosi 
carelessness and ignorance of the transcriber. 
Anxious to avail himself of the treasures which 
this manuscript contained, the editor of the Re- 
liques did not hesitate to repafr and renovate the 
songs which he drew from this corrupted yet cu- 
rious source, and to accommodate them with sucli 
emendations as might recommend them to the 
modern taste. 

For these hberties with Ms subject, Ritson can 
sured Dr. Percy in the most uncompromising teims, 
accused him, in violent language, of interpolation 
and forgery, and insinuated thai there existea nc 
such thing «w rcrum natura as that foho manu- 
script, so often referred to as the authority of ori- 
ginals inserted in the Rehques. In this charge, 
the eagerness of Ritson again betrayed him far- 
ther than judgment and discretion, as well as cour- 
tesy, warranted. It is no doubt highly desfrable 
that the text of ancient poetry should be givm 
untouched and uncorrupted. But this is a poib 
which did not occur to the editor of the Reliqufni 
in 1765, whose object it was to win the favor o. 
the public, at a period when the great difficultj 
was not how to secure the very words of old bal 
lads, but how to arrest attention upon the subject 
at all. That great and important service i^ na 
tional literature would probably never ha> \ beert 
attained without the work of Dr. Percy a work 
which first fixed the consideration of genera.' read 
ers on ancient poetry, and made it worth while t«p 
inquire how far its graces were really anti(pie> at 
how far derived from the taste with whirh t.'.:e 
publication had been supermtended and revised 
The object of Dr. Percy was certainly mtimated 
in several parts of his work, where ho mgenuously 
acknowledges, that certain ballads have received 
emendations, and that others are not of pure ana 
unmixed antiquity ; that the beginning of sorat 
and end of others have been supplied ; and ufxin 
the whole, that he has, in many instances, iU'O 

* See Apiiendix, Note B. 



548 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rated the ancient ballads with the graces of a 
more refined period. 

This system is so distinctly intimated, that if 
'liere be any critic still of opinion, like poor Kit- 
mu, whose morbid temperament led hun to such a 
conclusion, that the crime of literary imitation is 
j'qual to that of commercial forgery, he ought to 
recollect tliat guilt, in the latter case, does not 
axist ■« ithout a corresponding charge of uttering 
'.he forged document, or causing it to be uttered, 
18 geiu''ne, without wliich the mere imitation is 
not 'ulpable, at least not criminally so. This qual- 
ity 13 totally awanting in the accusation so roughly 
brcught against Dr. Percy, who avowedly indulged 
ji such alterations and improvements upon his 
naterials, as might adapt them to the taste of an 
lee not otherwise disposed to bestow its attention 
on them. 

We liave to add, that, in the fourth edition of 
the Reliques, Mr. Thomas Percy of St. John's Col- 
lege, Oxford, pleading the cause of his uncle with 
'he most gentlemanlike moderation, and with 
'ivery respect to Mr. Ritson's science and talents, 
has combated the critic's opinion, without any at- 
•empt to retort his injurious language. 

It wpuld be now, no doubt, desirable to have 
had some more distinct account of Dr. Percy's folio 
'nanuscript and its contents ; and Mr. Thomas Per- 
•V, accordingly, gives the original of the marriage 
>f Sir Gawain, and collates it with the copy pub- 
li.shed in a complete state by his uncle, who has 
m this occasion given entire rein to his own fancy, 
:}iough the rude origin of most of his ideas is to be 
found in the old ballad. There is also given a 
copy of that elegant metrical tale, " The Child of 
EUe," as it exists in the folio manuscript, which 
^oes far to show it has derived all its beauties 
from Dr. Percy's poetical powers. Judging from 
these two specimens, we can easily conceive why 
tlie Reverend Editor of the "Reliques" should 
have declined, by the production of the folio man- 
uscript, to furnish his severe Aristarch with wea- 
pons against him, which he was sure would be un- 
'pariiigly used. Yet it is certain, the manuscript 
joEtaiiis much that is really excellent, though mu- 
tf.v.'ed and sopliisticated. A copy of the fine bal- 
lad of " Sir Caulin" is found in a Scottish shape, 
under the name of "King Malcolm ard Sir Col- 
vin," in Buchan's North Country Ballads, to be 
presently mentioned. It is, therefore, unquestion- 
ably ancient, though possibly retouched, and per- 
haps with the addition of a second part, of which 
the Scottisli copy has no vestiges. It would 
be desirable to know exactly to what extent 
Dr. Percy had used the license of an editor, in 

» Intnx^nction to Evaat's Ballads, 1810. New edition, en- 
Ufe<'., &c. 



these and other cases ; and certainly, at this pe 
riod, would be only a degret of jnstice due to hit 
memory. 

On the whole, we may dismiss the " Reliques o 
Ancient Poetry" with the praise and censure con 
ferred on it by a gentleman, liimself a valuable la 
borer in the vineyard of antiquities. " It is tha 
most elegant compilation of the early poetry that 
has ever appeared in any age or country. But if 
must be frankly added, that so numerous are th* 
alterations and corrections, tliat the severs anti 
quary, who desires to see the old English balladi 
m a genuine state, must consult a more accurate 
edition than tliis celebrated work.'" 

Of Ritson's own talents as an editor of ancient 
poetry, we shall have occasion to speak hereafter. 
Tlie first collector who followed the example oi 
Dr. Percy, was Mr. T. Evans, bookseller, father oi 
the gentleman we liave just quoted. His " Old 
Ballads, liistorical and narrative, with some of mod- 
ern date," appeared in two volumes, in 1777, ana 
were eminently successful. In 1784, a second edi- 
tion appeared, extending the work to four vol- 
umes. In this collection, many ballads found ac- 
ceptance, wliich Bishop Percy had not considered as 
possessing suflScient merit to claim admittance into 
the Reliques. The 8vo. Miscellany of 1723 yield- 
ed a great part of the materials. The collection o5 
Evans contained several modem pieces of great 
merit, which are not to be found elsewhere, and 
wliich are understood to be the productions of Wil- 
ham Julius Mickle, translator of the Lusiad, though 
they were never claimed by liim, nor received 
among his works. Amongst them is the elegiac 
poem of Cumnor Hall, which suggested the ficti- 
tious narrative entitled Kenilworth. The Red- 
Cross Knight, also by Mickle, which has furnished 
words for a beautiful glee, first occurred in the 
same collection. As Mickle, with a vein of great 
facihty, united a power of verbal melody which 
might have been envied by bards of much greater 
renown," he must be considered as very successful 
in these efforts, if the ballads be regarded as 
avowedly modern. If they are to be judged of 
as accurate imitations of ancient poetry, they have 
less merit ; the deception being only maintained 
by a huge store of double consonants, strewed at 
random into ordinary words, resembling the real 
fashion of antiquity as little as the niches, turrets, 
and tracery of plaster stuck i^pon a modern front 
In the year 1810, the four volumes of 1784 were 
republished by Mr. R. H. Evans, the son of the 
original editor, with very considerable alteration* 
and additions. In this last edition, the more ordi- 
nary modem ballads were judiciously retrenched 

• See Appenliz Note f. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POElRY. 



541) 



H number, and large and valuable additions made 
to the ancient part of the collection. Being in 
gome measure a supplement to the ReUques of 
Aicient Poeiry, this miscellany cannot be dis- 
pensed with on 'the shelves of any bibUomaniac 
who may choose to emulate Captain Cox of Co- 
ventry, the prototype of all collectors of popular 
poetry. 

While Dr. Percy was setting the example of a 
Classical pubhcation of ancient Enghsh poetry, the 
late David Herd was, in modest retirement, com- 
piling J collection of Scottish Songs, which ho has 
happily described as " the poetry and music of the 
heart." The first part of his Miscellany contains 
heroic and historical ballads, of which there is a 
respectable and well-chosen selection. Mr. Herd,' 
tn accountant, as the profession is called in Edin- 
burgh", was known and generally esteemed for his 
Bhre\i d, manly common sense and antiquarian sci- 
ence, mixed with much good nature and great 
modesty. His hardy and antique mould of counte- 
nance, and liis venerable grizzled locks, procured 
him, amongst his acquaintance, the name of Gray- 
Bteil. His original collection of songs, in one vol- 
ume* appeared in 1769 ; an enlarged one, in two 
volumes, came out in 1776. A publication of the 
same kind, being Herd's book still more enlarged, 
was printed for Lawrie and Symington in 1791. 
Some modern additions occur in this latter work, 
of wliich by far the most valuable were two fine 
mutations of the Scottish ballad by the gifted au- 
thor of the " Man of Feeling," — (now, alas 1 no 
more,) — called " Duncan" and " Keimeth." 

John Pinkerton, a man of considerable learnmg, 
and some severity as well as acuteness of disposi- 
tion, was now endeavoring to force liimself into 
public attention ; and his collection of Select Bal- 
lads, London, 1783, contains sufficient evidence 
that he understood, in an extensive sense, Horace's 
paxim, quidlibet aude^idi. As he was possessed of 
considerable powers of poetry, though not equal 
to what he was wUling to take credit for, he was 
resolved to enrich his collection with all the nov- 
elty anc interest which it could derive from a 
liberal insertion of pieces dressed in the garb of 
tntiqiuty, but equipped from the wardrobe of the 
-ditors imagination. With a boldness, suggested 
perhaps by the success of Mr. Macpherson, he in- 
duded, within a collection amounting to only 
.wenty one tragii ballads, no less than five, of 
^hich he afterwards owned himself to have been 
lltogether, or in great part, the author. The most 
remarkable article in this Miscellany was, a second 

' David Herd was a native of St. Cyras, in Kincardineshire, 
tnd though often termed a writer, he was only a clerk in the 
office of Mr. David Russell, accountant in Edinburgh. He 
h»i, aged 78, in 1810, and left a vory curious library, which 
'«w dispersed t y auction. Herd by no means merited tb« char- 



part to the noble ballad of Hardyknute, which ha« 
some good verses. It labors, however, under tiiis 
great defect, that, in order to append his ovn\ con 
elusion to the original tale, Mr. Piukerton founo 
himself under the necessity of altering a leaiUng 
circumstance in the old ballad, which would have 
rendered his catastrophe uiappiicable. With 'lucl 
license, to write continuations and couciusiom 
would be no difficult task. In the second volmij' 
of the Select Ballads, consisting of comic pieces, t 
Ust of fifty-two articles contained nine writtei? en- 
tirely by the editor himself Of the manner in 
which these supposititious compositions are txe 
cuted, it may be briefly stated, that they are the 
work of a scholar much better acquainted with an- 
cient books and manuscripts, than with oral tradi- 
tion and popular legends. The poetry smells ol 
the lamp ; and it may be truly said, that if ever a 
ballad had existed in such quaint language as the 
autlidt employs, it could never have been so popu 
lar as to be preserved by oral tradition. The 
glossary displays a much greater acquaintance 
with learned lexicons thim with the famihar dia 
lect still spoken by the Lowland Scottish, and it 
is, of course, full of errors.* Neither was Mr. 
Pinkerton more happy in the way of conjectural 
illustration. He chose to fix on Sir John Bruce ol 
Kinross the paternity of the baUad of Hardyknute. 
and of the fine poem called the Vision. The first 
is due to Mrs. Halket of Wardlaw, the second Ui 
AUan Ramsay, although, it must be owned, it is ol 
a character superior to his ordmary poetry, SL 
John Bruce was a brave, blunt soldier, who madt 
no pretence whatever to hterature, though Iuh 
daughter, Mrs. Bruce of Arnot, had much talent. 
a circumstance which may perhaps have misled 
the antiquary. 

Mr. Pinkerton read a sort of recantation, in . 
List of Scottish Poets, prefixi d to a Selection of 
Poems from the Maitland Mai.uscript, vol. i. 1786 
in which he acknowledges, as his own composition 
the pieces of spurious antiquity mcluded in Ids 
" Select Ballads," with a coolness which, when )iis 
subsequent invectives against others who had taken 
sunilar Uberties is considered, infers as ranch ai' 
dacity as the studied and labored defence of ob 
scenity with which he disgraced the same pages. 

In the mean tune, Joseph Ritson, a man of ddi 
gence and acumen equal to those of Pinkerto, buJ 
of the most laudable accuracy and fidelity as ab 
editor, was engaged in various publications re 
specting poetical antiquities, in which he employed 
profound research. A select collection of English 

acter given him by Pinkerton, of " an illiterate and injodiciou 
conpiler."— Ed. 

2 Bansters, for example, a word generally applied to the men, 
on a harvest field, who bind the sheaves, is derived frum ban U 
cuise, and explf sed to mean, " blustering, sweahuj fellow * 



550 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORTHS. 



Bongs was compiled by him, with great care and 
considtirable taste, and published at London, 11S3. 
A. new edition of tliis has appeared since Ritson's 
death, sanctioned by the name of the learned and 
ind(ifatigable antiquary, Thomas Park, and aug- 
mented with many original pieces, and some which 
litson had prepared for pubUcation. 

Ritson's Collection of Songs was followed by a 
rurious volume, entitled, " Ancient Songs from the 
time of Henry III. to the Revolution," 1790; 
Tieces of Ancient Popular Poetry," 1792; and 
•' A collection of Scottish Songs, with the genuine 
nuisic," Londw 1794. This last is a genuine, but 
raiiiei meagre collection of Caledonian populai 
aongs. Next year Mr. Ritson published " Robin 
Ilood," 2 vols., 1795, being " A Collection of all the 
Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads now extant, 
'elative to that celebrated Outlaw." This work is 
\ notable illustration of the excellencies and de- 
fect? of Mr. Ritson's system. It is almost impossi- 
ble to conceive so much zeal, research, and uidus- 
try bestowed on a subject of antiquity. There 
scarcely occurs a phrase or word relating to Robin 
Hood, whether in history or poetry, in law books, 
in ancient proverbs, or common parlance, but it is 
here collected and explained. At the same time, 
the extreme fidelity of the editor seems driven to 
excess, when we find him pertinaciously retaining 
iiJl the numerous and gross errors which repeated 
recitations liave introduced into the text, and re- 
garding it as a sacred duty to prefer the worst to 
the better readings, as if their inferiority was a se- 
curity for their being genuine. In short, when 
Ritson copied from rare books, or ancient manu- 
scripts, there could not be a more accmate editor ; 
when taking his authority from oral tradition, and 
[udging between two recited copies, he was apt to 
consider the worst as most genuine, as if a poem 
was not more hkely to be deteriorated than im- 
proved by passing through the mouths of many re- 
citers. In the Ballads of Robin Hood, this super- 
stitious scrupulosity was especially to be regretted, 
a« it tended to enlarge the collection with a great 
Uumber of doggerel compositions, which are all 
i-'jpies of each other, turning on the same idea of 
(VM Robin meeting with a shepherd, a tinker, a 
mendicant, a tanner, <tc. Ac, by each and all of 
wl'OtE he is soundly thrashed, and all of whom he 
receives into his band. The tradition, which avers 
that it was the brave outlaw's custom to try a bout 
at quarter'staff with liis young recruits, might in- 
deed have authorized one or two such tales, but 
the greater part ought to have been rejected as 
xodern imitations of the most paltry kind, com- 

'■Tlie first opening of ttie ballad has much of the <» jrtial 
Itrain with which a pibroch comnieiices. Properat i\ nedias 
•«t — aciortling o the classical admonition. 



posed probably about the age of James I. of Eng 
land. By adopting this spurious trash as part o 
Robin Hood's history, he is represented as the best 
cudgelled hero, Don Quixote excepted, that evei 
was celebrated in prose or rhyme. Ritson also 
pubhshed several garlands of North Country songa 

Looking on this emuient antiquary's labors in a 
general point of view, we may deprecate the eager- 
ness and severity of his prejudices, and feel sur- 
prise that he should have shown so much iiritabil- 
ity of disposition on such a topic as a collection ot 
old ballads, which certainly have httle in them to 
affect the passions ; and we may be sometimes pro- 
voked at the pertinacity with which he has pre- 
ferred bad readings to good. But while industry 
research, and antiquarian learning, are recommen- 
dations to works of this nature, few editors will 
ever be found so competent to the task as Joseph 
Ritson. It must also be added to "his praise, that 
although not willing to yield his opinion rasluy,' 
yet if he saw reason to beUeve that he had been 
mistaken in any fact or argument, he resigned his 
own opinion with a candor equal to tl|e warmth 
with which he defended himself while confident 
he was in the right. Many of liis works are ^ow 
almost out of print, and an edition of them m com- 
mon orthography, and altering the bizarre spelling 
and character which his prejudices induced the au- 
thor to adopt, would be, to antiquaries, an accept- 
able present. 

We have now given a hasty account of various 
collections of popular poetry during the eighteenth 
century ; we have only further to observe, that, in 
the present century, this species of lore has been 
sedulously cultivated. The "Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border" first appeared in 1802, in two 
volumes ; and what may appear a singular coinci- 
dence, it was the first work printed by Mr. James 
Ballantyne (then residing at Kelso), as it was the 
first serious demand which the present author 
Made on the patience of the pubUc. The Border 
Minstrelsy, augmented by a third volume, came tc 
a second edition in 1803. In 1803, Ma-., now Sir 
Jolrn Grahame Dalzell, to whom his country is 
obliged for his antiquarian labors, published '* Scot- 
tish Poems of the Sixteenth Century," which, among 
other subjects of interest, contains a ciwious con- 
temporary ballad of Belrinnes, wliich has some 
stanzas of considerable merit.* 

The year 1806 was distinguished by the appear- 
ance of " Popular Ballads and Songs, from Tradi 
tions. Manuscripts, and Scarce Editions, with Trans' 
lations of Smiilar Pieces from the Anciest Danisl 
Language, and a few Originals by the Editor, RoV 

*' MauCallanmore came from the west 
With many a bow and brind ; 
To waste • le Rinnes he tnoJght it Uss» 
The Fwrl of Huntly's land " 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



56i 



ert Jamieeon, A. M., and F. A. S.'" This work, which 
ffas not greeted by the public with the attention 
;t deserved, opened a new discovery respecting 
the original source of the Scottish ballads. Mr. 
Jamiesor's extensive acquaintance with the Scan- 
dinavian literature, enabled him to detect not only 
a general similarity betwixt these and the Danish 
jallads preserved in the " Kiempe Viser," an early 
collection of heroic ballads in that language, but 
to demonstrate that, in many cases, the stories and 
ungs were distinctly the same, a circumstance 
which no antiquary had hitherto so much as sus- 
pected. Mr. Jamieson's annotations are also very 
valuable, and preserve some curious illustrations 
of the old poets. HiS imitations, though he is not 
entirely free from the affectation of usuig rather 
too many obsolete words, are generally highly in- 
teresting. The work fills an important place in 
the collection of those who are addicted to this 
branch of antiquarian study. 

Mr. Jolm Fiulay, a poet whose career was cut 
short by a premature death," published a short col- 
lection of " Scottish Historical and Romantic Bal- 
lads," in 1808. The beauty of some imitations of 
the old Scottish ballad, with the good sense, learn- 
ing and D'odesty of the preliminary dissertations, 
m\ st make all admirers of ancient lore regi'et the 
early loss of this accompUshed young man. 

Various valuable collections of ancient ballad- 
poetry have appeared of late years, some of which 
.ire illustrated with learning and acuteness, as those 
of Mr. Motherwell' and of Mr. Kinloch* intunate 
much taste and feeling for this species of litera- 
ture. Nor is there any want of editions of ballads, 
less designed for pubhc sale, than to preserve float- 
ing pieces of minstrelsy which are in immediate 
danger of perishing. Several of those, edited, as 
we have occasion to know, by men of distinguished 
talent, have appeared in a smaller form and more 
limited edition, and must soon be among the in- 
trouvables of Scottish typography. We would par- 
ticularize a duodecimo, under the modest title of 
a " Ballad Book," without place or date annexed, 

' After the completion of the Border Minstrelsy, and nearly 
l^hree vears previous to the publication of his own Collection, 
Mr. Jaraieson printed in the Scots Magazine (October, 1803) a 
List of rlrsiderata in Scottish Song. His communication to 
;be Editor of that work contains the following paragraph : — 
■ I ana now writing out for the press a Collection of Popular 
BaLiSjS and Songs from tradition, MSS., and scarce publica- 
tions, with a few of modern date, which have been written for, 
ind are exclusively dedicated to mv collection. As many of 
the pieces were common property, I have heretofore waited for 
Jie completion of Mr. Walter Pcott's Work, with more anx- 
ety for the cause in general, than for any particular and selfish 
interest of my OM n ; as I vias sure of having the satisfaction of 
•eeing sm.'h pieces as that gentleman might choose to adopt, 
appear with every advantage which I, partial as I was, could 
wisn them. The most sanguine expectations of the public 
la 'e pow been amply gratified ; and much carious and valua- 



wliich indicates, by a few notes only, the capacity 
which the editor possesses for supplying the mos< 
extensive and ingenious illustrations upon antiqua- 
rian subjects. Most of the ballads are of a comif 
character, and some of them admirable spcfcimeni 
of Scottish dry humor." Another collection, which 
calls for particular distinction, is in the same sizb, 
or nearly so, and bears the same title with the 
preceding one, the date being, Edinburgh, 1827. 
But the contents are announced as containing th* 
budget, or stock-in-trade, of an old Aberdeenshir* 
minstrel, the very last, probably, of the race, who, 
according to Percy's definition of the profession, 
sung his own compositions, and those of others, 
thi-ough the capital of the county, and other towns 
in that country of gentlemen. Tliis man's name 
was Charles LesUe, but he was known more gene 
rally by the nickname of Mussel-mou'd Charlie, 
from a singular projec+ion -f his under lip. Hia 
death was thus announced in the newspapers fo* 
October, 1792: — "Died at Old Rain, in Aberdeen- 
shire, aged one hundred and four years, Charleg 
Leslie, a hawker, or baUad-smger, well known in 
that country by the name of Mussel-mou'd Chat>lie. 
He followed his occupation tdl within a few week« 
of his death." Charhe was a devoted Jacobite, 
and so popular in Aberdeen, that he enjoyed ir 
that city a sort of monopoly of the muistrel call 
ing, no other person bemg allowed, unoer anv pre 
tence, to chant ballads on the causeway, or plain- 
stanes, of " the brave bm-gh." Like the former col- 
lection, most of Mussel-mou'd Charlie's songs were 
of a jocose character. 

But the most extensive and valuable additions 
which have been of late made to tliis branch oi 
ancient Uterature, are the collections of Mr. Petel 
Buchan of Peterhead, a person of indefatigable re 
search in that department, and whose industry ha4 
been crowned with the most successful resulta 
Tliis is partly owing to the country where Mr 
Buchan resides, wliich, full as it is of minstrel rel 
ics, has been but little ransacked by any fcimef 
collectors ; so that, while it is a very rare even* 

ble matter is still left for me by Mr. Scott to whom I am maofe 
indebted for many acts of friendship, and mucn iiuera/ity »mA 
good will shown towards me and my nnjertaking." — Ed. 

2 Mr. Finlay, best known by his " Wallace, or The Vale t 
Ellerslie," died in 1810, in his twenty-eighth year. An \ftsii 
tionate and elegant tribute to his memory, from the pen of Pro 
fessor Wilson, appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, November 
1817.— Ed. 

3 Minstrelsy ; Ancient and Modern, with an Historical In 
troduction and Notes. By William Motherwell. 4to. Glas^ 
1827. 

4 Ancient Scottish Ballads, recovered from Tradition, and 
never before published ; with Notes, Historical and Explana 
tory, and an Appendix, containing the Airs of several of th< 
ballads. 8vo. Edin. 1827. 

6 This 13 Mr C. K. Sharpe's Work, already aUudea to.- 
£d. 



nth 01 t)ie Tay, to recover any ballad having a 
aim to antiquity, wliich has not been examined 
id repul'liahed in some one or other of our coUec- 
jns of ajicient poetry, those of Aberdeenshire 
ive beer comparatively little attended to. The 
esent Editor was the first to soUcit attention to 
lese nortI>ern songs, in consequence of a collection 
ballads communicated to him by his late re- 
jected fri !nd. Lord Woodhouslee. Mr. Jamieson, 
his collections of " Songs and Ballads," being 
ttiself a native of Morayshue, was able to push 
is inquiry much farther, and at the same time, 
doing so, to illustrate his theory of the connec- 
)n betwpon the ancient Scottish and Danish bal- 
ds, upoD wliich the publication of Mr. Buchan 
rows much hght. It is, indeed, the most com- 
ete collection of the kind which has yet appeared.' 
Of the originality of the ballads in Mr. Buchan's 
[lection we do not entertain the slightest doubt, 
iveral (we may mstance the curious tale of 
The Two Magicians") are translated from the 
orse, and Mr. Buchan is probably unacquainted 
ith the originals. Others refer to points of 
story, with which the editor does not seem to 
familiar. It is out of no disrespect to this 
borious and useful antiquary, that we observe 
prose composition is rather florid, and forms, 
tlus respect, a strong contrast to the extreme 
HpUcity of the ballads, which gives us the most 
stinct assurance that he has delivered the lat- 
>? to the public m the shape in which he found 
em. Accordingly, we have never seen any col- 
ction of Scottish poetry appearing, from in- 
niol evidence, so decidedly and indubitably 
iguial. It is perhaps a pity that Mr. Buchan 
d not remove some obvious errors and cor- 
ptions ; but, in truth, though their remaining 
record is an injury to the effect of the ballads, 
point of composition, it is, in some degree, a 
oof of their authenticity. Besides, although 
e exertion of this editorial privilege, of select- 
g readings, is an advantage to the ballads them- 
Ives, we are contented rather to take the whole 
tlioir present, though imperfect state, than 
t the least doubt should be thrown upon them, 
amendments or alterations, which might render 
eir authenticity doubtful. Tlie historical poems. 
If observe, are few and of no remote date, 
^t of the " Bridge of Dee," is among the oldest, 
d there are others referring to the times of 
e Covenanters. Some, indeed, are composed on 



Ancient Ballads and Pongs of the North of Scotland, 
•erto unpublished ; with Explanatory Notes. By P. B. 
rk. 8vo. Edin. 183)3 



still more recent events , as the marriage of thi 
mother of the late illustrious Byron," and a cata» 
trophe of stiU later occaTenc«, "The Death H 
Leith-haU." 

As we wish to interest tiie at^rn'rers of ancient 
minstrel lore in this curiDus collection, we shall 
only add, that, on occasion of a now edition, we 
would recommend to Mr. Buchan to leave ovt a 
number of songs which he: has only inserted bfl- 
cause they are varied, sometimes for the worse, 
from sets which have appeared in other pijhlica 
tions. This restriction would make considerable 
room for such as, old though they be, possess to 
this ftge all the grace of novelty. 

To these notices of lata collections of Scottish 
Ballads, we ought to add some remarks on the 
very curious " Ancient Legendary Tales, printed 
chiefly from Original Sources, edited by the Rev. 
Charles Henry Fartshorne, M. A. 1829." The 
editor of this imostentatious work has dene his 
duty to the public wi*h much labor and care, and 
made the adioirers of this species of poetry ac- 
quainted with very mapy ancient legendary poems, 
which were hitherto xmpublished and very httle 
known. It increases tbe value of the collection, 
that many of them are of a comic +urn, a species 
of composition more rare, and, fron^ its necessary 
allusion to domestic maimers, more curious acd 
interesting, than the serioas class of Romarices. 



We have thus, in a cursory manner, gone 
through the history of English and Scottish popu- 
lar poetry, and noticed the principal collections 
which have been formed fi-om time to time of such 
compositions, and the princ'ples on wliich the 
editors have proceeded. It is manifest that, oi 
late, the pubhc attention has been so much turne-i 
to the subject by men of research and talent, that 
we may well hope to retrieve from obUvion as 
much of our ancient poetry as there is now any 
possibility of recovering. 

Another important part of our task consists in 
giving some nocount of ;he modern imitaKon ol 
the English BaoJid, a ffpecies of literary labor 
wliich th«» autiv/ hat himself pur.sn&d -<fi*l socdb 
success. 

ABBOTSFoar, Isi March, 1830. 

'This Bong io oiionxl U y,«r«'< Life w 0t*mi, Mi ■•• 
Ed. 



APPENDIX TO REMARKS ON POPULAR POETRY. 



563 



APPENDIX. 



Vote A. 

THE BA.TTLB OF HARLAW. — P. 544. 

That there was such an ancient ballad is certain, and the 
ine, adapted to the bagpipe, was long extremely popnlar, 
ind, within the remembrance of man, the iirst which was 
I.layei* at kirns and other rustic festivals. But there is a 
suspicious phrase in the ballad as it is published by Allan 
Ramsay. When describing the national coafusion, the bard 
'ays, 

" Sen the days of auld King Harie, 
Such slauchter was heard or seen." 

tinery. Who was the "auld King Hari«" here meant t If 
Henry VIII. be intended, as is most likely, it mast bring the 
date of the poem, at least of that verse, as low as Queen Mary's 
time. The ballad is said to have been printed in 1668. A copy 
of that edition would be a great curiosity. 

See the preface to the reprint of this ballad, in the volome 
•f " Early Metrical Tales," ante referred to. 



Note B. 

ALLAN Ramsay's " everqrekn." — P. 544. 

Green be the pillow of honest Allan, at whose lamp Bums 
lighved his brilliant torch I It is without enmity to his mem* 
ory that we record his mistake in this matter. But it is im- 
possible not to regret that such an atfecting tale as that of 
Bessie Bell and Mary Gray should have fallen into his hands. 
The southern reader must learn (for what northern reader b 
ignorant ?) that these two beautiful women were kinsfolk, and 
«o strictly united in friendship, that even personal jealousy 
could not interrupt their union. They were visited by a hand- 
some and agreeable young man, who was acceptable to them 
both, but so captivated with their charms, that, while confi- 
dent of a preference on the part of both, he was unable to 
irake a choice between them. While this singular situation 
of the three persons of the tale continued, the breaking out 
of the plague forced the two ladies to take refuge in the beau- 
Ufcl valley of Lynedoch. where they built themselves a 
bower, in order to avoid human intercourse and the danger of 
infection. The lover was not included in their renunciation 
•f society. He visited their retirement, brought with him 
the fatal disease, and unable to return to Perth, which wag 
bis Usual residence, was nurfed by the fair friends with all 
the tenderness of affection. He died, however, having first 
tommunicated the infeclion to his lovely attendants. They 
followed him to the grave, lovely in their lives, and undivided 
in their death Their burial-place, in the vicinity of the 
Dower which they built, is still visible, in the romantic 
ricinity of Lord Lyndoch's mansion, and prolongs the mem- 
•ry of female friendship, which even rivalry could not dissolve. 

tww (tanzas of the original ballad alone survive : — 
70 * 



" Bessie Bell and Mary Giay, 

They were twa bonnie lasses ; 
They bigged a bower on yon '>urn bra«. 
And theekit it ower wi' rasnes. 

" They wadna rest in Methvin kirk, 
Among their gentle kin ; 
But they wad lie in Lednoch braes, 
To beek against the sun." 

There is, to a Scottish ear, so much tenderness and simplicit) 
in these verses, as must induce us to regret that the rest should 
have been superseded by a pedantic modern song, tarnin| 
upon the most unpoetic part of the legend, the hesitation 
namely, of the lover, which of the ladies to prefer. One ol 
the most touching expressions in the song is the following ex 
claroation : 

•' Oh Jove I she's like thy Pallas." 

Another song, of which Ramsay chose a few words for tiM 
theme of a rifacimento, seems to have been a curious speci- 
men of minstrel recitation. It was partly verse, partly narra 
tive, and was alternately sung and repeated. The story was 
the escape of a young gentleman, pursued by a cruel uncle, 
desirous of his estate ; or a bloody rival, greedy of his life ; oi 
the relentless father of his lady-love, or some such remorseless 
character, having sinister intentions on the person of the fugitive. 
The object of his rapacity or vengeance being nearly overtaken, 
a shepherd undertakes to mislead the pursuer, who comes in 
sight just as the object of his pursuit disappears, and greets th4 
shepherd thus : — 

" PURSUER. 

Good morrow, shepherd, and my friend, 
Saw you a young man this way riding ; 

With long black hair, on a bob-tail'd mare. 
And I know that I cannot be far behind liiin t 

THE SHEPHERD. 

Yes, I did see him this way riding. 
And what did much surprise my wit. 

The man and tne n-iai« ilew id in the air 
And I see, and I see, and I see Ser vet. 

Behind yon white cloud I see her tail waro, 
And I see, and I see, and I see her yet." 

The tune of these verses is an extremely good one, at;c 
Allan Ramsay has adapted a bacchanalian song to it witi 
some success ; but we should have thanked him much had ht 
taken the trouble to preserve the original legend of the old 
minstrel. The valuable and learned friend' to whom we 
owe this mutilated account of it, has often heard it sunji 
among the High Jinks of Scottish lawyer* oi the last genera- 
tion. 

1 The late Right Honorable William Adam, Lord Cue/ CmmtmtaDa a 
tbe Scotch Jury Court. — £o. 



654 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Note C. 



JOSEPH RITSON. 



" - - J^'eglecting, in literary debate, the courtesiet of 
yrdinary society." — P. 545. 

Tv Ttample, in quoting a popular song, well known by the 
.lanu: jf Alaggie I,auder, the editor of the Reliquea had given 
ft lini of the Dame's address to tlie merry minstrel, thus : — 

" Gin ye be Rob, I've heard of you, 
Yen dwell upon the Border." 

KitsoD insisted the genuine reading was, 

" Conae ye frae the Border V ' 

And he expatiates with great keenness on the crime of the 
Bishop's having sophisticated the text (of which he produces 
Qo evidence), to favor his opinion, that the Borders were a 
favorite abode of the minstrels of both kingdoms. The fact, it 
ic l)e!ieved, is undoubted, and the one reading seems to support 
it aa well as the other.— [Joseph Ritson died in 1803.] 



of the profession, 
closing lines : 



The reverend editor Ihus truaslates tfal 



Note D. 

■'a mere crowder upon an untuned fiddle." — p. 547. 

In Fletcher's comedy of" Monsieur Thomas," such a fid- 
Jler is questioned as to the ballads he is best versed in, and 
leplies, 

" Under your mastership's correction I can smg, 
' The Duke of Norfolk,' or the merry ballad 
Of Divius and Lazarus ;' ' The Rose of England ;' 
' In Crete, where Dedimus first began ;' 
' Jonas his crying out against Coventry.' 

Thomas. Excellent I 
Rare matters all. 

Fiddler. ' Mawdlin the Merchant's Daughter;' 
' The Devil and ye Dainty Dames.' 

Thomas. Rare still. 

Fiddler. ' The Landing of the Spaniards at Bow, 
With the bloody battle at Mile-end.' " 

T'he poor minstrel is described as accompanying the young 
rake in his revels. Launcelot describes 

' The gentlerhan himself, yonng Monsieur Thomas, 
Errant with his furious myrmidons ; 
The fiery fiddler and myself — now singing 
Now beating at the doors," &c. 



Note E, 

minstrels. — p. 547. 

Trie " Song of the Traveller," an ancient piece lately die- 
wvered in the Cathedral Library at Exeter, and published by 
the RcV. Mr. Coneybeare, in his Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon 
Poetry (1826), furnishes a most curious picture of the life of 
ii« Marthern Scald, or Miustrel, iu the high and palmy state 



" Ille est carissimns Terrs incolis 
f/ui Deus addidit Hominum imperium gerendam, 
Quum ille eos [bardos] habeat earos. 
Ita comeantes cum cantilenis feruniur 
Bardi hominum per terras multas ; 
Simul eos remuneratur ob cantilenas pulchras, 
JUuneribus immensis, ille qui ante nobiles 
Vult judicium suum extoUere, dignitatem suslinere. 
Habet ille sub coelo stabilem famam." — P. 22. 

Mr. Coneybeare contrasts this "flattering picture" with Vtt 
following " melancholy s])ecimen" of the Minstrel life of lalei 
times — contained in some verses by Richard Slieale (the alleged 
author of the old Chevy Chase), which are preserved iu or* el 
the Ashmolean MSS. 

" Now for the good cheere that I have had here, 
I give you hearty thanks with bowing of my shankes. 
Desiring you by petition to grant me such commission — 
Because my name is Sheale, that both for meat and meali^ 
To you I may resort sum tyme for my comforte. 
For I perceive here at all tymes is good cheere, 
Both ale, wyne, and beere, as hyt doth now appere, 
I jjerceive without fable ye keepe a good table. 
f can be contente, if hyt be out of Lent, 
A piece of beefe to take ray honger to aslake. 
Both mutton and veale is goode for Rycharde Sheale ; 
Though I look so grave, I were a veri knave, 
If I wold tliinke skorne ether evenynge or morne, 
Beyng in honger, of fresshe samon or kongar, 
I can fynde in my hearte, with my friendis to take a parta 
Of such as Godde shal sende, and thus I make an ende. 
Now farewel, good myn Hoste, I thank youe for youre cost4 
Untyl another tyme, and thus do 1 ende my ryrae." — P. 3&. 



Note F. 

william julius mickle. — p. 548. 

In evidence of what is stated in the text, the author would 
quote the introductory stanza to a forgotten poem of Mickle, 
originally published under the injudicious and equivocal titii 
of " The Concubine," but in subsequent editions called, " Sii 
Martyn, or The Progress of Dissipation." 

" Awake, ye west winds, through the lonely dale. 
And, Fancy, to thy faery bower betake ; 
Even now, witl. balmy sweetness breathes the gale, 

Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake ; 
Through the pule willows faltering whispers wake. 

And evening comes with locks bedropp'd with dew ; 
On Desmond's mouldering turrets slowly shake 
The wither'd ryegrass, and the harebeJi. blue. 
And ever and anon sweet MuUa's plaints renew 

Mickle's facility of versification was so gr(4it, that, being k 
])rinter by profession, he frequently put his lines itto typ»i 
without taking the trouble previously to put them into writing; 
thas uniting the composition of the author with the nibchinical 
operation which typographers call by tU« na ne name. 



ESSAY 



ON 



IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD.^ 



Ths invention of printing necessarily occasioned 
the downfall of the Order of Minstrels, already re- 
duced to contempt by their own bad habits, by 
the disrepute attached to thek profession, and by 
the law? calculated to repress their license. When 
the Metrical Romances were very many of them 
in the hands of every. one, the occupation of those 
who made their living by reciting them was in 
some degree abolished, and the minstrels either 
disappeared altogether, or sunk into mere musi- 
cians, whose utmost acquaintance with poetry was 
being able to sing a ballad. Perhaps old Anthony, 
who acquired, from the song which he accounted 
his masterpiece, tlie name of Anthony Nov) Now, 
was one of the last of tliis class in the capital ; nor 
does the tenor of his poetry evince whether it was 
his own composition or that of some other." 

But the taste for popular poetry did not decay 
with the class of men by whom it had been for 
some generations practised and preserved. Not 
only did the simple old ballads retain their ground, 
thorgh circulated by the new art of printing, in- 
stead of being preserved by recitation ; but in the 
Garlands, and similar collections for general sale, 
the authors aimed at a more ornameutal and regu- 
lar style of poetry than had been attempted by 
the old minstrels, whose composition, if not extem- 
poraneous, was seldom committed to wi'iting, and 
was not, therefore, susce]>tible of accurate revision. 
Tills was the more necessary, as even the popular 
poetry was now feeling the eifects arising from 
the advance of knowledge, and the revival of the 
study of the learned languages, with aU the ele- 
ffijace and refinement which it induced. 

In short, the general progress of the country led 
t: an improvement in the department of popular 
poetry, tending both to soften and melodize the 
language employed, and to ornament the diction 
beyond that of the rude minstrels, to whom such 
topics of composition had been originally aban- 

1 This essay was written in April, 1830, and forms a contin- 
ta'ion of the " Remarks on Popular Poetry." — Ed. 

2 He might be supposed a contemporary of Henry VIII., if 
■he greeting which he pretends to have given to that monarch 
• oi his own composition, and spoken in his own person. 



doned. The monotony of the ancient recitals was 
for the same causes, altered and improved upon 
The eternal descriptions of battles, and of love di 
lemmas, which, to satiety, filled the old romance! 
with trivial repetition, was retrenched. If any 
one wishes to compare the two eras of lyrical poe- 
try, a few verses taken from one of the latesl 
minstrel ballads, and one of the earliest that were 
written for the press, will afford him, in some do 
gree, the power of doing so. 

The rude lines from Anthony Now Now, which 
we have just quoted, may, for example, be com- 
pared, as Ritson requests, with the ornamented 
commencement of the ballad of Fair Rosamond ^ 

•' When as King Henry rnled this land 
The second of that name, 
Besides his queen he dearly loved 
A fair and comely dame. 

" Most peerless was her beauty found. 
Her favor, and her face ; 
A sweeter creature in the world, 
Could never prince embrace. 

" Her crisped locks, like threads of gold 
Appear'd to each man's sight ; 
Her sparkling eyes, like orient pearls, 
Did cast a heavenly light. 

' The blood within her crystal cheeks 
Did such a color drive, 
As though the lily and the rosb 
For mastership did strive. "3 

It may be rash to afKrra, that those who lived 
by singing tliis more refined poetry, Trere a i.,&sk 
of men different from the ancient minstrels*, biifc 
it appears, that both the name of the professors, 
and the character of the Minstrel poetry, had nni 
in reputation. 

Tlie facUity of T-ersification, and of poetical die 
tion, is decidedly in favor of the moderns, as migh< 
reasonably be expected from the improved tastev 

" Good morrow to our noble king, quoth 1 ; 
Good morrow, quoth he, to thou : 
And then he said to Anthony, 
O Anthony now now now." 
3 Percy's Rcliques, vol. ii. p. 147. 




»nd enlarged knowledge, of an age which abound- 
ed to etich a degree in poetry, and of a character 
BO imaginative aa was the Elizabethan era. The 
poetry addieased to the populace, and enjoyed by 
them alone, was animated by the spirit tnat was 
breathed around We may cite Shakspeare's un- 
questionable and decisive evidence in this respect. 
[u Twelfth Night he describes a popular ballad, 
with a beauty and precision which no one but 
himself could have affixed to its character ; and 
the whole constitu< es the strongest appeal in favor 
of tliat species oi poetry which is written to suit 
the taste of the public in general, and is most 
naturally preserved by oral tradition. But the 
remarkable part of the circumstance is, that when 
».he song is actually sung by Feste the clown, it 
differs in almost all particulars from what we 
might have been justified in considering as attri- 
butes of a popular ballad of that early period. It 
is suuple, doubtless, both in structure and phrase- 
ology', but is rather a love song than a minstrel 
ballad — a love song, also, wliich, though its imagi- 
native figures of speech are of a very simple and 
intelligible character, may nevertheless be com- 
pared to any thing rather than the boldness of the 
preceding age, and resembles nothing less than the 
ordinary minstrel ballad. The original, though so 
well known, may be here quoted, for the purpose 
of showing what was, in Shakspeare's time, re- 
garded as the poetry of " the old age." Almost 
every one has the passage by heart, yet I must 
quote it, because there seems a marked difference 
between the species of poem which is described, 
»nd that which is sung. 

" Mark it, C»sario , it is old and plain ; 
The spinsters and the linitters in the sun, 
And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones. 
Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 
Lilie the old age." 

The 6ong, thus beautifully prefaced, is as follows : 

' Come away, come away, death, 
And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 

Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it ; 
My part of death no one so troe 
Pid •' arc it. 

" Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
On my black coiin let there be stro n I 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
My poor corpse, where my bones shall hk ftrow* 
A thousand, thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O where 
Bad true lover never find my grave, 
To weep there."' 

> TTfelftb Night, Art ii. Scene 4tll. 



On comparing this love elegy, or whatever i1 
may be entitled, with the ordinary, anu especially 
the earlier popular poetry, I cannot help thinking 
that a great difference will be observed in the 
structure of the verse, the character of the senti- 
ments, the ornaments and refinement of the lan- 
guage. Neither, indeed, as might be exjiected 
from the progress of htmian affairs, was the ehango 
in the popular style of poetry achieved without 
some disadvantages, which counterbalanced, in a 
certain degree, the superior art and exercise o{ 
fancy which had been introduced of late times. 

The expressions of Sir Philip Sidney, an unques 
tionable judge of poetry, flourishing in Elizabeth'i 
golden reign, and drawing around him, like a mag- 
net, the most distinguished poets of the age, 
amongst whom we need only name Shakspeare 
and Spenser, still show something to regret when 
he compared the highly wrought and richly orna- 
mented poetry of his own time, with the ruder 
but more energetic diction of Chevy Chase. His 
words, often quoted, cannot yet be dispensed with 
on the present occasion. They are a chapter in 
the history of ancient poetry. " Certainlyt* says 
the brave knight, " I must confess my own bar- 
barousness ; I never heard the old song of Percy 
and Douglas, that I found not my heart more 
moved than with a trumpet. And yet it is sung 
by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than 
rude style, which being so evil apparelled m the 
dust and cobwebs of that uncivil age, what would 
it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence ©< 
Pindar."" 

If we inquire more particularly what were the 
peculiar charms by wliich the old minstrel ballad 
produced an effect like a trumpet-soimd upon the 
bosom of a real son of cloivalry, we may not be 
wrong in ascribing it to the extreme sunplicity 
with which the narrative moves forward, neglect 
ing all the more minute ornaments of speech and 
diction, to the grand object of enforcmg on the 
hearer a striking and affecting catastrophe. The 
author seems too serious in his wish to affect the 
audience, to allow himself to be drawn aside by 
any thing which can, either by its tenor, or the 
manner in which it is spoken, have the perverse 
effect of distractuig attention from the catastrophe, 

Such grand and serious beauties, however, oc- 
curred but rarely to the old minstrels ; and ir or- 
der to find them, it became necessary to struggle 
through long passages of monotony, languor, and 
inanity. Unfortunately it also happened, that 
those who, like Sidney, could ascertain, feel, and 
do full justice to the beauties of the heroic ballad, 
were f«w compared to the numbers who could ne 
sensible o^ the trite verbiage of a bald passage, 3l 

• Si- Philin Sidney's Uefence of Poen*. 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



65* 



ILe ladicrous effect of an i^urd rhyme. In Eng- 
land, accordingly, the popular ballad fell into con- 
tempt during the se'p^enteenth century; and al- 
tliough in remote comities' its inspiration was 
occasionally the source of a few verses, it seems 
to liave become almost entirely obsolete in the 
uapital. Even the Civil Wars, which gave so much 
occasion for poetry, produced rather song and sa- 
tire, than the ballad or popular epic. The curious 
reader may satisfy himself on this point, should he 
Jirish to ascertain the truth of the allegation, by 
looking through D'Urfey's large and curious col- 
lection,^ when he will be aware that the few bal- 
lads which it contains are the most ancient pro- 
Juctions- in the book, and very seldom take their 
date after the commencement of the seventeenth 
century. 

In Scotland, on the contrary, the old minstrel 
ballad long continued to preserve its popularity. 
Even the last contests of Jacobitism were recited 
with great vigor in ballids of the time, the authors 
of some of which are known and remembered; 
aor is there a more spirited ballad preserved than 
that of Mr. Skirving' (father of Skirving the art- 
ist), upon the battle of Prestonpans, so late as 
1745. But this was owing to circumstances con- 
nected with the habits of the people in a remote 
and rude country, which could not exist in the 
•ich^r and wealthier provinces of England. 

On the whole, however, the ancient Heroic bal- 
lad, as it was called, seemed to be fast declining 
among the more enlightened and literary part of 
both countries ; and if retained by the lower classes 
in Scotland, it had in England ceased to exist, or 
degenerated into doggerel of the last degree of 
vileness. 

Subjects the most interesting were abandoned 
to the poorest rhymers, and one would have 
thought that, as in an ass-race, the prize had been 
destined to the slowest of those who competed 
for the prize. The melancholy fate of Miss Ray,* 
who fell by the hands of a frantic lover, could only 
ins]iire the Grub Street muse with such verses as 
IbtfM, — that is, if I remember them correctly : 

•' A Sandwich favorite was this fair, 
And her he dearly loved ; 
By whom six children had, we hear ; 
This story fatal proved. 

"A -clergyman, O wicked one, 
In Covent Garden shot her ; 
No time to cry upon hei God, 
It's hoped He's not forgot her." 

J A cnnous and spirited specimen occnrs in Cornwall, as late 
■8 the trial of the Bishops before the Revolntion. The Presi- 
ilent of the Royal Society of London (Mr. Davies Gilbert) has 
Vk uisaained the trouble of preserving it from oMivion. 

• Pills to Purge Melancholy. 



If it be true, as in other cases, that when thing! 
ai ; at the worst they must mend, it was certainly 
time to expect an amelioration in the department 
in which such doggerel passed current. 

Accordingly, previous to this time, a new spe- 
cies of poetry seems to have arisen, Tihich, insom# 
cases, endeavored to pass itself as the production 
of genuine antiquity, and, in others, honestly avow- 
ed an attempt to emulate the merits and avoidthf 
errors with which the old ballad was encumbererf 
and in the effort to accomphsJi tliis, a spec'ee ol 
composition was discovered, wliich is capable ol 
being subjected to peculiar ruLjs of criticism, and 
of exhibiting excellences of its own. 

In writing for the use of fhe general reader, 
rather than the poetical antiquary, I shall be 
readily excused from entering ioto any inquiry re- 
specting the authors who first showed the way in 
this pecuUar department of modern poetry, which 
I may term the imitation of the old ballad, espe- 
cially that of the latter or Eli2abethan era. One 
of the oldest, according to my recollection, which 
pretends to engraft modern refinement upon ar 
cient simphcity, is extremely beautiful, both from 
the words, and the simple and (effecting melody tr 
which they are usually sung. The title is, " Lord 
Henry and Fair Ciilherine." It, begins thus 

" In ancient days, in Britain's isle, 
Lord Henry well was kno wn ; 
No knight in all the land more famed, 
Or more deserved renown. 

" His thonghts were all on honor bent, 
He ne'er would stooj) to Icve : 
No lady in the land had po« er 
His frozen heart to move." 

Early in the eighteenth century, this peculiar 
species of composition became jiopular. We find 
Tickell, the friend of Addison, ■vrho produced the 
beautiful ballad, " Of Leinster famed for maid- 
ens fair," Mallet, Goldsmith, Shenstone, Percy, 
and many others, followed an example which had 
much to recommend it, especially as it present- 
ed considerable facihties to those who wished, 
at as httle exertion of trouble an possible, to at- 
tain for themselves a certain degree of literary 
reputation. 

Before, however, treating of tho prcfessed imi- 
tators of Ancient Ballad Poetry, I ought to say a 
word upon those who have written their imita- 
tions with the preconceived pur]>ose of passing 
them for ancient. 

There is no small degree of cant in the violent 

' See Hogg's Jacobite Relics, vol. i. — Ed. 

* Miss Ray, the beantiful mistress of the En.rl of Sandwich 
then First Lord of the Admiralty, was affia.'wnated by Mr 
Hackman, " in a fit of frantic jealous love," as Boswell es 
presses it, in 1779. See Croker's Boswell vol. iv. p 234. — Bb 



558 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



mvectives with which impostors of this nature 
have been assailed. In fact, the case of each is 
special, and ought to be separately considered, 
according to its o-vsn circumstances. If a young, 
perhaps a female author, chooses to chculate a 
oeautiful poem, we will suppose that of Hardy- 
tuiute, imder the disguise of antiquity, the pubUc 
3 surely more enriched by the contribution than 
Jijured by the deception.* It is hardly possible, 
indeed, without a power of poetical genius, and 
acquaintance with ancient language and manners 
Dossessed by very few, to succeed in deceiving 
thoae who have made this branch of Uterature 
cheir ptudy. The very desire to unite modern re- 
finement with the verve of the ancient minstrels, 
will itself l>etray the masquerade. A minute ac- 
quaintance with ancient customs, and with ancient 
history, is also demanded, to sustain a part which, 
as it must rest on deception, cannot be altogether 
an honorable one. 

Two of the most distinguished authors of this 
•lass have, in this manner, been detected ; being 
deficient in the knowledge requisite to support 
their genius in the disguise they meditated. Har- 
dyknute, for instance, already mentioned, is irrec- 
oncilable with all chronology, and a chief with a 
Norwegian name is strangely introduced as the 
first of the nobles brought to resist a Worse inva- 
sion, at the battle of Largs : the " needlework so 
rare," introduced by the fair authoress, must have 
been certainly long posterior to the reign of Alex- 
ander III. In Chatterton's ballad of " Sir Charles 
Baudwin," we find an anxious attempt to repre- 
sent the composition as ancient, and some entries 
in the public accounts of Bristol were appealed to 
m corroboration. But neither was this ingenious 
but most unliappy young man, with all his powers 
of poetry, and with the antiquarian knowledge 
which he had collected with indiscriminating but 
astonishing research, able to impose on that part 
of the public qualified to judge of the composi- 
tions, wlfich it had occurred to hun to pass off as 
those of a monk of the 14th century. It was in 
vain that he in each word doubled the consonants, 
like the sentinels of an endangered army. Tlie 
art used to disguise and misspell the words only 
overdid what was intended, and afforded sure evi- 
rlence that the poems published as antiques had 
oe<m, in fact, tampered with by a modern artist, 
Rs the newly forged medals of modern days stand 
convicted of imposture fi-om the very touches of 
the file, by wliich there is an attempt to imitate 
the cracks and fissures produced by the hammer 
npon the original.' 

1 " Hardyknnte was tne first poem that I ever learnt — the 
ast that I shall forget." — MS. note of Sir Wa)'«i Scott on a 
paf of Allan R'.msay'i Tea-Table Miscellanjr. 



I have only met, in my researches into thcs« 
matters, with one poem, which, if it had been pro- 
duced as ancient, could not have been detected on 
internal evidence. It is the " War Song upon the 
victory at Brunnanburg, translated from the An- 
glo-Saxon into Anglo-Norman," by the Right Hon- 
orable John Hooldiam Frerfi. See Ellis's Speci 
mens of Ancient Enghsh Poetry, vol. i. p. 32. The 
accomplished Editor tells us, that this very singu- 
lar poem was intended as an imitation of the style 
and language of the fourteenth century, and was 
written during the controversy occasioned by the 
poems attributed to Rowley. Mr. Ellis adds, 
"the reader will probably hear with some sur- 
prise, that tins singular instance of critical inge- 
nuity was the composition of an Eton schoolboy." 

The author may be permitted to speak as an 
artist on tliis occasion (disowning, at the same 
time, all purpose of imposition), as having written, 
at the request of the late Mr. Ritson, one or two 
things of this kind ; among others, a continuation 
of the romance of Thomas of Ercildoune, the only 
one which chances to be preserved.* And he 
thinks hhnself entitled to state, that a modern 
poet engaged in such a task, is much in the situa- 
tion of an architect oi the present day, who, il 
acquainted with his profession, finds no difficultj 
in copymg the external forms of a Gotliic castle oi 
abbey ; but when it is completed, can hardly, by anj 
artificial tints or cement, supply the spots, weath 
er-stains, and hues of different kinds, with wliid 
time alone had invested the venerable fabric which 
he desires to imitate. 

Leaving this branch of the subject, in .viiich the 
difficulty of passing off what is mode-r. fk^r flr'aat 
is ancient cannot be matter of regret, vo n.ay be- 
stow with advantage some brief c: i Jde'.atioii on 
the fair trade of manufacturing ncJi^rn antiques, 
not for the purpose of passing t) ;m as contraband 
goods on the skilful antiquar,, but in order to 
obtain the credit due to autlv e as succt«»fui imi- 
tators of the aicient sunplici ,j, while their system 
admits of a ccirsiderable invasion of modern refine- 
ment. Two classes of in station may be referred 
to as belonging to th',* species of composition 
When they approach each other, there may be 
some difficulty in ^j^wgning to individual poems 
their peculiar chaJnCter, but m general the dilFet 
ence is distinp*l_^ marked. The distinction 2es b^ 
twixt ihif Ahthors of ballads or legendary poem^. 
who hnve attemptetl to imitate the language, the 
manners, and the sentiments of the ancient poema 
wliich were their prototypes; and those, on the 
contrary, who, without endeavormg to do so, have 



* See Appendix, Note A. 

9 See Sir Tristrem, Scott's Poetical Works, vol. » 

iraa. 



K!itija 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



56\l 



itruck out a pan'Ciilar path for tliemselves, which 
rannot, with strict propriety, be termed either 
ancient or moderii. 

In the actual iniitat'ai of the ancient ballad, 
Dr. Percy, whjee researches made him Avell ac- 
|uainted -with that department of poetry, was 
peculiarly raccessful. The " Hermit of Wark- 
wortV.' 1.3 "Clalde of EUe," and other minstrel 
lal»i3 oi hi', composition, must always be remem- 
wred with fondness by those who have perused 
^hem in that period of life when the feelings are 
itrcng, and the taste for poetry, especially of tliis 
simple nature, is keen and poignant. Tliis learned 
and aminble preW ; was also remarkable for liis 
po^i er 01 rcatoiitig the anciruit ballad, by throwing 
m touches of poetry, so adapted to its tone and 
tenor, as to assimilate with its original structure, 
ted impress every one who considered the subject 
«8 being coeval with the rest of the piece. It must 
be owned, that such freedoms, when assumed by 
I professed antiquary, addressing himself to anti- 
quaries, and for the sake of illustrating literary 
antiquities, are subject to great and hcentious 
abuse ; and herein the severity of Ritson was to a 
certain extent justified. But when the licens* is 
avowed, and practised without the intention to 
deceive, it cannot be objected to but by scrupulous 
pedantry. 

The poet, perhaps, most capable, by verses, 
lines, even single words, to relieve and heighten 
me character of ancient poetry, was the Scottish 
bard Robert Burns. We are not here speaking 
of the avowed lyrical poems of his own composi- 
ti.jn, which he communicated to Mr. George Thom- 
son, but of the manner in which he recomposed 
and rt paired the old songs and fragments for the 
collection of Johnson' and others, when, if his 
memorj supphed the theme, or general subject of 
the song, such as it existed in Scottish lore, his 
genius coritributed that part which was to give 
life and immortality to the whole. If tliis praise 
Bhould be thought extravagant, the reader may 
compare his splendid lyric, "My heart's in the 
Highlands," with the tame and scarcely half-intel- 
ligible remains of that song as preserved by Mr. 
I'eier Buclian. Or, what is perhaps a still more 
ir'»iiflificer.t example of what we mean, " Macpher- 
H'as Farewell," with all its spirit and grandeur, 
BS repaired by Burns, may be collated with the 
original poem called " Macpherson's Lament," or 
Bometimea the " Ruffian's Rant." In Burns's bril- 
liant rifiicimento, the same strain of wild ideas is 
expressed as we find m the original ; but with an 
inlusion c£ the savage and impassioned spirit of 
Highland chivalry, which gives a splendor to the 

• J.ihnson's "Musical Mnaeum," in 6 vols., was lately re- 
^>)te(. v Edinburgh. 



composition, of which we find not a trace in the 
rudeness of the ancient ditty. I can bear witueai 
to the older verses having been current while 1 
was a cliild, but I never knew a line of the inspired 
edition of the Ayrshhe bard until the appearaiwe 
of Johnson's Museum. 

Besides Percy, Burns, and others, we must nol 
omit to mention Mr. Finlay, whose beautiful soi\g, 

" There came a knight from the field of the slain ' 

is so happily descriptive of antique mannejs; or 
Mickle, whose accm-ate and interesting imitations 
of the ancient ballad we have already mentioned 
with approbation in the former Essay on BallaC 
Composition. These, with others of modern date, 
at the head of whom we must place Thomap 
Moore, have aimed at striking the ancient harp 
with the same bold and rough note to wliich it 
was awakened by the ancient minstrels. Southey, 
Wordsworth, and other distinguished names of thf 
present century, have, in repeated instances, dig 
nified this branch of literature ; but no one more 
than Coleridge, in the wild an«i miagiuative tak 
of the " Ancient Mariner," which displays so mucl: 
beauty with such eccentricity. We should act 
most unjustly in this department of Scottish ballac 
poetry, not to mention the names of Leyden, Hogg 
and Allan Cunningham. They have aU three hon 
ored their country, by arriving at distinction fron 
a humble origin, and there is none of them imdei 
whose hand the ancient Scottish harp has not 
soimded a bold and distinguished tone. Miss Anne 
Bannerman likewise should not be forgotten, whose 
"Tales of Superstition and Cliivalry" appeared 
about 1802. They were perhaps too mystical and 
too abrupt ; yet if it be the purpose of tliis kind 
of ballad poetry powerfully to excite the imagina 
tion, without pretending to satisfy it, few pcrsom? 
have succeeded better than this gifted lady, whose 
volume is peculiarly fit to be read in a lonely 
house by a decaying lamp. 

As we have already hinted, a numerous class ol 
the authors (some of them of the very first class) 
who condescended to imitate the shnplicity of an- 
cient poetry, gave themselves no trouble to ob 
serve the costume, style, or mamier, either of the 
old minstrel or ballad-smger, but assumed a struo 
ture of a separate and pecuhar kind, which could 
not be correctly termed either ancient or modern, 
although made the vehicle of beauties which were 
common to both. The discrepancy between thfi 
mark which they avowed their purpose of shooting 
at, and that at which they really took aim, is best 
illustrated by a production of one of th« most dis 
tinguished of their number. Goldsmith describe* 
the young family of liis Vicar of Wakefield, a« 
amusing themselves Avith convex .iing about poetry 
Mr. Bm-chell observes, that the Britisli jx^rs, wl»* 



560 



SCOTT'S FUKnCAL WORKS. 



imitated the class' «. have especially contributed 
to introduce a fair* taste, by loading their lines 
with epithets, so ks to present a combinalion of 
luxuriaflt unagea, without plot or connection,- -a 
3tring of epitnete that improve the soimd, without 
carrying on the sense. But when an example of 
popular poetry is produced as free from the fault 
s'liich the critic has just censured, it is the well- 
kr.own and beautiful poem of Edwin and Angelina 1 
"vliich, m felicitous attention to the language, and 
in fanciful ornament of imagery, is as unlike to a 
minstrel ballad, as a lady assuming the dress of a 
Shepherdess for a masquerade, is different from 
the actual Sisly of Salisbury Plain. Tickell's 
beautiful ballad is equally formed upon a pastoral, 
sentimental, and ideal model, not, however, less 
beautifully executed ; and the attention of Addi- 
?on'8 friend had been probably directed to the 
ballad stanza (for the stanza is all which is imi- 
tated) by the praise bestowed on Chevy Chase in 
the Spectator. 

Upon a later occasion, the subject of Mallet's 
fine poem, Edwin and Emma, being absolutely 
rural in itself, and occurring at the hamlet of 
Bowes, in Yorkshire, might have seduced the poet 
from ehe beau ideal which he had pictured to him- 
relf, into something more immediately allied to 
common life. But Mallet was not a man to neg- 
It^ct what was esteemed fashionable, and poor 
Eaunah Railtnn and her lover Wrightson were 
enveloped in the elegant but tinsel frippery ap- 
pertaining to Edward and Emma ; for the suniles, 
reflections, and suggestions of the poet are, in fact, 
too intrusive and too well said to suffer the reader 
to feel the full taste of the tragic tale. The verses 
are doubtless beautiful, but I must own the simple 
prose of the Curate's letter, who gives the narra- 
tive of the tale as it really happened, has to me a 
tone of serious veracity more affecting than the 
ornaments of Mallet's fiction. The same author's 
ballad, " William and Margaret," has, in some 
degree, the same fault. A disembodied spirit is 
lot a person before whom the living spectator 
takes leisure to make remarks of a moral kind, as, 

■ Fo will the fairest face appear, 
When youth and years are flown. 
And such the robe that Kings must wear 
Wlien death has reft their crown." 

Upon the whole, the ballad, though the best of 
Mallet's writing, is certainly inferior to its origi- 
nal, wliich I presunr e to be the very fine and even 
terrific old Scottish ale, beginning, 

" There came a jjhost to Margaret's door." 

> If I am right in what must be a very early recollection, I 
m.\> Mr. Oartwright (then a student of medicine at the Edin- 
Dorgh University) at the house of my maternal grandfather, 
■•ho Rutherford, iM. D 



It may be found in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-tablt 
Miscellany." 

We need only stop to mention another very 
beautiful piece of this fanciful kind, by Dr. Cart- 
wright, called Armin and Elvira, containing some 
excellent poetry, expressed with unusual feUcity. 
I have a vision of having met this accomplished 
gentleman in my very early youth, and am tho 
less likely to be mistaken, as he was the first living 
poet I recollect to have seen.' His poem had th« 
distinguished honor to be much admired by oui 
celebrated philosopher, Dugald Stewart, who was 
wont to quote with much pathos, the picture of 
resignation in the following stanza : — 

" And while his eye to Heaven he raised, 
Its silent waters stole away."* 

After enumerating so many persons of undorbt 
ed genius, who have cultivated the Arcadian style 
of poetry (for to such it may be compared), it 
would be endless to enumerate the various Sir 
Eldreds of the liills and downs whose stories were 
woven into legendary/ tales — wliich came at length 
to be the name assigned to this half-ancient, half 
modern style of composition. 

El general I may observe, that the supposed fa 
cUity of this species of composition, the alliu-ing 
simplicity of which was held sufficient to support 
it, afforded great attractions for those whose am- 
bition led them to exercise their untried talents 
in verse, but who were desirous to do so with the 
least possible expense of thought. The task seems 
to present, at least to the inexperienced acolyte 
of the Muses, the same advantages which an ii. 
strument of sweet sound and small compass offeri, 
to those who begin their studies in music. In 
either case, however, it frequently happens that 
the scholar, getting tired of the palling and monot- 
onous character of the poetry or music which he 
produces, becomes desirous to strike a more inde- 
pendent note, even at the risk of its being a more 
difficult one. 

The same simplicity involves an inconvenience 
fatal to the continued popularity of any species ol 
poetry, by exposing it in a peculiar degree to ridi- 
cule and to parody. Dr. Johnson, whose style ol 
poetry was of a very different and more stately 
description, could ridicule the ballads of Percy, io 
such stanzas as these, — 

" The tender infant, meek au mild, 
Fell down upon a stone ; 
The nurse took up the squalling child, 
But still the child sqnall'd on ;" 

with various slipshod imitations of the same qoal 

> Happily altered by an admiring foreigner, who read 
" The silent wateni stole awa»." 



it/.' It did not require his talents to pursue this 
7eit of raillery, for it was svich as most men could 
mitate, and all could enjoy. It is, therefore, little 
wonderful that this sort of composition should be 
repaatedly laid aside for considerable })eriod8 ot 
time, iiid ceitainly as Uttle so, that it should have 
jeen repeatedly revived, like some forgotten mel- 
i>dj, and have again obtained some degree of pop- 
alaritv, until it sunk once more under satire, as 
veil as parody, but, above all, the effects of satiety. 

During the thirty years that I have paid some 
attention to literary matters, the taste for the an- 
cient ballad melody, and for the closer or more 
distant imitation of that strain of poetry, has more 
than once arisen, and more than once subsided, in 
conseqiience, perhaps, of too unlimited indulgence. 
That this has been the case in other countries, we 
know ; for the Spanish poet, when he found that 
'the beautiful Morisco romances were excluding all 
other topics, com'ers upon them a hearty maledic- 
tion." 

A period when this particular taste for the pop- 
ular ballad was in the most extravagant degree 
of fashion, became the occasion, unexpectedly, in- 
«.'eed, of my deserting the profession to which I 
was educated, and in which I had sufficiently ad- 
vantageous prospects for a person of limited ambi- 
tion. I have, in a former publication, undertaken 
to mention this circumstance ; and I will endeavor 
to do so with becoming brevity, and without more 
egotism than is positively exacted by the nature 
if the story. 

I m?.y, in the first place, remark, that although 
che assc-'tion has been made, ^nd that by persons 
who rieemed satisfied with their authority, it is a 
mistake to suppose that my situation in life or 
place in society were materially altered by such 
success as I attained in literary attempts. My 
birth, without giving the least pretension to dis- 
tinction, was that of a gentleman, and connected 
me Avith several respectable families and accom- 
plished persons. My education had been a good 
one, although I was deprived of its fuU benefit by 
indifferent health, just at the period when I ought 
to have been most sedulous in improving it. The 
voung mer with whom I was brought up, and 
11 veil most familiarly, were those, who, from op 
portunities, bhth, and talents, might be expected 
to make the greatest advances in the career for 
which we were all destined ; and I have the 
pleasure still to preserve my youthful intimacy 
witli no inconsiderable number of them, whom 
Iheii merit has carried forward to the highest 

' Jrercy was especially annoyed, according to Boswell, with 



7. 



pot ray hat upon my head, 
And walked into the Strand, 



honors of their profession. Neither was 1 lE a 
situation to be embarrassed by the res anguita 
domi, which might have otherwise brought pamful 
additional obstructions to a path in which progress 
is proverbially slow. I enjoyed a moderate degree 
of bi^Ecness for my standing, and the fiiendship a> 
more than one person of consideration and Ji 
fluence efficiently disposed to aid my views it 
life. The private fortune, also, which 1 migh* ex 
pect, a'ld finally inherited, from my family, dii' 
not, indeed, amount to affluence, but placed mv. 
considerably beyond all apjirehension of want. 1 
mention these particulars merely because they are 
true. Many better men than myself have owed 
their rise from inchgence and obscurity to their 
own talents, wliich were, doubtless, much more 
adequate to the task of raising thein than any 
which I possess. But although it would be ab- 
surd and ungracious in me to deny, that I owe 
to hterature many marks of distinction to which 
I could not otherwise have aspired, and particu- 
larly that of securing the acquaintance, and even 
the friendship, of many remarkable persons of the 
age, to whom I coidd not otherwise have made 
my way ; it would, on the other hand, be ridicu- 
lous to affect gratitude to the pubhc favor, either 
for my general position in society, or the means of 
supporting it with decency, matters which had 
been otherwise secured under the usual chance* 
of human affairs. Thus much I have thought i 
necessary to say upon a subject, which is, after aU, 
of very Uttle consequence to any one but myself I 
proceed to detail the circumstai^ces which engaged 
me in hterary pursuits. 

During the last ten years of the eighteenth 
century, the art of poetry was at a remarkably 
low ebb in Britain. Hayley, to whom fashion had 
some years before ascribed a liigher degree of rep- 
utation than posterity has confirmed, had now 
lost his reputation for talent, though he still lived 
beloved and respected as an amiable and accom- 
phshed man. The Bard of Memory slumbered 
on his laurels, and He of Hope had scarce begun 
to attract his share of pubhc attenti/^n. Cowper, 
a poet of deep feeling and bright genius, was still 
ahve, indeed ; but the hypochondria, which wa« 
his mental rcalady, impeded liis popularity. Burn* 
whose genius our southern neighbors could hardly 
yet comprehend, had long confined himself t( 
song-writing. Names which are new imown VL-d 
distinguished wherever the English languag* i'' 
spoken, were then only beginning to be rjeu- 
tioned ; and, unless among the sma J nimiber o« 



And there I met anotner man 
With his hat in his hand." — Ed. 
3 See the Introduction to Locl(hart'a Spanish Ballad*-, W 
p. xxii. 



persons who habitually devote a part of their 
leisure to literature, even those of Southey, 
V\"ordsworth, and Coleridge, were still but little 
knux^-n. The realms of Parnassus, like many a 
kingdom at the period, seemed to lie open to the 
first bold invader, whether he should be a daring 
usurper, or could show a legitimate title of sove- 
reignty. 

As far back as 1788, a new species af literature 
Degan to be introduced into this country. Ger- 
riany, long known as a powerful branch of the Eu- 
ropean confederacy, was them, for the first time, 
hf>ard )f as the cradle of a style of poetry and lit- 
erature, of a kind much more analogous to that of 
Britain, than either the French, Spanish, or ItaUan 
eshools, though all three had been at various times 
pultivated and unitated among us. The names of 
licssing, Klopstock, Schiller, and othei German 
poets of emmence, were only known in Britain very 
imperfectly. " The Sorrows of Werter" was the 
only composition that had attained any degree of 
popularity, and the success of that remarkable 
n; vol, notwithstanding the distinguished genius of 
t. /e author, was retarded by the nature of its inci- 
dents. To the other compositions of Goeth^, whose 
talents were destined to illuminate the age in which 
he flourished, the English remained strangers, and 
much more so to Schiller, Burger, and a whole cy- 
cle of foreigners of distinguished merit. The ob- 
scurity to which German Uterature seemed to be 
condemned, did not arise from want of brilhancy 
in the lights by which it was Uluminated, but from 
the palpable thickness of the darkness by wliich 
they were surrounded. Frederick II. of Prussia 
had given a partial and ungracious testimony 
against his native language and native literature, 
and uiipolitically and unwisely, as well as unjustly, 
had yielded to the French that superiority in let- 
ters, which, after his death, paved the way for 
their obtaining, for a time, an equal superiority in 
arms. Tliat great Prince, by setting the example 
of undervaluing his country in one respect, raised 
a belief in its general inferiority, and destroyed the 
manly pride with which a nation is naturally dis- 
posed to regard its own peculiar manners and pe- 
culiar literature. 

Unmoved by the scornful neglect of its sover- 
eigns and nobles, and encouraged by the tide of 
native genius, which flowed in upon the nation, 
German literature began to assume a new, inter- 
esting, and liighlj' impressive character, to which 
it became impossible for strangers to shut their 
ijyes That it exliibited the faults of exaggeration 
and false taste, almost inseparable from the first 
attempts at the heroic and at the pathetic, cannot 
be denie 1. It was, in a word, the first crop of a 
nch soil, which throw? out weeds as well as flow- 
era with I prolific abundance 



It was so late as the 21st day of April, l^S* 
that the literary persons of Edinburgh, of whom 
at that period, I am better qualified to speak thai 
of those of Britain generally, or especially those of 
London, were first made aware of the existence 
of works of genius in a language cognate with the 
English, and possessed of the same manly force oJ 
expression. They learned, at the same tin.e th,«t 
the taste which dictated the German compositions 
was of a kind as nearly allied to the English as 
their language. Those who were accustomed from 
their youth to admire Milton and Shakspeare, be 
came acquainted, I may say for the first time, with 
the existence of a race of poets who had the samo 
lofty ambition to spurn the flaming boundaries of the 
universe,' and investigate the realms of cliaos and 
old night ; and of dramatists, who, disclamiing the 
pedantry of the unities, sought, at the expense of oc- 
casional improbabilities and extravagancies, to pre- 
sent life in its scenes of wUJest contrast, and in all 
its boundless variety of character, mingling, without 
hesitation, hvelier with more serious Micidents, and 
exchanging scenes of tragic distress, as they occur 
in common life, with those of a comic tendency, 
Tliis emancipation from the rules so servilely ad- 
hered to by the French school, and particularly by 
their dramatic poets, although it was attendee! 
with some disadvantages, especially the risk of 
extravagance and bombast, was the means of giv 
ing free scope to the genius of Goethe, Schiller, 
and others, which, thus relieved from shackles, wa? 
not long in soaring to the highest pitch of poetic 
sublimity. The late venerable Henry Mackenzie, 
author of " The Man of Feeling," in an Essay upon 
the German Theatre, introduced bis countrymen 
to tliis new species of national literature, the pecu- 
harities of wliich he traced with equal truth and 
spirit, although they were at that time known to 
him only through the imperfect and uncongenial 
medium of a French translation. Upon the day 
already mentioned (21st April, 1788), he read to 
the Royal Society an Essay on German Litera- 
ture, which made much noise, and produced a 
25owerful eff"ect. " Germany," he observed, " in hei 
literary aspect, presents herself to observation in 
a singular point of view ; that of a country arrived 
at maturity, along with the neighboring nationa 
in the arts and sciences, in the pleasures and re 
finements of manners, and yet only in Jts? infancv 
with regard to writings of taste and imagination 
This last path, however, from these very circum- 
stances, she pursues with an enthusiasm which no 
other situation could perhaps have produced, the 
enthusiasm which novelty inspires, and which the 
servility incident to a more cultivated and critical 
state of literature does not restrain." At tb» 

" Flammantia moenia mnndi." >-TjrcR«Tini 



C.w~. 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS, OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



56.\ 



wme time, the acconaplished critic showed himself 
equally familiar with the classical rules of the ' 
French stage, and failed not to touch upon the ac- 
iinowtedged advantages which these produced, by 
thfi encouragement and regulation of taste, though 
at the risk ol repressing genius. 

Bui it was not the di'amatic Uterature alone of 
the Germans which was liitherto unknown to their 
leighbors — their fictitious narratives, their ballad 
p'letry, and other branches of their literature, 
vhich are particularly apt to bear the stamp of 
the extravagant and the supernatural, began to 
ofcupy the attention of the British literati. 

In Edinburgh, where the remarkable coincidence 
between the German language and that of the 
liOwland Scottish, encouraged young men to ap- 
plot..ch this newly discovered spring of Uterature, 
ft class was formed, of six or seven intimate friends, 
who proposed to make themselves acquainted with 
the ("rerman language. They were in the habit of 
K-ring much together, and the time they spent in 
this new study was felt as a period of great amuse- 
ment. One source of this diversion was the lazi- 
ness of one of their number, the present author, 
who, averse to the necessary toil of grammar and 
its rules, was in the practice of fighting his way to 
the knowledge of the German by liis acquaintance 
with the Scottish and Anglo-Saxon dialects, and, 
oi course, frequently conmiitted blunders which 
were not lost on his more accurate and more stu- 
dious companions. A more general source of 
imusement, was the despair of the teacher, on 
inding it impossible to extract from his Scottish 
students the degree of sensibility necessarj^ as he 
thought, to enjoy the beauties of the author to 
^hom he considered it proper first to introduce 
them. We were desirous to penetrate at once 
into the recesses of the Teutonic Uterature, and 
therefore were ambitious of perusing Goeth6«and 
Schiller, and others whose fame had been sounded 
by Mackenzie. Dr. Willich (a medical gentleman), 
who was our teacher, was judiciously disposed to 
cr>:: inence our studies with the more simple dic- 
tion of Gesner, and prescribed to us " The Death 
of Abel," as the production from which our Ger- 
man tasks were to be drawn. The pietistic style 
)-><■ this autlior was ill adapted to attract young 
j-«:fr*Dns of our age and disposition. We could no 
more sympathize with the overstrained sentimen- 
tality of Adam and his family, than we could have 
oad a fellow-feeling with the jolly Faun of the 
same author, who broke Ms beautiful jug, and then 
made a song on it which might have affected all 
Staffordshire. To sum up the distresses of Dr. 
Willich, we, with one consent, voted Abel an in- 

' Alexander Fraser Tytler, a Judge of the Court of Session 
»y the title of Lord Woodhonselee, author of the well-known 
' Elements of General History " and lonj; eminent as Professor 



sufferable bore, and gave the pre-eminence, ia 
point of mascuUne character, to his brother Cain, 
or even to Lucifer himself. When these jests, 
which arose out of the sickly monotony and affect- 
ed ecstasies of the poet, failed to amuse us, w« 
had for our entertainment the unutterable sourtj* 
manufactured by a Frenchman, our fellow-student 
who, with the economical purpose of learning two 
languages at once, was endeavoring to acquire 
German, of which he knew nothing, by means of 
English, concerning which he was nearly as igno- 
rant. Heaven only knows the notes which he ut- 
tered, in attempting, with unpractised organs, to 
imitate the gutturals of these two intractable lan- 
guages. At length, in the midst of much laughing 
and little study, most of us acquired some know- 
ledge, more or less extensive, of the German lan- 
guage, and selected for ourselves, some in the 
philosophy of Kant, some in the more animated 
works of the German dramatists, specimens more 
to our tastes than " The Death of Abel." 

About this period, or a year or two sooner, the 
accomplished and excellent Lord Woodhouselee,' 
one of the friends of my youth, made a spiritcci 
version of " The Robbers" of Scliiller, which I be 
Heve was the first published, though an Enghsl) 
version appeared soon afterwards in London, as 
the metropolis then took the lead in every tiling 
Uke hterary adventure. The enthusiasm with 
which tliis work was received, greatly increased 
the general taste for German compositions. 

While universal curiosity was thus distinguish- 
ing the advancing taste for the German language 
and literature, the success of a very young student, 
in a juvenile publication, seemed to show that the 
prevailing taste in that country might be easilj 
employed as a formidable auxiliary to renewing 
the sphit of our own, upon the same system a? 
when medical persons attempt, by the transfusion 
of blood, to pass into the veins of an aged and ex- 
hausted patient, the vivacity of the circulation and 
liveliness of sensation which distinguish a young 
subject. The person who first attempted to in 
troduce something hke the German taste intd 
Englisli fictitious dramatic and poetical composi 
tion, although his works, when first published 
engaged general attention, is now comparativelj 
forgotten. I mean Matthew Gregory Lewis, whoN* 
character and literary history are so immediately 
connected with the subject of which I am treating 
that a few authentic particulars may be here in 
serted by one to whom he was well known.' 

Lewis's rank in society was determined by hii 
birth, which, at the same time, assured Ids fortune 
His father was Under-Secretary at War, at thai 

of History in the University of Edinburgh. He died n 
ISIO.— Ed. 
2 See more of Lewis in the Life oj Scott, vol ii. pd. 8-!« 



564 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



time a very lucrative appointment, and the young 
poet Tvas provided with a seat in Parhament as 
soon as his age permitted him to fill it. But his 
mind ilid not incline him to politics, or, if it did, 
'hey were not of the complexion wliich his father, 
attached to Mr. Pitt's administration, would have 
ijiproved. He was, moreover, indolent, and though 
p< is.^essed of abilities sufficient to conquer any diffi- 
cuHy which might stand in the way of classical 
littainments, he preferred applying his exertions 
in a path where they were rewarded with more 
immediate applause. As he completed his edu- 
cation abroad, he had an opportunity of indulging 
his inchnation for the extraordinary and supernatu- 
ral, by wandering through the whole enchanted 
land of German faery and diablerie, not forgettmg 
the paths of her enthusiastic tragedy and romantic 
poetry. 

We are easily induced to imitate what we ad- 
mire, and Lewis early distinguished himself by a 
-omance in the German taste, called " Tlie Monk." 
[r this work, written in liis twentieth year, and 
foujded on the Eastern apologue of the Santon 
Barsisa, the author introduced supernatural ma- 
"".hinery with a courageous consciousness of his own 
power to manage its ponderous strength, wliich 
^nnmiauded the respect of his reader. " The 
Monk" was published in 1795, and, though liable 
o the objections common to the school to which it 
belonged, and to others peculiar to itself, placed 
its author at once high in the scale of men of let- 
ters. Nor can that be regarded as an ordinary 
exertion of genius, to which Charles Fox paid the 
unusual compliment of crossing the House of Com- 
mons that he might congratulate the young author, 
whose work obtained high praise from many other 
able men of that able time. The party which ap- 
proved " The Monk" was at first superior in the 
hsts, and it was some time before the anonymous 
luthor of the " Pursuits of Literature" denounced 
as puerile and absurd the supernatural machinery 
^ which Lewis had introduced — 



I bear an English heart. 



Unnsed at ghosts or rattling bones to start." 

Yet the acute and learned critic betrays some in- 
ajcwptency in praising tlie magic of the Italian 
poets, and complimenting Mrs. Radcliffe for her 
'Ufcess in supernatural imagery, for which at the 
lame moment he thus sternly censures her brother 
j<. velist. 

A more legitimate topic of condemnation was 
die indelicacy of particular passages. The present 
author will hardly be deemed a willing, or at least 
an interested apologist for an offence equally re- 
ougnant to decency and good breeding. But as 
Lewis at once, and with a good grace, submitted 
o the voice of censure, and expunged the objec- 



tionable jiassages, we cannot htilp considering th« 
manner in which the fault vas insisted on, aftel 
aU the amends had been offered of which the cas* 
could admit, as in the last degiee imgeneruus and 
uncandid. The pertmacity with which the pas- 
sages so much found fault with were dwelt upoiv, 
seemed to warrant a behef that something more 
was desired than the correcticii of the author'i 
errors ; and that, where the apologies of extremi 
youth, foreign education, and instant submission, 
were unable to satisfy the critics' fury, they musi 
have been determined to act on the seyerity of 
the old proverb, " Confess and be hanged." Cer 
tain it is, that other persons, offenders in the sam« 
degree, have been permitted to sue out their pai 
don without either retraction or palinode.' 

Another peccadillo of the author of " The Monk" 
was his havmg borrowed from Musajus, and from 
the popular tales of the Germans,- the singular and 
striking adventure of the " Bleeding Nun." But 
the bold and free hand with wliich he traced some 
scenes, as well of natural terror as of that which 
arises from supernatural causes, shows distinctly 
that the plagiarism could not have been occa- 
sioned by any deficiency of invention on his piu^;, 
though it might take place from wantonness or 
wilfulness. 

In spite of the objections we have stated, " The 
Monk " was so highly popular, that it seemed to 
create an epoch in our hterature. But the pubhc 
were chiefly captivated by the poetry with wliich 
Mr. Lewis had interspersed liis prose narrative. It 
has now passed from recollection among the changea 
of hterary taste ; but many may remember, as well 
as I do, the efifect produced by the beautiful bal 
lad of " Durandarte," wliich had the good fortmu 
to be adapted to an air of great sweetness and 
pathos ; by the ghost tale of " Alonzo and Imo 
ginQ ;" and by several other pieces of legendary 
poetry, which addressed themselves in all the 
charms of novelty and of simpUcity to a public 
who had ftr a long time been unused to any regale 
of the kind. In liis poetry as weU as his prose, 
Mr. Lewis had been a successful imitator of the 
Germans, both m his attachment to the ancient 
baUad, and in the tone of superstition which they 
wilUngly mingle with it. New arrangements of 
the stanza, and a varied construction of verses, 
were also adopted, and welcomed as an addition 
of a new string to the British harp. In this re- 
spect, the stanza in which " Alon/o the Brave " is 
written, was greatly admired, and received pb au 
improvement worthy of adoption into Enghsh poe 
try. 

In short, Lewis's works were admired, and th« 
author became famous, not merely through hw ovn 

* See Appendix, Note B 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



5dt 



nerit, though that was of no mean quality, but 
because he had in some measure taken the public 
by eurprise, by using a =ityle of composition, which, 
iike national melodies, is so congenial to the gen- 
eral taste, that, though it palls by being much 
hackneyed, it has only to be for a short time for- 
ijotten in ordev to i ecover its original popularity. 

It chanced thav, Avhile his fame was at the 
highest, Mr. Lewis became almost a yearly vis^itor 
>o Scotland, chiefly from Attachment to the illus- 
trious family of Argyie. The writer of these re- 
marks had the advantage of being made known 
to the most distinguished authw of the day, by a 
lady who belongs by birth to that family, and is 
equally distinguished by her beauty and accom- 
plishments.' Out of this accidental acquaintance, 
which mcreased into a sort of intimacy, conse 
^uences arose wlaich altered almost all the Scot- 
4iflL ballad-maker's future prospects in life. 

In early youth I had been an eager student of 
BtUad Poetry, and the tree is still in my recol- 
lection, beneath which I lay and first entered upon 
the enchanting perusal of Percy's " Rehques of 
Ancient Poetry,'" although it has long perished in 
the general blight which aff"ected the whole race 
of Oriental platanus to which it belonged.' The 
taste of another person had strongly encouraged 
my own researches into this species of legendary 
lore. But I had never dreamed of an attempt to 
imitate what gave me so much pleasure. 

I had, indeed, tried the metrical translations 
which were occasionally recommended to us at the 
High School. I got credit for attempting to do 
what wos enjoined, but very little for the mode 
in wliich the task was performed, and I used to 
feel not a Uttle mortified when my versions were 
placed m contrast with others of admitted merit. 
A.t one period of my school-boy days I was so far 
left to my own desires as to become guilty of 
\'erses on a Thunder-storm,* which were much 
approved of, untU a malevolent critic sprung up, 
in the shape of an apothecary's blue-buskined wife, 
who affirmed that my most sweet poetry was 
stolen from an old magazine. I never forgave the 
imputation, and even now I acknowledge some 
resentment against the poor woman's memory. 
She indeed accused me unjustly, when she said I 
Lad stolen my brooms ready made ; but as I had, 
like most premature pcets, copied all the words 
and ideas of which my verses consisted, she wr.s 
80 far right. I made one or two famt attempts at 
rerse, after- 1 had undergone this sort of daw- 

1 The Lady Charlotte Bury. — Ed. 

« See Life of Scott, vol. i. p. 53. 

' This tree pr<"w ia a large garden attached to a cottage at 
CelsQ the re»''*ea?« of my father's sister, where I spent many 



plucking at the hands of the apothecary's wife 
but some friend or other always advised me tc 
put my verses in the fire, and, Like Uorax in th« 
play, I submitted, though " with a swelling heart." 
In short, excepting the usual tribute to a mis- 
tress's eye-brow, which is the language ol passion 
rather than poetry, I had not for ten years in 
dulged the wish to couple so much as love 'wA 
dove, when, finding Lewis in possession of so nii.rh 
reputation, and conceiving that, if I fell behind 
him in poetical powers, I considerably exceeded 
him in general information, I suddenly took it intci 
my head to attempt the style of poetry by "wiiich 
he had raised liimself to fame. 

Tills idea was hurried into execution, in conse- 
quence of a temptation which others, as well as 
the author, found it difficult to resist. The cele- 
brated ballad of " Lenore," by Biirger, was about 
this tune mtroduced into England; and it is re- 
markable, that, written as far back as 1775, it was 
upwards of twenty years before it was known in 
Britain, though calculated to make so strong an 
impression. The wild character of the tale was 
such as struck the imagination of all who read it. 
although the idea of the lady's ride behind the 
spectre horseman had been long before hit upon 
by an English ballad-maker. But this pretended 
English original, if in reality it be sucli, is so dull, 
flat, and prosaic, as to leave the distinguished Ger- 
man author all that is valuable in his story, by 
clothing it with a fanciful wildness of expression, 
wliich serves to set forth the marvellous tale in its 
native terror. The ballad of " Lenor6 " accor'l- 
ingly possessed general attractions for such of the 
English as understood the language in wliich it is 
written ; and, as if there had been a charm in the 
baUad, no one seemed to cast his eyes upon it 
without a desire to make it known by translatioc 
to his own countrymen, and six or seven version* 
were accordingly presented to the public. Al 
though the present author was one of those who 
intruded his translation on the world at this time, 
he may fairly exculpate himself from the rashnesa 
of entering the lists against so many rivals. T' ■* 
circumstances which threw him into this compet! 
tion were quite accidental, and of a nature ter>' 
ing to show how much the destiny of human his 
depends upon unimportant occurrences, to which 
Uttle consequence is attached at the moment. 

About the summer of 1793 or 1794, the cele 
brated Miss Lsetitia Aikin, better known as Mrs 
Barbauld, paid a visit to Edinburgh, and was re 

of the happiest days of ray youth. (1831.) [See Life, vol. 1 
p. 156.— Ed.] 

* See these Verses among the "Miscellanies," whioh follov 
this " Essay," where also many other pieces (torn the pen o. 
Sir Walter Scott are now for the first tinie inclu ed il aj 
edition of his Poetical Works. n841 ^ 



>66 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



eeived by such literary society as the place then 
Ixiasted, with the hospitaUty to which her talents 
and her worth entitled her. Among others, she 
Wiis kindly welcomed by the late excellent and 
adniired Professor Dugald Stewart, his lady, and 
famiJj. It was in then- evening society that Mss 
Aikm drew from her pocket-book a version of 
' J^enore," executed by William Taylor, Esq., of 
N'orwich, with as much freedom as was consistent 
RJth great spirit and scrupulous fidehty. She 
f* ad this composition to the company, who were 
electrified by the tale. It was the more success- 
ful, that Mr. Taylor had boldly copied the imita- 
r.i.c harmony of the German, and described the 
spectral journey in language resembling that of 
the original. Burger had thus pahited the ghostly 
career : 

" Und hurre, hurre, liop, hop, hop, 
Gings fort in sausendem Galopp, 
Dass Ross und Reiter schnoben, 
Und Kies und Funken stoben." 

The words were rendered by the kindred sounds 
ID EngUsh : 

" Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede 
Splash, splash, across the sea; 
Hurra, the dead can ride apace I 
Dost fecir to ride with me V 

When Miss Aikin had finished her recitation, 
she replaced in her pocket-book the paper from 
which she had read it, and enjoyed the satisfaction 
of having made a strong unpression on the hear- 
ers, whose bosoms tln'illed yet the deeper, as the 
ballad was not to be more closely mtroduced to 
them. — 

The author was not present upon this occasion, 
although he had tlien tlie distinguished advantage 
of beuig a familiar friend and frequent visitor of 
Professor Stewart and his family. But he was 
absent from town while Miss Aikin was in Edin- 
burgh, and it was not until his return that he 
found all his friends in rapture with the inteUi- 
gence and good sense of their visitor, but in par- 
ticular with the wonderful translation from the 
German, by means of wliich she had delighted and 
astorislied them. The enthusiastic description 
i^itfciv of Blirger's ballad, and the broken account 
tn' <he si ory, of which only two hues were recollect- 
ed, u^spired the author, who had some acquaint- 
ar.ce, as has been said, witli the German language, 
ind a strong taste for popular poetry, with a de- 
sire to see the original. 

This was not a wish easily gratified; German 
workjj were at that time seldom found in London 



1 Born Countess Harriet Bruhl of Martinskirchen, and mar- 
ked to Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden, now Lord Polwarth, the 
•"■hor's relative, and mnch valued friend almost from infancy. 



for sale — in Edinbiu-gh never. A lady of nobU 
German descent,' whose friendship I have enjoyed 
for many years, found means, however, to procure 
me a copy of Biirger's works from Hamburgh, 
The perusal of the original rather exceeded thap 
disappointed the expectations which the report « 
Mr. Stewart's family had induced me to form. Al 
length, when the book had been a few horns in 
my possession, I found myself giving an animated 
account of the poem to a friend, and rashly added 
a promise to furnish a copy in Enghsh ballad 
verse. 

I well recollect that I began my task after sup- 
per, and finished it about daybreak the next 
morning, by wliich tune the ideas which the task 
had a tendency to summon up were rather of an 
uncomfortable character. As my object was much 
more to make a good translation of the poem for 
those whom I wished to please, than to acquire 
any poetical fame for myself, I retained in my 
translation the two lines which Mr. Taylor had 
rendered with equal boldness a."*d feUcity. 

My attempt succeeded far beyond my expecta- 
tions ; and it mav readily be believed, that I was 
Induced to persevere in a pursuit which gratified 
my own vanity, while it seemed to amuse others. 
I accomphshed a translation of " Der Wilde Jager " 
— a romantic ballad founded on a super.stition 
universally current in Germany, and known also 
in Scotland and France. In this I took rather 
more license than in versifying " Lenore ;" and I 
balladized one or two otlier poems of Biirger with 
more oi less success. In the course of a few 
weeks, my own vanity, and the favorable opinion 
of friends, interested by the temporary revival of 
a species of poetry containhig a germ of popularity 
of which perhaps they were not themselves aware, 
urged me to the decisive step of sending a selec- 
tion, at least, of my translations to the press, U 
save t]\e numerous applications which were made 
for copies. When was there an author deaf t^ 
such a recommendation { In 1796, the present 
author was prevailed on, " by request of friende." 
to indulge liis own vanity by publishing the trims- 
lation of " Lenore,"' with ihat of " The Wild HuiJts- 
ir.'in," in a thin quarto.' 

The fate of tliis, my fir^t publication, was by nn 
mnans flattering. I distributed so many copies 
Jiii^ng my friends as, according to the booksfUera, 
materially to interfere with the sale ; and the 
number of translations which \ppeared in England 
about the same time, includuig fhat of Mr. Taylor 
to wliich I had been so much indtbted, aU(1 which 
was pubUshed in " The Monthly Magazine," wera 



a Under the Jtlo of " William and Helen." Ed. 
3 This thin quarto was published bj Messrs Manien 
Miller of Edinburgh. — Ed. 



ESSAl ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



65 i 



•ufficient to exclude a provincial writer from com- 
petition. Howcer diiierent my success might 
bave been, had I been fortunate enough to have 
"ed the way in the general scramble for prece- 
ileuce, my efforts sunk unnoticed when launched at 
thr same time with those ot Mr. Taylor (upon 
wnose property I had committed the kind of pi- 
f;icy ah-eady noticed, and who generously forgave 
me the invasion of his right* ) • of my ingenious 
.md amiable friend of many years, William Robert 
•Spenser ; of Mr. Pye, tho l.i.urea*e of the day, and 
•nany others besidei* In a word, my adventure, 
where so many push'^' ofl to sea, proved a dead 
loss, and a great payl of the edition was con- 
demned to the ser'J'ce of the trunk-maker. Nay, 
w complete was ^he. failm-e of the unfortunate 
ballads, that the vry existence of them was soon 
lirgotten ; and, in a newspaper, in wliich I very 
lately ref^l, to ra^ no small horror, a most appaU- 
ng list of my o'«in various pubhcations, I saw this, 
iiy fi'st of(piv\ti, had escaped the industrious col- 
i'jct jr f'^r whose indefatigable research I may in 
fTf.t'iuae wish a better object.' 

The failure of my first publication did not ope- 
'■ate, in any unpleasant degree, either on my feel- 
ngs or spirits. I was coldly received by strangers, 
but my reputation began rather to increase among 
nay own friends, and, on the whole, I was more 
oent to show the world that it had neglected' 
'lomething worth notice, than to be affronted by 
'ts indifference. Or rather, to speak candidly, I 
found pleasure in the Uterary labor in which I had, 
ilmost by accident, become engaged, and labored, 
less in the hope of pleasing others, though certain- 
ly without despair of doing so, than in the pursuit 
of a new and agreeable amusement to myself. I 
pursued the German language keenly, and, though 
far from bemg a correct scholar, became a bold 
and daring reader, nav, even translator, of various 
dramatic pieces from that tongue." 

The want of books at that time (about 1796), 
<vas a great intenuption to the rapidity of my 
movements ; for the yoimg do not know, and per- 
haps my own contemporaries may have forgotten, 
tK« difficulty with which pubhcations were then 
procured from the continent. The worthy and 
excellent friend, of whom I gave a sketch many 
years afterwards in the person of Jonathan Old- 
buck,' procured me Adelung's Dictionary, through 
the mediation of Father Pepper, a monk of the 
Bcotch C ; Uege of Ratisbon. Other wants of the 

1 The li it here referre«J to was drawn up and inserted in the 
Caledonian Mercury, by Mr. Jamss Shaw, for nearly forty 
?ears past in the house of Sir Walter Scott's publishers, 
Messrs. Constable and Cadelt, of Edinburgh. — Ed. (See it in 
Ufe of Scott, vol. X. pp. 269-276.) 

■< Sir Walter Scott's second publication was a translation of 
?oeth6's dta»i»* "f Goetz of Berlichingen with the Iron Hand, 



same nature were supplied by Mrs. Scott of Har 
dew, whose kindness in a sunilar instance I hav« 
riad already occasion to acknowledge. Thi'ough 
this laay's connections on the coutmeut, I obtained 
copies of Biirger, Schiller, Goethe, and other stan- 
dard German works ; and though the obhgatiou be 
of a distant date, it still remains impressed on my 
memory, after a hfe spent in a constant intt^r 
change of friendship and kindness with that family, 
which is, according to Scottish ideas, the head o) 
my housa. 

Being thus furnished with the necessary origi- 
nals, I began to translate on all sides, certainly 
without any thing like an accurate knowledge of 
the language ; and although the dramas of Goethe, 
Schiller, and others, powerfully attracted one 
whose early attention to the German had beei. 
arrested by Mackenzie's Dissertation, and the play 
of " The Robbers," yet the ballad poetry, in which 
I had made a bold essay, was still my favorite. I 
was yet more dehghted cm findmg, that the old 
Enghsh, and especially the Scottish language, were 
so nearly similar to the German, not in sound 
merely, but in the turn of phrase, that they were 
capable of being rendered line for hne, with very 
little variation.* 

By degrees, I acquired sufficient confidence ti. 
attempt the imitation of what I admired. The 
ballad called " Glenfinlas" was, I think, the first 
original poem which I ventiu-ed to compose. As 
it is supposed to be a translation from the Gaelic. 
I considered myself as hberated fi-om miitatinj^ 
the antiquated language and rude rhythm of the 
Mmstrel ballad. A versification of an Ossianic 
fragment came nearer to the idea I had formed oi 
my task ; for although controversy may have 
arisen concerning the authenticity of these poems, 
yet I never heard it disputed, by those whom an 
accurate knowledge of the GaeUc rendered com- 
petent judges, that in theii sphit and ctictim thpy 
nearly resemble fragments of poetry extant n t^iaJ 
language, to the geniune antiquity of which hl 
doubt can attacL Indeed, the celebrated dispute 
on that subject is something like the more bloody, 
though scarce fiercer controversy, about the Popish 
Plot in Charles the Second's time, concevoiiu? 
which Dryden has said — 

" Succeeding times will equal folly call. 
Believing nothing, or believing all." 

The Celtic people of Erm and Albyn had b. 

vfhich appeared in 1799. He about the same time tr«i» 
lated several other German plays, which yet remain in Md. 
Ed 

3 The late George Constable, Esq. See In'.roduclio'i to Iw 
Antiquary, Waverley Novels, vol. v. j.. iv. — Ep 

* See Appendix Note C. 




short, a style of poetry properly called national, 
though MacPlierson was rather an excellent poet 
than a faithful editor and translator. This style 
and fashion of poetry, existing in a diiierent lan- 
guage, was supposed to give the original of " Glen- 
finlas," and the author was to pass for one who 
had used his best command of English to do the 
GaeUc model justice. In one poiiit, the incidents 
of the poem were hreconcilable with the costume 
uf the times in which they were laid. The ancient 
Highland chieftains, when they had a mind to 
*hunt the dun deer down," did not retreat into 
Bolitary bothies, or trust the success of the chase 
to their own unassisted exertions, without a single 
g'llie to help them; they assembled their clan, 
ind all partook of the sport, forming a ring, or en- 
closure, called the Tinchell, and driving the prey 
towards the most distinguished persons of the 
hunt. This course would not have suited me, so 
Ronald and Moy were cooped up in their soUtary 
wigwam, like two moorfowl-sliooters of the present 
day. 

After " Glenfinlas," I undertook another ballad, 
called " The Eve of St. John." The mcidents, ex- 
cept the liints alluded to in the marginal notes, 
are entirely imaginary, but the scene was that of 
my early cliildhood. Some idle persons had of 
late years, during the proprietor's absence, torn 
the iron-grated door of Smailholm Tower from its 
bulges, and thrown it down the rock. I was an 
earnest suitor to my friend and kinsman, Mr. Scott 
of Harden, already mentioned, that the dilapida- 
tion might be put a stop to, and the mischief re- 
paired. Tliis was readily promised, on condition 
that I should make a ballad, of which the scene 
should he at Smailhohn Tower, and among the 
trags where it is situated.' The ballad was ap- 
Droved of, as well as its companion " Glenfinlas ;" 
ind I remember that they procm-ed me many 
marks of attention and kindness from Duke John 
of Roxbiughe, who gave me the unlimited use of 
that celebrated collection of volumes from which 
the Roxburghe Club derives its name. 

Thus 1 was set up for a poet, like a pedlar who 
has got two ballads to begin the world upon, and 
I hastened to make the round of all my acquaint- 
ances, showing my precious wares, and requesting 
rriiicism — a boon which no author asks in vain. 
For it may be observed, that, in the fine arts, 
those who are in no respect able to produce any 
specimen? themselves, hold themselves not the 
less entitled to decide upon the works of others ; 
»nd, no doubt, with justice to a certain degree ; 



1 ThU Is of little consequence, except in as far as it contra- 
dicts a story which I have seen in print, averring that Mr. 
Bvott of Harden was himself about to destroy this ancient 
M\V<i)n{ ; tbio which nothing can be more inaccurate. 



for the merits of composition produced for the ex 
press piu"pose of pleasing the world at large, cat 
only be judged of by the opinion of individuals, 
and perhaps, as in the case of Molifere's old woman, 
the less sophisticated the person consulted so much 
the better.^ But I was ignorant, at the time 1 
speak of, that though the applause of the many 
may justly appreciate the general merits of a piece, 
it is not so safe to submit such a performance tr 
the more minute criticism of the same individuals, 
when each, in turn, having seated himself in the 
censor's chair, has placed his mind in a critical at- 
titude, and dehvers his opinion sententiouslv and 
ex cathedrd. General applause was in ahnopt 
every case freely tendered, but the abatements II 
the way of proposed alterations and corrections, 
were cruelly puzzhng. It was in vain the young 
author, hstening with becoming modesty, and with 
a natural wish to please, cut and carved, tinkered 
and coopered, upon his unfortunate ballads — it wa? 
in vain that he placed, displaced, replaced, and 
misplaced ; every one of his advisers was displeased 
with the concessions made to his co-assessors, and 
the author was blamed by some one, in ahnost 
every case, for having made two holes in attempt- 
ing to patch up one. 

At last, after thinkmg seriously on the subject, 
I wrote out a fair copy (of Glenfinlas, I tliink), and 
marked aU the various corrections which had been 
proposed. On the whole, I found that I had been 
required to alter every verse, almost every hne, 
and the only stanzas of the whole ballad which es- 
caped critJc'sm were two which could neither be 
termed good nor bad, speaMng of them as poetry 
but were of ?■ mere commonplace character, abso 
lutely necessary for conducting the business of the 
tale. This unexpected result, afte- about a fort- 
night's anxietv, led me to adopt a ru*e from wlucl 
I have seldom departed during more than tliirtj 
years of Uterary life. When a friend, whose judg 
ment I respect, has decided, and upon good ad 
visement told mf>, *hat a manuscript was worth 
nothing, or at least possessed no redeeming quali 
ties sufficient to atou<^ for its defects, I have gen 
erally cast it aside ; brt I am httle in the custom 
of paying attention to minute criticisms, or oi 
offering such to any friend who may do me the 
honor to consult me. I am convinced, tliat, iu 
general, in removing even errors of a trivial or 
venial kind, the character of originality is lost, 
which, upon the whole, may be that which is most 
valuable m the production. 

About the time that I shook hands with criti 



1 See the account of a conversation between Sir Walta 
Scott and Sir Tliomas Lawrenvje, in '- Cunningham's i<ivet « 
Britich Painters," &.c. vol. vi. p. 236.— Ed 



ESSAY ON IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 



56!* 



eism, and reduced my ballads back to the original 
'orm, stripping them without remorse of those 
* lendings" which 1 had adopted at the suggestion 
of others, an opportunity imexpectedly offered of 
introducing to the world what had hitherto been 
eonfined to a circle of friends. Lewis had an- 
nounced a collection, first intended to bear the 
title of " Tales of Terror," and afterwards pub- 
shed under that of " Tales of Wonder." As this 
was to be a collection of tales turning on the pre- 
ternatural, there were risks m the plan of which 
the ingenious editor was not aware. The super- 
natural, thougli appeahng to certain powerful emo- 
tions very widely and deeply sown amongst the 
human race, is, nevertheless, a spring which is pe- 
culiarly apt to lose its elasticity by being too much 
pressed on, and a collection of ghost stories is not 
more likely to be terrible, than a collection of jests 
to be merry or entertaining. But although the 
very title of the proposed work carried in it an 
obstruction to its effect, this was far from being 
euspected at the time, for the popularity of the 
editor, and of his compositions, seemed a warrant 
for liis success. The distinguished favor with 
which the " Castle Spectre" was received upon the 
ctage, seemed an additional pledge for the safety 
of his new attempt. I readily agreed to con- 
tribute the ballads of " Glenfinlas" and of " The 
Eve of Saint Jolm," with one or two others of 1?S8 
merit ; and my friend Dr. Leyden became also a 
contributor. Mr. Soutbey, a tower of strength, 
added "The Old Woman of Berkeley," "Lord 
William," and several other interesting ballads of 
the same class, to the proposed collection. 

In the mean time, my friend Lewis found it no 
easy matter to disciphne his northern recruits. 
He was a martinet, if I may so term him, in the 
accuracy of rhymes and of numbers ; I may add, 
he had a right to be so, for few persons have ex- 
hibited more mastery of rhyme, or greater com- 
mand over the melody of verse. He was, there- 
fore, rigid in exacting similar accuracy from others, 
and as I was quite unaccustomed to the me- 
cbaiical part of poetry, and used rhymes which 
were merely permissible, as readily as those wliich 
were legitimate, contests often arose amongst us, 
which were exasperated by the pertinacity of my 
Mentor, who, as all who knew him can testify, 
was no granter of propositions. As an instance o{ 
the obstinacy with which I had so lately adopted 
a tone of defiance to criticism, the reader will find 
5n the Appendix' a few specimens of the lectures 
which I underwent from my friend Lewis, and 
(vhich did not at the time produce any effect on 
(ay inflexibility, though I did not forget them at a 
future period. 



19 



1 See Appendix, Note D 



The proposed pubKcalion of the " Tales d' 
Wonder" was, from one reason or another, post 
poned till the year 1801, a cncumstance by wliich 
of itself, the success of the work was considerably 
impeded ; for protracted expectation always leadtj 
to disappointment. But besides, there were cir- 
cumstances of various kinds which contributec 
to its depreciation, some of which were imputa- 
ble to the editor, or author, and some to the 
bookseller. 

The former remained insensible of the passitn 
for ballads and ballad-mongers having be^n for 
some time on the wane, and that with such altera- 
tion in the public taste, the chance of succa 5<s ir 
that line was diminished. "What had been at firsi 
received as simple and natural, was now sneered 
at as puerile and extravagimt. Another objec- 
tion was, that my friend Lewis had a high but mi.s 
taken opinion of his own powers of humor. The 
truth was, that though he could throw some gayety 
into his lighter pieces, after the manner of the 
French writers, his attempts at what is called 
pleasantry in English wholly wanted the quality 
of humor, and were generally failures. But this 
he would not allow ; and the " Tales of Wonder* 
were fiUed, in a sense, with attempts at comedy, 
which might be generally accounted abortive. 

Another objection, wliicli might have been 
more easily foreseen, subjected the editor to a 
change of which Mat Lewis was entirely iucapa 
ble, — that of collusion with liis publisher in an 
undue attack on the pockets of the public. The 
" Tales of Wonder" formed a work in royal 
octavo, and were, by large prmting. driven on/., as 
it is technically termed, to two volumes, wlucL 
were sold at a high price. Purchasers murmured 
at finding that this size had been attained by the 
insertion of some of the best known pieces of the 
Enghsh language, such as Dryden's " Theodore 
and Honoria," ParneU's " Hermit," Lisle's " Por- 
senna King of Russia," and many other popular 
poems of old date, and generally known, which 
ought not in conscience to have made part of a 
set of tales, "written and collected" by a modern 
author. His bookseller was also accused m the 
pubUc prints^ whether truly or not I am uncer 
tain, of having attempted to secure to himsell 
the entire profits of the large sale which he ex- 
pected, by refusing to his brethren the allowan- 
ces usually, if not in all cases, made to the retaD 
trade. 

Lewis, one of the most liberal as wel' as benev- 
olent of mankind, had not the least participation 
in these proceedings of his bibliopoUst ; but his 
work sunk under the obloquy which was heaped 
on it by the offended parties. The book was 
termed " Tales of Plunder," was censured by 
reviewers, and attacked in newsjiapers and maga 



570 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



tines. A very clever parody was made on the 
style and the person of the author, and the 
world laughed aa willingly as if it had never ap- 
plauded. 

Thus, owing to the failure of the vehicle I had 
chosen, my efforts to present myself before the 
public as an original writer proved as vain as 
thosfc oy which I had previously endeavored to 
distinguish myself as a translator. Like Lord 
Home, however, at the battle of Flodden, I did so 
far well, that I was able to stand and save my- 
self ; and amidst the general depreciation of the 
"Tales of Wonder," my fmall share of the ob- 
noxious pubhcation was ' dismissed without much 
censure, and in some cases obtained praise from 
the critics. 

The consequence of my escape made me nat- 
urally more daring, and I attempted, in my own 
name, a collection of ballads of various kinds, both 
ancient and modern, to be connected by the com- 
mon tie of relation to the Border districts in 
which I had gathered the materials. Tlie origi- 
nal preface explains my purpose, and the assist- 
ance of various kinds wliich I met witL The 
edition was curious, as being the first work printed 
by my friend and school-fellow, Mr. James Bal- 
lantyi*B, who, at that period, was editor of a 
}>roviucial newspaper, colled "The Kelso MaiL" 



When the book came out, Ja 1802, the impti»»l 
Kelso, was read with wonder by amateurs ol 
typography, who had never heard of such a pkice. 
and were astonished at the example of liana 
some printing wliich so obscure a town produced. 

As for the editorial part of the task, my at 
tempt to imitate the plan and style of Bishoy 
Percy, observing only more strict fidelity cr>nc(*n 
ing my originals, was favorably received by tli^ 
public, and there was a demand within a sbor* 
space for a second edition, to wliich I proposed to 
add a third volume. Messrs. CadeU and Davie'*, 
the first publishers of the work, declined the pub 
hcation of this second edition, which was under- 
taken, at a very liberal price, by the well-knowM 
firm of Messrs. Longman and Rees of Paternoster 
Row. My progress in the hterary career, in which 
I might now be considered as seriously engaged, 
the reader will find briefly traced in an Introduc- 
tion prefixed to the " Lay of the Last Min.strel.'' 

Li the mean tune, the Editor has accompUshed 
his proposed task of acquainting the reader with 
some particulars respecting the modern imitation* 
of the Ancient Ballad, and the circumstances which 
gradually, and almost insensibly, engaged himsel] 
in ihat speciea of literary employ msnt. 

w a. 

.LBBOTsroRD, April, 1A80. 



APPEND/X ON IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 



571 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

The paoDncTioN of Modern as Ancient Ballads. — 

P. 558. 
This failnre applies to the repairs and rifacimentos of old bal- 
ibds, aa well as to complete imitatioiiB. In the beautiful and 
iimple ballad of Gil Morris, some affected person has stuck in 
ene or two factitious verses, which, like vulgar persons in a 
dra »ing-room, betray themselves by their over finery. Thus, 
tftn the simple and affecting verse which prepares the readers 
{m u»« coming tragedy, 

" Gil Morrice sat in good green wood, 
He whistled and he sang ; 
O, what mean a' yon folk coming, 
My motlier tarries lang V " 

R>me such " Tieious intromitter'' as we have described (to use 
ft barbarous phrase for a barbarous proceeding), has inserted 
ibe following quintessence of affectation : — 

" His locks were like the threads of gold 
Drawn from Minerva's loom ■ 
His lips like roses drapjiing dew, 
His breath was a' perfume. 

m 

" His brow was like the mountain snow, 
Gilt by the morning beam ; 
His cheeks like living roses blow. 
His een like azure stream. 

*' The boy was clad in robes of green, 
Sweet as the infant spring ; 
And, like the mavis on the bash, 
^. jirt the valleys ring." 



Note B. 
M. G. Lewis.— 564. 



Id justice to a departed friend, ? have subjoined his own 
defence against an ai>cusation so remorselessly persisted in. 
The following is an extract of a letter to nis father : — 

M? DEAR Father, Feb. S3, 1799. 

" Though certain that the clamor raised against ' The Monk' 
Monot have given you the smallest doubt of the rectitude of 
my intentions, or the purity of my principles, yet I am con- 
•cious that it must have grieved you to find any doubts on the 
•nbject existing in the minds of other people. To express my 
torrow for having given you pain is my motive for now ad- 
dressing you, and also to assure you, that you shall not feel 
that pain a second time on my account. Having made you 
feel it at all, would be a sutficient reason, had 1 no others, to 
make me regret having published the first edition of ' The 
Monk ;' but 1 have others, weaker, indeed, than the one men- 
lioned, but still sufficiently strong. I perceive that I have put 
too much confidence in the accuracy of my own judgment ; 
<kat ooDviuced of my object being uuexcej'ionable, J did not 



snflSciently examine whether the means by which 1 a gained 
that object were equally so ; and that, upon mar y accounts, 1 
have to accuse myself of high imprudence. Let me, however, 
observe, that twenty is not the age at which prudence is most 
to be expected. Inexperience prevented my distinguishing 
what would give offence : but as soon as I found that offeaio* 
was given, I made the only reparation in ray power — 1 car» 
fully revised the work, and expunged every syllable oi\ Thia'. 
could be grounded the slightest construction of immorality 
This, indeed, was no difficult task ; for the abjections rested 
entirely on expressions too strong, and words carelessly chosen 
not on the sentiments, characters , or general tendency of tht 
work ; — that the latter is undeserving censure, Addison wil 
vouch for me. The moral and outline of my story are takei 
from an allegory inserted by him in the ' Guardian,' and whici. 
he commends highly for ability of invention, and 'propriety 
of object.' Unluckily, in working it up, I thought that the 
stronger my colors, the more effect would my picture produce ; 
and it never struck me, that the exhibition of vice in her tern 
porary triumph, might possibly do as much harm, as her fina 
exposure and punishment could do good. To do much good, 
indeed, was more than I expected of my book ; having alwayi 
believed that our conduct depends on our own hearts and 
characters, not on the books we read, or the sentiments wt 
heai But though I did not hope much benefit to arise from 
the peii.3al of a trifling romance, written by a youth of twcn 
ty, I was in my own mind convinced, that no harm could bt 
produced by a work whose subject was furnished by one of 
our best moralists, and in the composition of which, I did not 
introduce a single incident, or a single character, without 
meaning to illustrate some maxim universally alio »«d. It wai 
theo with infinite surprise, that I heard the jutcry raised 
against the" ••••••«• 

[I regret that the letter, though onco perfect, now aniy er 
ists in my possession as a fragment.] 



Note C. 

German Ballads. — P. J67. 

Among the popular Ballads, or Volkslieder. ol th« celebra- 
ted Herder, is (take one instance out of many^ a version of tli4 
old Scottish song of " Sir Patrick Spence," in which, but fci 
difierence of orthog'.'aphy, the two languages can be «i.aKni| 
distinguished from each other For example 

" The King sits in Dunfermling towi 

Drinking the blood-red wine ; 

' Where will I get a good skipper 

To sail this ship of mine V " 

" Der Koenig sitzt in Dnmfermling Schloss i 
Ex trinkt blutrothen Wein ; 
' O wo triff ich einen Segler gut 
Dies SchiflT zu seglen mein V " 

In like manner, the opening stanza of " Child Waters," ana 
many other Scottish ballads, fall as natarally and easilr loW 



572 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ihe German habits and forms of speech, as if they had origi- 
Utilr ^eeu composed in that language : 

' About Yule, when the wind was cnle, 
And the round tables began, 
O there is come to our king's court 
Mony weel favor'd man." 

' In Christmessf^st, in winter kalt, 
Als Tafel rund began, 
Da kam zu Konig's Hoif and Hall 
Manch wackrer Ritter an." 

It requires only a smattering of both languages, to see at 
what cheap expense, even of vocables and rhymes, the popu- 
lar poetry of the one may be transferred to the other. Hardly 
any thing is more flatterin|[ to a Scottish student of German ; 
It resembles the unexpected discovery of an old friend in a 
foreign laud. 



Note D. 

BXTRACTB FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF M. O. LEWIS 
—P. 569. 

My attention was called to this subject, which is now of an 
old date, by reading the following passage in Medwin's " Ac- 
count of Some Passages in Lord Byron's later Years." Lord 
Byron is supposed to speak. " When Walter Scott began to 
write poetry, which was not at a very early age, Monk Lewis 
corrected his verse : he understood little then of the mechani- 
cal part of the art. The fire King, in the ' Minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border,' was almost all Lewis's. One of the ballads 
in that work, and, except some of Leyden's, perhaps one of 
the best, was made from a story picked up in a stage-coach ; 
[ mean that of ' Will Jones.' 

' They boil'd Will Jones within the pot, 
And not much fat had Will.' 

" I hope Walter Scott did not write the review on ' Christa- 
be? *' fi»r he certainly, in common with many of us, is indebted 
to Coleridge. But for him, perhaps, ' The Lay of the Last 
Mins'rd' would never have been thought of. The line, 

' Jesu Maria shield thee well !' 

6 word for word from Coleridge." 

Tliere are some parts of this passage extremely mistaken 
ind exaggerated, as generally attends any attempt to record 
vhal passes in casual conversation, which resembles, in diffi- 
nlty, the experiments of the old chemists for fixing quick- 
'Sver. 

The following is a specimen of my poor friend Lewis's criti- 
tism on my juvenile attempts at ballad poetry ; severe enough, 
perhaps, but for which I was much indebted to him, as forcing 
<pon the notice of a young and careless author hints which 
lie said author's vanity made him unwilling to attend to, but 
rhich were absolutely necessary to any hope of his ultimate 
luccess. 

Supposed 1799. 

" Thank you for your revised ' Glenfinlas.' 1 grumble, but 
lay no more on this subject, although I hope you will not be 
■o inflexible on that of your other Ballads : for I do not despair 
•f convincing you in time, that a bad rhyme is, in fact, no 
rhyme at all. Yon desired me to point out my objections, 
leaving you at liberty to make use of them or not ; and so 
oave at ' Frederic and Alice.' Stanza Ist, 'hies' and 'joys' 
are not rl' vmes ; the Ist stanza ends with 'joys;' the 2d be- 
gins with 'joying.' In the 4th there is too sudden a change 
of tenses, 'flows' and ' rose.' 6th, 7th, and 8th, I like much. 
Ith, Doe* rot ' riig his ears' »<)und ludicrous in voan } The 



first idea that presents itself is, that his ears were pulled ; b» 
even the ringing of the ears does not please. I2th, 'Showei 
and 'roar,' not rhymes. ' Soil' and ' aisle,' in the 13th, an 
not much better ; but ' head' and ' descried' are execrable 
In the 14th, ' bar' and ' stair' are ditto ; and 'groping' is a 
nasty word. Vide Johnson, ' He gropes his breeches with a 
monarch's air.' In the 15th, you change your metre, which 
has always an unpleasant effect ; and ' safe' and ■ receive' 
rhyme just about as well as Scott and Lewis wolM. 16th 
' within' and ' strain' are not rhymes. 17th, ' hear' ani 
'air.' not rhymes. l?th, Two metres are mixed ; th; same 
objection to the third line of the 19th. Obser.-e that, in tht 
Ballad, I do not always object to a variation of metre ; but 
then it ought to increase the melody, whereas, in my opinion, 
in these instances, it is diminished. 

" The Chase. — 12th, The 2d line reads very harshly ; and 
'choir' and 'lore' are not rhymes. 13lh, ' Rides' and 'side' 
are not rhymes. 30th, 'Pour' and ' obscure,' not rhymes 
40th, ' Spreads' and ' invades' are not rhymes. 46th, ' Rends 
and ' ascend' are not rhymes. 

" William and Helen. — In order that I may bring it 
nearer the original title, pray introduce, in the first stanza, the 
name of EUenora, instead of Ellen. ' Crusade' and 'sped,' 
not rhymes in the 2d. 3d, ' Made' and ' shed' are not rhymes ; 
and if they were, come too close to the rhymes in the 2d. In 
the 4th. 'Joy' and 'victory' are not rhymes. 7th, The first 
line wants a verb, otherwise is not intelligible. 13th, ' Grace' 
and 'bliss' are not rhymes. 14th, 'Bale' and 'hell' are not 
rhymes. 18th, ' Vain' and 'fruitless' is tautology ; and as 
a verb is wanted, the line will run better thus,"" And vain is 
every prayer.' 19th, Is not ' to her' absolutely necessary in 
the 4th line t 20th, ' Orace' and ' bliss,' not rhymes. 21st, 
' Bale' and 'hell,' not rhymes. 22d, I do not like the word 
' spent.' 23d, ' O'er' and ' star' are vile rhymes. 26th, A 
verb is wanted in the 4th line ; better thus, ' Then whispers 
thus a voice.' 28th, Is not ' Is't thoa, my love ?' better than 
' My love ! my love!' 31st, If ' wight' means, as I conjec- 
ture, ' enchanted, ' does not this let the cat out of t*ie bag 1 
Ought not the spur to be sharp rather than bright ? In the 
4th line, ' St(^/' and ' day' jingle together : would it not be 
better, ' I must be gone e'er day V 32d, ' Steed' and ' bed' 
are not rhymes. 34th, ' Bride' and 'bed,' not rhymes. 35th, 
' Seat' and ' await,' not rhymes. 39th, ' Keep hold' and ' sit 
fast' seem to my ear vulgar and prosaic. 40th, The 4th line 
is defective in point of English, and, indeed, 1 do not quite 
understand the meaning. 43d, 'Arose' and ' vursucs' are 
not rhymes. 45th, I am not pleased wan me epithet ' sav- 
age ;' and the latter partof the stanza is, to me, unintelligible. 
49th, Is it not closer to the original in line 3il to say, ' Swii\ 
ride the dead ?' 50th, Does the rain ' whistle ?' 55th, line 3d, 
Does it exjjress, ' Is Helen afraid of them V 59th, ' Door' 
and 'flower' do not rhyme together. 60th, 'Scared' an< 
' heard' ate not rhymes. 63d, 'Bone' and 'skeleton,' n« 
rhymes. 64th, The last line sounds ludicrous ; one fancies the 
heroine coming down with a plump, and sprawling upon hel 
bottom. I have now finished my severe examination, and 
pointed oat every objection which J think can be suggested." 

6tA January, 1799. 

" Wellwyn, -99. 
" Dear Scott, 

" Your last Ballad reached me just as I was ste)ipmg int« 
my chaise to go to Brocket Hall (Lord Melbourne's), so I took 
it with me, and exhibited both that and O/enJim'as with 
great success. I must not, however, conceal from you, that 
nobody understood the Dady Flora of Gleiigyle to be a di». 
guised demon till the catastrophe arrived ; and that the opin- 
ion was universal, that some previous stanzas ought to be in- 
troduced descriptive of the nature and office of the wayward 
Ladies «/ the fVood. William Lambe,' too (who writesgood 

1 Now Lord Melbourne.— Ed 



APPENDIX ON IMITATIONS OF ANCIENT BALLAD. 



67a 



Terses 'iiaself ud, therefore, may be allowed to judge those 
»f other peo,- 5), .vas decidedly for the omission of the last 
itanza but 33. These were the only objections started. I 
thought it as we.l that you should know them, whether yon 
attend to them or not. With regard to St. John's Eve, I like 
it much, and, instead of finding fault with its broken metre, I 
upjirove of it highly. I think, in this last ballad, you have 
hit oif the ancient manner better than in your former ones. 
Glentinlas, for example, is more like a polished tale, than an 
old Ballad. But why, in verse 6th, is the Baron's helmet 
hai.-ked and hewed, if (as we are given to understand) he had 
•iSsassinated his enemy ? Ought not tore to be torn ? Tore 
leems to me not English. In verse 16th, tne last line is word 
for word from Gil Morrice. 21st, ' Floor' and ' bower' are 
not rhymes," &c. &c. &c. 

The gentleman noticed in the following letter, as partaker in 
the author's heresies respecting rhyme, had the less occasion 
to justi*/ such license, as his own have been singularly accu- 
rate. Mr. Smythe is now Professor of Modern History at Cam- 
bridge. 

" London, January 24, 1799. 
" I must not omit telling you, for your own comfort, and 
that of all such persons as are wicked enough to make bad 
rhymes, that Mr. Smythe (a very clever man at Cambridge) 
look great pains the other day to convince me, not merely that 
t bad rhyme might pass, but that occasionally a bad rhyme 
was better than a good one !!!!!! I need not tell you that 
ht left me as great an infidel on this subject as he found me. 
" Ever yours, 

"M. G. Lewis." 

The next letter respects the Ballad called the " Fire King," 
Mated by Captain Medwin to be almost all Lewis's. This is 
an entire misconception. Lewis, who was very fond of his 
idea of four elementary kings, bad prevailed on me to supply 
a Fire King. After being repeatedly urged to the task, I sat 
down one day after dinner, and wrote the " Fire King," as it 
WIS published in the " Tales of Wonder." The next extract 
jives an account of the manner in which Lewis received it, 
which was not very favorable ; but instead of writing the greater 
part, he did not write a single word of it. Dr. Leyden, now 
10 more, and another gentleman who still sun'ives, were sit- 
ting at my side while I wrote it ; nor did my occupation pre- 
rent the circulation of the bottle. 

Leyden wrote a Ballad for the Cloud King, which is men- 
iMieJ in the ensuing extract. But it did not answer Mat't 



ideas, either in the color of the wings, or some point of uwtnoM 
equally important ; so Lewis, who was otherwise fond ol th« 
Ballad, converted it into the Elfin King, and wrote a C.ead 
King himself, to finish the hierarchy in the way desired. 

There is a leading mistake 'u the passage from Captain Me<4" 
win. " The Minstrelsy of the Border' ' is spoken ^i", but wbai 
is meant is the " Tales of Wonder." The former work con 
tains none of the Ballads mentioned by Mr. Medwin — the lat 
ter has them all. Indeed, the dynasty of Elemental Kin^ 
were written entirely for Mr. Lewis's publication. 

My intimate friend, William Clerk, Esq., was the person wno 
heard the legend of Bill Jones told in a mail-coach Dy a sea 
captain, who imagined himself to have seen the ghost to which 
it relates. The tale was versified by Lewis himself. I forget 
where it was published, but certainly in no miscellany or publi- 
cation of mine. 

I have only to add, in allusion to the passage I have quoted, 
that I never wrote a word parodying either Mr. Coleridge oj 
any one else, which, in that distinguished instance, it would 
have been most ungracious in me to have done ; for which the 
reader will see reasons in the Introduction to " The Lay of tho 
Last Minstrel." 

" London, Sd February, 1800. 
" Dear Scott, 

" I return you many thanks for your Ballad, and the Ex 
tract, and I shall be very much obliged to your friend for the 
' Cloud King.' I must, however, make one criticism upon the 
Stanzas which you sent me. The Spirit, being a wicked one, 
must not have such delicate wings as pale blue ones. He heu 
nothing to do with Heaven except to deface it with storms ; 
and therefore, in ' The Monk,' I have fitted him with a pair of 
sable pinions, to which I must request your friend to adapt hit 
Stanza. With the others I am much plensed, as I am with 
your Fire King ; but every body makes the same objection *.o 
it, and expresses a wish that you had conformed your Spirit to 
the description given of him in ' The Monk,' where his office 
is to play the Will o' the Wisp, and lead travellers into bogs, 
&c. It is also objected to, his being remo\ed from his nativ* 
land, Denmark, to Palestine ; and that tht office assigned \m 
him in your Ballad has nothing peculiar to the ' Fire King,' 
but would have suited Arimanes, Beelzebnb, or any othei 
evil spurit, as well. However, the Ballad itself I think very 
pretty. I suppose you have heard from Bell respecting th« 
copies of the Ballads. I was too mnch distressed at the tlnM 
to write myself," &o. *'«. 

" M O. L 



CONTRIBUTIONS 



TO 



MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. 



3mitation5 of tl)c Ancient Ballad. 



^!)oma0 tl)c Hlj^nter. 



IN THREE PARTS. 



PART FIRST. ANCIENT. 



F'Ew personages are so renowned in tradition as 
riiomas of Ercildoune, known by the appellation of 
The Rhymer. Uniting, or supposing to unite, in 
his person, the powers of poetical composition, and 
of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of 
five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by 
his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain 
history of this remarkable man would be indeed 
difficult ; but the curious may derive some satis- 
faction from the particulars here brought together. 

It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and 
prolably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was 
Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, 
two miles above its junction with the Tweed. 
Tlie ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out 
as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform tradition 
bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Learmont ; 
and that the appellation of The Rhymer was con- 
ferred on him VL consequence of his poetical com- 
positions. There remains, nevertheless, some doubt 
npon the subject. In a charter, wliich is subjoined 
it length,' the son of our poet designed liimself 
• Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas 
Rymour of Ercildoun," which seems to imply that 
the father did not bear the hereditary name of 
Learmont ; or, at least, was better known and dis- 
♦.higuished by the epithet, whicli he had acquired 
V>y his personal accomplishments. I must, how- 
ever, remark, that, down to a very late period, the 

• See Appendix, N««e A. 

* The lines alladed to are these :— 



practice of distinguishing the parties, even in for 
mal writings, by the epithets which had been be 
stowed on tliem from personal circumstances, in- 
stead of the proper surnames of their families, was 
common, and indeed necessary, among the Border 
clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth cen- 
tury, when surnames were hardly introduced in 
Scotland, this custom must have been universal 
There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in suppos- 
ing our poet's name to have been actually Lear- 
mont, although, in this charter, he is distinguished 
by the popular appellation of The Rhymer. 

We are better able to ascertain the period at 
which Thomas of Ercildoune lived, beuig the latter 
end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to 
place his death a httle farther back than Mr. Puik 
erton, who supposes that he was alive in 1?0( 
{lAst of Scottish Poets), which is hardly, I think, 
consistent with the charter already quoted, by 
wliich his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, 
conveys to the convent of the Ti-inity of Soltra, 
the tenement which he possessed by inheritance 
{hereditarie) in Ercildoune, with all claim whicli he 
or liis predecessors could pretend thereto. From 
this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead, 
since we find the son disposing of the family prop- 
erty. StiU, however, the argument of the learned 
historian will remain unimpeiched as to the time 
of the poet's birth. For if, as we learn from Bar 
bour, his prophecies were held in reputation" .v 
early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Cummin, 
the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr. Pinkerton'8 
words) the uncertainty of antiquity, must have 
already involved his character and writings. In 
a charter of Peter de Haga de Bemersyde, which 
unfortimately wants a date, the Rhymer, a neai 

" I hope that Thomas's propheol», 
Of Erceldoun, shall truly ba. 
In him," &o- 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



671 



neighbor, and, if we may trust tradition, a friend 
ti the family, appears as a witness. — Chartulary 
Tif Melrose. 

It cannot oe doubted, that Thomas of Ercil- 
doune was a remarkable and important person in 
bis o-wD time, sincse, very shortly after iiis death, 
we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. 
Wh'ither he himself made any pretensions to the 
first of these characters, or whether it was gra- 
tuitously conferred upon him by the credulity of 
posterity. It seems difficult to decide. If we may 
believe Mackenzie, Learmont only versified the 
prophecifo deUvered by EUza, an inspired nun of 
a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems 
Qot to be the most distant proof On the contra- 
ry, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's 
prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been 
emitted by himself. Thus, in Winton's Chronicle — 

" Of this fycht quilam spak Thomas 
Of Ersyldoune, that sayd in derne, 
There suld meit stalwartly, starke and sterne 
He sayd it in his prophecy ; 
But how he wist it was ferly." 

Book viii. chap. 32. 

fhere could have been no ferly (marvel) in 
Winton's eyes at least, ' how Thomas came by liis 
knowledge of futm-e events, had he ever heard of 
the inspired nun of Haddington, wliich, it cannxjt 
be doubted, would have been a solution of the 
mystery, much to the taste of the Prior of Loch- 
leven.' 

Whatf.vei doubts, however, the learned might 
have, as "o the source of the Rhymer's prophetic 
nkill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the 
wliole to the intercourse between the bard and 
the Queen of Faery. The popular tale bears, that 
Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the 
Fa»ry Land, where he acquired all tlie knowledge, 
wliich made him afterwards so famous. After 
i«vcn ye.irs' residence, he was permitted to return 
.c the earth, to enlighten and astonish his country- 
m»in by his prophetic powers; still, however, re- 
maining bound to return to his royal mistress, 
when she should intimate her pleasure." Accord- 
'»igly, while Thomas was making merry with liis 

> Henry the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into the his- 
wrv of Wallace, expresses the same doubt as t( the source of 
*M -"lopheuo knowledge" — 

Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than 
With the minister, which was a worthy man. 
He used oft to that religious place ; 
The people deemed of wit he meikle can, 
And so he told, though that they bless or ban, 
tu rule of war wliether they tint or wan : 



friends in the Tower of Ercildoune, a person cam»- 
running in, and told, with marks of fear and aston 
ishment, that a hart and hind had left the neigli- 
boring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, 
parading the street of the vUlage.' The prophel 
instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed 
the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he 
was never seen to return. Accordmg to the pop 
uiar belief, he still "drees his weird" in Fairv 
Land, and is one day expected to revisit eaitt 
In the mean while, his memory is held in the most 
profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from beneath 
the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, 
now no longer exists ; but the spot is marked by 
a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. A neif h 
boring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn 
(Goblin Brook) from the Rliymer's supernatural via 
itants. The veneration paid to his dweUing-plact- 
even attached itself in some degree to a person, 
who, within the memory of man, chose to set uj 
his residence in the ruins of Learmont's tower 
The name of this man was Murray, a kind o) 
herbalist ; who, by dint of some knowledge in sim 
pies, the possession of a musical clock, an electrical 
machine, and a stuffed alligator, added to a sup 
posed communication with Thomas the Rhymer, 
lived for many years in very good credit as a 
wizard. 

It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to dis- 
miss a person so important in Border tradition a*' 
the Rhymer, without some farther notice than a 
simple commentary upon the following ballad. It 
is given from a copy, obtained from a lady residing 
not far from Ercildoune, corrected and enlarged 
by one in Mrs. Brown's MSS. The former copy 
however, as might be expected, is far more minut*' 
as to local description. To this old tale tlie EcUtor 
has ventured to add a Second Part, consistmg of a 
kind of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly 
ascribed to the Rhymer; and a Tliird Part, en 
tirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his 
having returned with the hart and hind, to thi 
Land of Faery. To make his peace with thf 
more severe antiquaries, the Editor has prefixed 
to tlie Second Part some remarks on Learnionf 
prophecies. 

Which happened sooth in many divers Tfise - 

I cannot say by wrong or righteousness. 

It may be deemed by division of grace," &c. 

History of Wallace, Book li. 

2 See the Dissertation on Fairies, prefixed '.o Tamlone, Bni- 
der Minstrelsy, voi. ii. p. 254. 

3 There is a singular resemblance betwi.xt this tradition, anil 
an incident occurring in the liie of Merlin Caledonias, whirk 
'.he reader will Snd a few pages onwards. 



576 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(iII)omas tl)c Hljgmcr. 



FART FIRST, 
ANCIENT. 

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ;' 

A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
\nd there he saw a ladye bright, 

Come riduig do-mi by the Eildon Tree. 

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk. 

Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 
At ilka tett of her horse's mane, 

Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Tliomas, he puU'd aff his cap. 
And louted low down to liis knee, 

" All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see." — 

" no, no, Thomas," she said, 

" That name does not belang to me ; 

I am but the Queen of fair EMand, 
That am liither come to visit thee. 

ilarp and carp, Thomas," she said ; 
" Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to Idss my lips. 
Sure of your bodie I wiU be." — 

" Betide me weal, betide me woe. 

That wend shall never daunton me." — * 

Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips, 
AU imdenieath the Eildon Tree. 

" Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; 

" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
And ye maun serve me seven years, 

Thrcugh weal or woe as may chance to be." 

She mounted on her mUk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en tnve Thomas up behind ; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

they rade on, and farther on ; 

Tlie steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 
Until they reach'd a desert wide. 

And liying laud was left beliind. 

" Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ; 

» Hnntly Bank, and the adjoining ravine, called, from Imme 
aiorial tradition, the Rymer's Olen, were ultiniately included 
to the domain of Abbotsford. The scenery of this glen forms 
the background of Edwin Landseer's portrait of Sir Walter 
•teott, painted in 1833.— Ed. 

» TKat weird, <S-c.--Tbat destiny shall never frighten iii«. 



Abide and rest a little space, 

And I wUl shew you ferlies three. 

" see ye not yon narrow road, 

So thick beset with thorns and briers I 

That is the path of righteousness. 
Though after it but few enquires. 

" And see ye not that braid braid road, 

Tliat lies across that Uly leven ? 
That is the path of wickedness. 

Though some call it the road to hcuvea 

" And see not ye that bonny road. 
That winds about the ferule brae ? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 

Where thou and I this night maim gae. 

" But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 

"Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if ye speak word in Elflyn land, 

Ye'll ne'er get back to yom: ain countrie." 

they rade on, and farther on. 

And they waded thro' rivers aboon the kne* 
And they saw neither sim nor moon. 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae sttrs 
light. 

And they waded thro' red blude to the knee 
For a' the blude that's shed on earth 

Rms thro' the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — ' 

" Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; 

It wUl give thee the tongue that can nevei 
Ue."— 

" My tongue is mine ain," True Thomaj .lajd ; 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me 1 

1 neither dought to buy nor seU, 

At fair or tryst where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — 

" Now hold thy peace !" the lady said, 
" For as I say, so must it be.'" — 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past, 
True Thomas on eaiih was never seen* 

9 The traditional commentary upon this ballad informs tt 
that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of Knowledge 
and that the garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repug- 
nance of Thomas to be debarred the use of falsehood when b« 
might find it convenient, has a comic effect. 

* See ApoendiT Note B 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



671 



^honiaa tl)c Hlj^mcr. 



PAET SECOND. 



AXTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. 

The prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Ercil- 
ioune, have been the principal means of securing 
to him remembrance "amongst the sons of his 
oeople." The author of Sir Tristrem would long 
ago havp joined, in the vale of oblivion, " Clerk of 
Tranent, who wrote the adventure of Schir Ga- 
wain," if, by good hap, the same current of ideas 
respecting antiquity, wliich causes Virgil to be 
regarded as a magician by the Lazzaroni of Na- 
ples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the 
prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself 
affected it during liis life. We know, at least, for 
certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge 
'.'^as current soon after his death. His prophecies 
are alluded to by Barbour, by Winton, and by 
lleiAry the ilinstrel, or Blind Harry, as he is usu- 
ally termed. None of these authors, however, give 
the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, 
but merely narrate, historically, his having pre- 
dicted the events of which the^ ispeak. The ear- 
L'est of the prophecies ascribed to him, which is 
now extant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a 
MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas 
"f Ercildoune to a question from the heroic Count- 
ess of March, renowned for the defence of the 
Castle of Dunbar agamst the English, and termed, 
in the familiar dialect of her time. Black Agnes of 
Dunbar. This prophecy is remarkable, in so far 
as it bears very Httle resemblance to any verses 
published in the printed copy of the Rhymer's 
.supposed prophecies. The verses are as follows : — 

' La Countesse de Donbar demande a Thomas de Esse- 
doune quant la guerre d'Escoce prendreit fyn. E yl I'a 
repoundy et dyt. 

When man is mad a kyng of a capped man , 

When man is levere other mones thyng than his owen ; 

When londe thouys forest, ant forest is felde ; 

When hares kendles o' the her'stane ; 

When Wyt and VVille werres togedere ; 

When mon makes stables of kyrkes, and steles castels with 
stye ; 

When Rokesboroughe nys no bnrgh ant market is at Forwy- 
leye; 

When Bambourne is donged with dede men ; 

When men ledes men in ropes to buyen and to sellen ; 

When a qaarter of whaty whete is chaunged for a colt of ten 
markes ; 

When prude (pride) prikes and pees is leyd in prisonn ; 

When a Scot ne me hym hude ase hare in forn^ that the En- 
glish ne shall hym fynde ; 

When rycht ant wronge astente the togedere ; 

When laddes weddeth lovedies ; 

When Scottes flen so faste, that, for fante pf »hep, Kf drownr 
eth hemselve ; 

When shal this be 1 

Voalher in thine tvm« ne in mine ' 
'•J 



Ah comen ant gone 

Withinne twenty winter ant one." 

PlNKERTON'a Poems, /romMxiTLAND's MSS. quoting 
from Sari. Lib. 2253, F. 127. 

As I have never seen the MS. from which Mr 
Pinkerton makes this extract, and as the date oi 
it is fixed by him (certainly one of the most able 
antiquaries of our age) to the reign of Edwara I. 
or II., it is with great diffidence that I Wzard a 
contrary opinion. There can, however, I I elit. • e,- 
be Uttle doubt, that these prophetic verses are i 
forgery, and not the production of our Thomas the 
Rhymer. But I am inclined to believe them of a 
later date than the reign of Edward I. or II. 

The gallant defence of the castle of Dunbar, by 
Black Agnes, took place in the year 1337. The 
Rhymer died previous to the year 1299 (see the 
charter, by his son, in the Appendix). It seems, 
therefore, very improbable, that the Countess of 
Dmibar could ever have an opportimity of consult- 
ing Thomas the Rhymer, smce that would mfer 
that she was married, or at least engaged in state 
matters, previous to 1299 ; whereas she is de 
scribed as a young, or a middle-aged woman, at 
the period of her being besieged in the fortress 
which she so well defended. If the editor might 
indulge a conjecture, he would suppose, that the 
prophecy was contrived for the tncom-agement of 
the English invaders, during the Scottish wars • 
and that the names of the Countess of Dunbar 
and of Thomas of ErcUdoime, were used for tlie 
greater credit of the forgery. According to t)ii» 
hypothesis, it seems likely to have been composed 
after the siege of Dunbar, wluch had made the 
name of the Countess well known, and consequently 
in the reign of Edward III. The whole tendency 
of the prophecy is to aver, that there shaU be no 
end of the Scottish war (concerning which the 
question was proposed), till a final conquest of the 
country by England, attended by all the usual se- 
verities of war. " When the cultivated countiy 
shall become forest," says the prophecy ; — " when 
the wUd animals shall inhabit the abode of men ; — 
when Scots nh&ll not be able to escape the Enghsh, 
should they crouch as hares in their form" — all 
these denunciations seem to refer to the time oi 
Edward III., upon whose victories the prediction 
was probably founded. The mention of the ex- 
chanse betwixt a colt worth ten mark a, ami a 
quarter of "whaty [indifferent] wheat," seems to 
allude to the dreadful famine, about the year 1888. 
The independence of Scotland was, howevei, as 
impregnable to the mines of superstition, as to the 
steel of om- more powerful and more wealthy neigh- 
bors. The war of Scotland is, thank God, at an 
end ; but it is ended without her people having 
either crouched like hares in their form, or beintir 
drowned in their flight, " for laute of ships," — thank 



578 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



God for that too. — The prophecy, quoted m the 
preceding page, is probably of tha same datO; and 
mtended for the same purpose. 

A minute search of the records of the time 
would, probably, throw additional light upon the 
allusions contained in these ancient legends. 
Amc ng vai'ious rhymes of prtjphetic import, which 
ire at this day current amongst the people of 
lenotdale, is one, supposed to be pronounced by 
homas the Rhymer, presaging the destruction of 
his habitation and family : 

" The hare sail kittle [litter] on my hearth stane. 
And there will never be a Laird Learmont again." 

llie first of these lines is obviously borrowed from 
that In the MS. of the Harl. Library.— " When 
harfcc kendles o' the her'stane" — an emphatic im- 
age of desolation. It is also inaccurately quoted 
in the prophecy of Waldhave, pubHshed by Andre 
Hart, 1613: 

•' This is a trne talking that Thomas of tells. 
The hare shall hirple on the hard [hearth] stane." 

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous historian, 
seems to have been a firm believer in the authen- 
ticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name 
of Thomas of Ercildoune. "The prophecies, yet 
extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon he was com 
raonly called Thomas the Rhymer, may justly be 
admired ; having foretold, so many ages before the 
miion of England and Scotland in the ninth degree 
of the Bruce's blood, with the succession of Bruce 
hunself to the crown, being yet a child, and other 
divers particulars, wliich the event hath ratified 
and made good. Boethius, in his story, relate th 
his prediction of King Alexander's death, and that 
be did furetel the same to the Earl of March, the 
day before it fell out; saying, 'That before the 
next day at noon, such a tempest should blow, as 
Scotland had not felt for many years before.' The 
next morning, the day being clear, and no chaise 
appearing in the air, the nobleman did challenge 
Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. He 
replied, that noon was not yet passed. About 
which time a post came to advertise the earl of 
the king his sudden death. ' Then,' said Thomas, 

this is the tempest I foretold ; and so it shall 
prove to Scotland.' Whence, or how, he had this 
bnoAAfledge, can hardly be affirmed ; but sure it is, 
tbnt he did divine and answer truly of many things 
to come." — Spottiswoode, p. 47. Besides that no- 
table voucher. Master Hector Boece, the good 
urchbishop might, had he been so minded, have 
referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King Alex- 
ander's death. That historian calls our bard " rvr 
ralis ille vates." — Fordun, lib. x. cap. 40. 

What Spottiswoode calls "the prophecies ex- 

VftAt in Scottish rhyme," are the metrical produc- 



tions ascribed to the seer of Ercildoune, tWcIi 
with many other compositions of the same nature 
bearing the names of Bede Merlin, Gildas, anc 
other approved soothsayers, are contained in one 
small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edin- 
burgh, 1615. Nisbet the herald (who claims the 
prophet of Ercildoune as a broiher-professor of his 
art, founding upon the variolas ailegoricaa and era 
blematical allusions to heraldry) intimates the ex 
istence of some earlier copy of liis prophecies th u 
that of Andro Hart, which, however, he does not 
pretend to have seen.' The late excellent Lord 
Hailes made these compositions the subject of a 
dissertation, published in liis Remarks on the His- 
tory of Scotland. His attention is cliiefly directed 
to tlie celebrated prophecy of our bard, mentioned 
by Bishop Spottiswoode, bearing that the crown» 
of England and Scotland should be united in th. 
person of a King, son of a French Queen, and re- 
lated to the Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord 
Hailes plaiidy proves, that this prophecy is per- 
verted from its original purpose, in order to apply 
it to the succession of James VI. The groundwoit 
of the forgery is to be found in the prophecies of 
BerUngton, contained in the same collection, and 
runs thus : 

" Of Bruce's left side shall spring ont a leafe, 
As neere as the ninth degree ; 
And shall be fleemed of faire Scotland, 
In France farre beyond the sea. 
And then shall come again ryding, 
With eyes that many men may see. 
At Aberladie he shall light, 
With hempen helteres and horse of tie. 

However it happen for to fall, 

The lyon shall be lord of all ; 

The French Quen shall bearre the sonne. 

Shall rule all Biitainne to the sea ; 

Aiie from the Bruce's blood shal co><ie aljw. 

As neer as the ninth degree. 

Yet shal there come a keene knight over the Mit ie», 
A keene man of courage and bold man wi ttnnos ; 
A duke's eon dowbled [t. e. dubbed], a borr miA \ti Franen 
That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmes ; 
After the date of our Lord 1513. and thrice three thereafter; 
Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself, 
Between thirteen and thrice three the threip shall be entied 
The Saxons shall never recover after.' 

There cannot be any doubt that this piophety 
was intended to excite the confidence of the Scot- 
tish nation in the Duke of Albany, regent of Scot- 
land, who arrived from France in 1515, two years 
after the death of James IV. in the fatal field of 
Flodden. Tne Regent was descended of Bruce by 
the left, i. e. by the female side, within the ninth 
degree. His mother was daughter of the Earl of 
Boulogne, his father banished from his country— 

> See Appendix, Note C. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



)7t 



' fleemit of fair Scotland." His arrival must ne- 
»essai'ily be by sea, and his landing was expected 
at Aberlady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a 
duke's son, dubbed knight ; and nine years, from 
1513 are allowed him by the pretended prophet 
for the accorapUshment of the salvation of his coun- 
try, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister 
and rival. All this was a p'ous fraud, to excite 
the confidence and spirit of th^. country. 

The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas 
tht Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to 
a later period. The narrator meets the Rhymer 
upon a land beside a lee, who shows him many em- 
olematical visions, described in no mean strain of 
poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flod- 
den and Pinkie, to the national distress which 
followed these defeats, and to future halcyon days, 
Hiich are promised to Scotland. One quotation 
o- two will be sufficient to estabUsh this fully : — 

" Our Scottish King sal come fnl keene, 
The red lyon beareth he ; 
A feddered arrow sharp, I ween, 
Shall make him winke and warre to see. 
Ont of the field he shall be led, 
When he is bludie and woe for blood ; 
Yet to his men shall he say, 
' For God's love turn you againe, 
And give yon sutherne folk a frey I 
Why should I lose, the right is mine? 
My date is not to die this day.' " 

Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers 
to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular re- 
Dorts concerning the doubtful fate of James IV. ? 
A^Uusion is immediately afterwards made to the 
death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, 
who fought and fell with his sovereign : — 

" The stemes three that day shall die. 
That bears the harte in silver sheen." 

Tlie well-known arms of the Douglas family are 
the heart and tlu-ee stars. In another place, the 
oattle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by name : — 

" At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt 
Much gentle blood that day ; 
Tliere shall the bear lose the guilt, 
And the eagill bear it away." 

To the end of all this allegorical and mystical 
rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by 
indro Hart, a new edition of Berliugton's verses, 
before quoted, altered and manufactured, so as to 
bear reference to the accession of James VI., which 
bad just then taken place. The insertion is made 
witii a peculiar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a 
question, put by the narrator, concerning the name 
and abode of the person who showed him these 
»trange matters, and the answer of the prophet to 
that question : — 

" Then to the Beime oonid I say. 

Where dwells thou, or in what conntrie T 
[Or who shal rule the ble of Britane, 



From the north ., the south sey t 

A French queene shall bear the sonne. 

Shall rule all Britaine to the sea ; 

Which of the Bruce's blood shall come. 

As neere as the nint degree : 

I Trained fast what was his name. 

Where that he came, from what country.'' 

In Erslingtoun 1 dwell at hame, 

Thomas Rymour men cals me." 

There is surely no one, who will not conclude 
with Lord Hailes, that the eight lines, enclosed w 
brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrower 
from BerHngton, with such alterations as might 
render the supposed prophecy applicable to the 
imion of the crowns. 

Wliile we are on this subject, it may be propei 
briefly to notice the Scope of some of the otlier 
predictions, in Hart's Collection. As the prophecy 
of Berhngton was intended to raise the sphits ot 
the nation, dm-ing the regency of Albany, so tliose 
of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the Earl oi 
Arran, afterwards Duke of Chatelherault, during 
the minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity 
Tliis is obvious from the following verse.'* • — 

" Take a thousand in calculation, 
And the longest of the lyon. 
Four crescents under one crowne, 
With Saint Andrew's croce thrise. 
Then threescore and thrise three : 
Take tent to Merling truely, 
Tlien shall the wars ended be, 
And never zigain rise. 
In that yere there shall a king, 
A duke, and no crown'd king : 
Becans the prince shall be yong, 
And tender of yeares." 

The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549 
when the Scottish Regent, by means of some suc- 
cors derived from France, was endeavoring to re 
pair the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie 
Allusion is made to the supply given to the " Mold- 
warte [England] by the fained hart" (the Earl oi 
Angus). The Regent is described by his bearing 
the antelope ; large supplies are promised from 
France, and complete conquest predicted to Scot- 
land and her allies. Thus was the same hack- 
neyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest 
of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. Th* 
Regent was not, indeed, till after this period, cre- 
ated Duke of Chatelherault ; but that lionor waa 
the object of his hopes and expectations. 

The name of our renowned soothsayer is hber- 
ally used as an authority, throughout all the 
prophecies published by Andro Hart. Besides 
those expressly put in his name, Gildas, another 
assumed personage, is supposed to derive his 
knowledge from liim ; for he concludes thus •,— - 

" True Thomas me told in a troublesome time, 
In a harvest morn at Eldonn hills." 

The Prophecy of Oildai 



580 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



In the prophecy of Berlington, aheady quoted, 
»e are told, 

" Marvellous Merlin, that many men of tellg. 
And Thomas's,8ayings comes all at once." 

While I am upon the subject of these prophe- 
f en, may I be permitted to call ihe attention of 
Br^iquaries to Merdwynn Wyllt, or Merlin the 
WiMy in whose name, and by no means in that of 
Ambrose Merlin, the friend of Arthur, the Scot- 
tish prophecies are issued? That this per-sonage 
resided at Drurrunelziar, and roamed, like a second 
Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweeddale, in re- 
morse for the death of his nephew, we learn from 
Forduu. In the Scotichronicon, Ub. 3. cap. 31, is 
an account of an interview* betwixt St. Kentigern 
iiid Merlin, then in this distracted and miserable 
state. He is said to have been called Lailoken, 
from his mode of life. On being commanded by 
the saint to give an account of liimself, he says, 
that the penance which he performs was imposed 
on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody 
contest betwixt Lidel and Carwanolow, of which 
battle he had been the cause. According to his 
own prediction, he perished at once by wood, earth, 
and water ; for, beuig pursued with stones by the 
rustics, he fell from a rock into the river Tweed, 
and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there 
for the purpose of extending a fishing-net : — 

' Sude perfossus, lapidc percussus, et unda, 
HtBc tria Meriinum fertur inire necem. 
Sicgue ruit, mernusque fuit lignoijue prehensus, 
Et fecit vatem per tcrna pcricula verum." 

But, in the metrical liistory of Merlin of Cale- 
donia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from 
the traditions of the Welsh bards, tliis mode of 
ieath is attributed to a page, whom Merlin's sis- 
ter, desirous to convict the prophet of falsehood, 
liecause he had betrayed her mtrigues, introduced 
to him, under tlu-ee various disguises, inquiring 
each time in what manner the person should die. 
IV) the fii-st demand Merlin answered, the party 
ihf luld perish by a fall from a rock ; to the second, 
that he should che by a tree ; and to the third, that 
iifc sliDuld be drowned. The youth perished, wliile 
h-jutiiig, in the mode imputed by Forduu to Mer- 
'j.:. himself 

Fordun, contrary to the French authorities, con- 
fcunds this person with the Merlin of Arthur ; but 
■:oncludes by informing us, that many believed 
rim to be a different person. The grave of Mer- 
lin is pointed out at Drummelziar, in Tweeddale, 
Deneath an aged thorn-tree. On the east side of 
tlie cliurchyard, the brook, called Pausayl, faUs 
into the Tweed ; and the following prophecy 
is said to have been current concerning their 
tnion: — 



" When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlir.'s grave, 
Scotland and England shall one monarch have.' 

On the day of the coronation of James VI., th« 
Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the 
Pausayl at the prophet's grave. — Penntcuick'h 
History of Tiveeddale, p. 26. These circumstance! 
would seem to infer a communication betwixt the 
southwest of Scotland and Wales, of a nature pe 
cuharly intimate ; for I presume that Merlin would 
retain sense enough to choose for the scene of his 
wanderings, a country having a language and man 
ners similar to liis own. 

Be tills as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylves- 
ter, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots dtn-- 
ing the reign of James V. Waldhave,' under 
whose name a set of prophecies was pubhshed, 
describes himself as lying upon Lomond Law ; he 
hears a voice, which bids him stand to liis defence • 
he looks aroimd, and beholds a flock of hares and 
foxes" piusued over the mountain by a savagr 
figure, to whom he can hardly give the name ol 
man. At the sight of Waldhave, the apparition 
leaves the objects of his pursuit, and assaults him 
with a club. Waldhave defends himself with hia 
sword, throws the savage to the earth, and refuses 
to let him arise till he swear, by the law and lead 
he lives upon, " to do him no harm." This donf 
he permits him to arise, and marvels at his strange 
appearance : — 

" He was formed like a freike [man] all his four quarters ; 
And then his chin and his face haired so thick, 
With haire growing so grime, fearful to see." 

He answers briefly to Waldliave's inquiry con- 
cerning his name and nature, that he " drees hia 
weird," i. e. does penance in that wood •, and, hav- 
ing hinted that questions as to his own state are 
offensive, he pours forth an obscure rhapsody con- 
cerning futm"ity, and concludes. — 

" Go musing upon Merlin if thou wilt : 
For I mean no more, man, at this time." 

This is exactly similar to the meeting betwixt 
MerUn and Kentigern in Fordun. These prophe- 
cies of Merlin seem to have been in request in tha 
minority of James V. ; for, among the amusement« 
with which Sir David Lindsay diverted that prince 
during his infancy, are, 

" The prophecies of Rymer, Bede, and Merlin." 

Sir David Lindsay's Epistle to the King. 

And we find, in Waldhave, at least one allusioi 

J I do not know whether the person here mean: be Wald 
have, an abbot of Melrose, whs died in the odor of eauctitj 
about 1160. 

5 See Appendix, Note D 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



o«. 



to fhe very ancient prophecy, addressed to the 
Coimtess of Dunbar : — 

" This IS a trae token that Thomas of tells, 
When a ladde with a ladyc . hi> go over the fields." 

The origjinal stands thus : — 

' When laddes weddeth lovedies." 

Another prophecy of Merlin seems to have been 
curnn* about the time of the Regent Morton's 
execution. When that nobleman was committed 
to the charge of his accuser, Captain James Stew- 
art, newly created Earl of Arran, to be conducted 
to his trial at Edinburgh, Spottiswoode says, that 
he asked, " ' Who was Earl of Arran V and being 
answered that Captain James was the man, after 
a short pause, he said, ' And is it so ? I know then 
what I may look for ?' meaning, as was thought, 
that the old prophecy of the ' Falling of the heart' 
by the mouth of Arran,' should then be fulfilled. 
Whether this was his mind or not, it is not known ; 
but some spared not, at the time when the Ham- 
iltons were banished, in which business he was 
held too earnest, to say that he stood in fear of 
that prediction, and went that course only to dis- 
appoint it. But if so it was, he did find himself 
now deluded ; for he fell by the mouth of another 
Arran than he imagined." — Spottiswoode, 813. 
The fatal words alluded to seem to be these in 
the prophecy of Merlin : — 

" In the mouthe of Arrane a selcouth shall fall, 
Two bloodie hearts shall be taken with a false traine, 
And derfly dung down without any dome." 

To return from these desultory remarks, into 
which I have been led by the celebrated name of 
Merlin, the style of all these prophecies, pubUshed 
by Hart, is very much the same. The measure 
is alliterative, and somewhat similar to that of 
Pierce Plovtman' s Visions ; a circumstance which 
might entitle us to ascribe to some of them an 
earUer date than the reign of James V., did we 
not know that Sir Galloran of Galloioay and Ga- 
waine and Gologras, two romances rendered al- 
most unintelligible by the extremity of affected 
alhteration, axe perhaps not prior to that period. 
Indeed, although we may aUow that, during much 
earlier times, prophecies, under the names of those 
celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scot- 
land, yet those published by Hart have obviously 
been so often vamped and re-vamped, to serve the 
political purposes of different periods, that it may 
be shrewdly suspected, that, as in the case of Sir 
John Catler's transmigrated stockings, very little 
of the original materials now remains. I cannot 
refrain from indulging my readers with the pub- 

1 The heart was the cognizance of Morton. 
The Rev. R. f leming, pastor of a Scotch congregati m in 
IjOI don, published in 1701, " Discourses on the Rise and Fall 



lisher's title to the last prophecy, as it contami 
certain curious information concerning the Queen 
of Sheba, who is identified with the Cuniaean 
Sibyl: "Here followeth a prophecie, pronounced 
by a noble queene and matron, called Sybilla, 
Regina Austri, that came to Solomon. Through 
the which she compiled four bookes, at the ir.- 
stance of the said King Sol, and others divers: 
and the fourth book was directed to a noble king 
called Baldwine, King of the broad isle of Britain 
in the which she maketh mention of two nohl«> 
prmces and emperom-s, the which is called Leon^'s. 
How these two shall subdue and overcoiue all 
eartlilie princes to their diademe and crowne, and 
also be glorified and crowned in the heaven among 
saints. The first of these two is Constantinua 
Magnus ; that was Leprosus, the son of Saint He- 
lena, that foimd the croce. The second is the sixt 
king of the name of Steward of Scotland, the 
which is our most noble king." With such editors 
and commentators, what wonder that the text bi. 
came unintelhgible, even beyond the usual oracii 
lar obscurity of prediction ? 

If there still remain, therefore, among these pre 
dictions, any verses havuig a claim to real antiqui- 
ty, it seems now impossible to discover them from 
those which are comparatively modern. Never 
theless, as there are to be feund, in these composi 
tions, some uncommonly wild and masculine ex 
pressions, the Editor has been induced to throw a 
few passages together, into the sort of ballad t^" 
which this disquisition is prefixed. It would, in- 
deed, have been no difficult matter for him, by a 
judicious selection, to have excited, in favor ot 
Thomas of ErcUdoune, a share of the admiration 
bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Rob- 
ert Fleming.* For example : — 

" But then the lilye ehal be loused when they least think ; 
Then clear king's blood shal quake for fear of death ; 
For churls shall chop off lieads of their chief berns, 
And carfe of the crowns that Christ hath appointed. 

Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise ; 
The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken ; 

Seculars shall sit in spiritual seats, 
Occupying offices anointed as they were." 

Taking the lUy for the emblem of France, CMI 
there be a more plain prophecy of the murder o\ 
her monarch, the destruction of her nobility, and 
the desolation of her hierarchy ? 

But, without looking farther into the signs ol 
the times, the Editor, though the least of all tlie 
prophets, cannot help thinking, that every true 
Briton will approve of his application of the last 
prophecy quoted in the baUad. 

of Papacy," in which he expressed his belief, founded on l 
text in the Apocalypse, that the French Monarchy would ni» 
dergo some remarkable humiliation about 1794. — E». 



)82 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently 
I apriuted dui-ing the last century, probably to fa- 
vor the pretensioBs of the unfortunate family of 
Stuart. For the prophetic renown of Gildas and 
Bede, see Fordun, lib. iil 

Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predic- 
tions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, 
passing for his prophetic effusions, are still current 
among tlie vulgai-. Thus, he is said to have 
[irophesied of the very ancient family of Haig of 
Bemerside, 

Betide, betide, whate'er betide, 
Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside." 

The grandfather of the present proprietor of 
Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady 
brought him a male heir. The common people 
trembled for the credit of their favorite soothsayer. 
The late Mr. Haig was at length born, and their 
belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond a shadow 
of doubt. 

Another memorable prophecy bore, that the Old 
Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the 
Abbey, should " fall when at the fullest." At a 
very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a 
piece of lime fell from the roof of the church. The 
alarm, for the fulfilment of the words of the seer, 
became universal ; and happy were they who 
were nearest the door of the predestined edifice. 
The church was in consequence deserted, and has 
never since had an opportunity of tumbling upon 
a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a 
beautiful specmien of Saxo-Gothic architecture, 
that the accompUshment of this prophecy is far 
distant. 

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, 
seems to have been founded on that sort of insight 
into futurity, possessed by most men of a soimd 
and combinmg judgment. It runs thus : — 

" At Eldon Tree if you shall be, 
A brigg ower Tweed you there may see." 

The spot in question commands an extensive 
prospect of the comse of the river ; and it was 
en ^y to foresee, that when the country should be- 
come in the least degree improved, a bridge would 
h*^ somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, 
J nu now see no less than three bridges from that 
elevated situation. 

Corspatrick (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but 
more commonly taking liis title from his castle of 
Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of 
tidward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Ercildoune 
i<i said to have delivered to him bis famous proph- 

> An exact reprint of these prophecies, from the edition of 
VValdegrave, in 1603, collated with Hart's, of 1615, from the 
•opy la the Abbotsford Library, was completed for the Ban- 



ecy of King Alexander's death, the Editor haj 
chosen to introduce him into the fol. iwiog ballad 
AJI the prophetic verses are selected from Hart'i 
publication.' 



tijomas tl)£ HIjgnur. 



PART SECOND. 



When seven years were come and gane, 
The sun blink'd fair on pool and stream ; 

And Thomas lay on HuntUe bank. 
Like one awaken'd from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, 

He saw the flash of armor flee, 
And he beheld a gallant knight 

Come riding down by the Eildon-tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and strong; 

Of giant make he 'pear'd to be : 
He stirr'd his horse, as he were wodo. 

Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free. 

Says — " Well met, well met, true Thomas I 
Some uncouth ferlies show to me." — 

Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave I 
Thrice welcmne, good Dunbar, to me I 

" Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave 1 
And I will show thee cxu-ses three, 

Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane, 
And change the green to the black livery. 

"A storm shall roar this very hour. 
From Ross's hills to Sol way sea." — 

" Ye bed, ye bed, ye warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lee," - 

He put his hand on the Earlie's head ; 

He show'd liim a rock beside the sea. 
Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed,* 

And steel-dight nobles wiped their ee. 

" The neist curse lights on Branxton hills : 
By Flodden's high and heathery side. 

Shall wave a banner red as blude, 

And chieftains throng wi' meikle pridu 

"A Scottish King shall come full keen, 
The ruddy lion beareth he ; 

natyne Club, onder the care of the learned antiquary Sit 
David Laing of Edinburgh.— Ed. 1833. 

2 King Alexander, killed by a fall from his bore*, nea, 
Kinsrhom. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY 



5tJ* 



k. featherd arrow sliarp, I ween, 
Shall rtake Mm wink and wane to iee. 

' When he is bloody, and aU to y edde, 
Thus to his men he still shall say — 
For God's sake, tm-n yc back af/ain, 
And give yon southern folk a fray I 

Why should I lose, the right is mine ? 
My doora is not to die thas day." 

■* Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, 

And woe and wonder ye sail see ; 
How forty thousaud spearmen stand, 

Where yon rank river meets the sea. 

« There ?hall the lion lose the gylte, 
Ajjd the libbards bear it clean away ; 

A* Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt 
Much gentil bluid that day." — 

" Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; 

Some blessings show thou now to me, 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie, ' Corspatrick said, 

" Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me 1" — 

" The first of blessing., T .b'iU thee show, 
Is by a burn, that's cJl'd of bread ;' ■ 

Where Saxon meu shdl tine the bow, 
And find their arrows lack the head. 

■ Beside that brig^, out ower that burn. 

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen, 

tihaU many a fallen courser spurn, 
And knights shall die in battle keea 

" Beside a headless cross of stone. 

The libbards there shall lose the gree ; 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And drink the Saxon bluid sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know. 
So thick the corses there shall be." — 

" But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
" True Thomas, tell now tmto me. 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 

Even from the north to the southern sea ?" — 

" A French Queen shall bear the son, 

Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; 
He of the Bruce's blood shall come, 

As near as in the ninth degree. 

" The waters worship shall his race ; 

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
For they shall ride over ocean wide, 

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree." 

I The uncertainty which long prevailed m Scotland oon- 
leriing the fate of James IV., is well known. 
> One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, raw 



€l)oma0 tl)£ Hlj^mpr 



PAET THIED. MODERN. 



BY WALTER SCOTT. 

Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among hit 
contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated 
romance of Sir Tristrem. Of this once-admired 
poem only one copy is now known to exist, whicft 
is in the Advocates' Library. The Editor, in 1 804, 
published a small edition of this curious work ; 
which, if it does not revive the reputation of the 
bard of Ercildoune, is at least the earliest speci- 
men of Scottish poetry hitherto published. Some 
account of this romance has already been given to 
the world in Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Ancient 
Poetry, voL i. p. 165, iii. p. 410; a work to which 
our predecessors and our posterity are aUke obli- 
ged ; the former, for the preservation of the best 
selected examples of their poetical taste ; and tht. 
latter, for a history of the English language, which 
will , only cease to be interesting with the exist- 
ence of our mother-tongue, and all that genius 
and learning have recorded m it. It is sufficient 
here to mention, that so great was the reputation 
of the romance of Sir Tristrem, that few were 
thought capable of reciting it after the manner oi 
the author — a circumstance alluded to by Robert 
de Brunne, the annaUst : — 

" I see in song, in sedgeyng tale, 
Of Erceldoun, and of Kendale, 
Now thame says as they thame wrogh\ 
And in thare saying it semes nocht. 
That thou may here in Sir Tristrem, 
Over gestes it has the sterae. 
Over all that is or was ; 
If men it said as made Thomas," &c. 

It appears, from a very curious MS. ot th» 
thn-teenth century, penes Mr. Douce of London, 
containing a French metrical romance of Sir Tris 
trem, that the work of our Thomas the Rhymei 
was known, and referred to, by the minstrels ol 
Normandy and Bretagne. Having arrived at a 
part of the romance where reciters were wont to 
differ in the mode of telling the story, the French 
bard expressly cites the authority of the poet oi 
Ercildoune : 

" Plusurs de nos granter ne volent, 
Co que del naim dire se anient, 
Ki femme Kaherdin dut aimer, 
Li naim redut Tristram narrtr, 

" The b'lm of brem 
Shall run few reid." 
Bannock-burn is the brook here meant. Tie Sco'.? glva to. 
name of bannock to a thick round caka of unleavea»*' sread. 



E entuscM par grant engin. 
Quant il afole Kaherdin ; 
Pur test plat e pur cest mal, 
Enveiad Tristram Ouvernal, 
E7i Engleterre pur Ysolt : 
Thomas ico granter ne volt, 
Et si volt par raisun mostrer, 
Qu' ice ne put pa? esteer," &o. 

The tale of Sir Tristrem, as narrated in the 
Edinburgh MS., is totally different from the volu- 
tiinous romance in prose, originally compiled on 
the same subject by Rusticien de Puise, and 
analyzed by M. de Tressan ; but agrees in every 
essential particular with the metrical performance 
just quoted, which is a work of much higher an- 
tiquity. 

The following attempt to commemorate the 
Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional ac- 
count of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, 
being entirely modem, would have been placed 
with greater propriety among the class of Modern 
Ballads, had it not been for its immediate con- 
nection with the first and aecond parts of the 
»ame story. 



^Ijomas tl)e Hl)gmcr. 



PAET THIRD. 



"When seven years more were come and gone. 
Was war through Scotland spread, 

And Ruberslaw show'd high Dunyon' 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,* 
Pitch'd palliouns took their room, 

And crested helms, and spears a-rowe, 
Glanced gayly through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie ;* 
rhey roused the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee.* 

' Ruberslaw and Dunyon, are two hills near Jedburgh. 

' An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belonging to a family 
»r the name of Home. One of Thomas's prophecies is said 
.0 have run thus : — 

" Vengeance ! vengeance I when and where t 
On the house of Coldingknow, now and ever raair !" 

The spot is rendered classical by its having given name 
lo the beantifal melody called the Broom o' the Cowden- 
inows. 

• Kmcniic — War-cry or gathering word. 



The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 
In Learmont's high and ancient hall : 

And there were knights of great renown, 
And ladies, laced in paU. 

No*- lacked they, while they sat at dine, 

The music nor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 

Nor mantling quaighs^ of ale. 

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand. 

When as the feast was done : 
(In minstrel strife, in Fauy Land, 

The elfin harp he won.) 

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and toiigne 

And harpers for envy pale ; 
And armed lords lean'd on their swords. 

And hearken'd to the tale. 

In numbers liigh, the witching tale 

The prophet pour'd along ; 
No after bard might e'er avail* 

Those mmibers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years, 
As, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears.' 

He sung King Arthur's Table Round: 

The Warrior of the Lake ; 
How courteous Gawaine met the wound * 

And bled for ladies' sake. 

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, 

The notes melodious swell ; 
Was none excell'd in Arthur's days, 

The knight of Lionelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly imcle's right, 

A venom'd wound he bore ; 
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight. 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand . 

No medicine could be found. 
Tin lovely Isolde's lily hand 

Had probed the rankling wouni 

* Tuiwoodlee and Caddenhead are places in SelkJrkthta* i 
both the property of Mr. Pringlft of Tortioodlee. 

B Quaighs — Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped Ur 
gether. 

8 See Introduction to this ballad. 

' This stanza was quoted by the Edinburgh Reviewer, of 
18U4, as a noble contrast to the ordinary humility of the geb 
nine ballad diction. — Ed. 

e See, in the Fabliaux of Monsieur le Grand, elegantlv tran» 
lated by the late Gregory Way, Esq., the taie of the Knigly 
and the Sword. [Vol. ii. p. 3.] 



CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO MINSTRELSY. figs 


With gentle hand and soothing tongue 

She bore the leech's part ; 
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung, 

He paid Ler with his heart. 


On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tourer. 

The mists of evening close ; 
In camp, in castle, or in bower, 

Each warrior sought repose. 


fatal was the gift, I ween 1 

For, doom'd in evil tide, 
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,* 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 


Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 
Dream'd o'er the woeful tale ; 

When footsteps light, across the bent, 
The warrior's ears assail 


Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 

In fairy tissue wove ; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 

In gay confusion strove. 


He starts, he wakes ; — " What, Richard, hoi 

Arise, my page, arise 1 
What venturous wight, at dead of night, 

Dare step where Douglas lies !" — 


The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale. 
High rear'd its glittering head ; 

And Avalon's enchanted vale 
III all its wonders spread. 


Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth' sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by side, 

As white as snow on Fairnalie." 


Brangwain was there, and Segramore, 
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye ; 

Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 
who could sing but he ? 


Beneath the moon, with gestm-e proud. 
They stately move and slow ; 

Nor scare they at the gathering crowd 
W ho marvel as they go. 


Through many a maze the winning song 

In changeful passion led, 
Till bent at length the Ustening throng 

O'er Tristrem's dymg bed. 


To Learmont's tower a message sped, 
As fast as page might run ; 

And Thomas started from his bed 
And soon his clothes did on. 


Pis ancient woirnds their scars expand, 
With agony his heart is wrung : 

where is Isolde's lilye hand. 
And where her soothing tongue ? 


First he woxe pale, and then woxe red , 
Never a word he spake but three ; — 

" My sand is run ; my thread is spun •. 
This sign regardeth me." 


She comes I she comes ! — like flash of flame 

Can lovers' footsteps fly : 
She comes ! she comes ! — she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 


The elfin harp his neck around. 
In minstrel guise, he hung ; 

And on the wind, in doleful sound. 
Its dying accents nmg. 


She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
Join'd in a kiss his parting breath; 

Ths gentlest pair, that Britain bare. 
United are in death. 


Then forth he wen+ ; yet turn'd him oft 

To view his ancient hall : 
On the gray tower, in lustre soft, 

The autumn moonbeams fall ; 


There paused the harp : its lingering sound 

Died slowly on the ear ; 
The silent guests stiU bent around, 

For still they beem'd to hear. 


And Leader's waves, like silver sheen. 
Danced shimmering in the ray ; 

In deepening mass, at distance seen, 
Broad Soitra's mountains lay. 


Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak : 
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh ; 

But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek 
Did many a gaimtlet dry. 


" Farewell, my fathers' ancient tower . 

A long fai eweU," said he : 
" The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power 

Thou never more shalt be. 


» Setcovth —Wondrous. 

s An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire. In a 
tofiular edition of the firet part of Thomas the Rhvmer, the 
r<urv dneen tnus addresses 1 im : — 
■71 


" Gin ye wad meet wi' me again. 
G-ang to the bonny banka of Fairnalie." 
Faimalie is now one of the seats of Mr. Pringte of C\An 
M. P. for Selkirkshire. 1833. 



SQ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"* To Learmont's name no foot of earth 


And there, before Lord Douglas' fac«, 


Shall here again belong, 


With them he cross'd the flood. 


Aaid, on thy hospitable hearth. 




The hare shall leave her young. 


Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-bro-» & stead 




And spurr'd him the Leader o'er , 


* Adieu ! adieu !" again he cried, 


But, though he rode with lightning speted. 


All as he turn'd him roun' — 


He never saw them more. 


" Fare-well to Leader's silver tide 1 


* 


Farewell to Ercildoune !" 


Some said to hill, and some to glen, 




Their wondrous course had been; 


The hart and hind approach'd the place, 


But ne'er in haunts of living men 


Afl lingering yet he stood ; 


Again was Thomas seen. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A.— P. 574. 

From the Chartulary of the Trinity House of Soltra. 

Advocates' Library, W. 4. 14. 

ERSYLTON. 

Omnibus has literas visuris vel auditnris Thomas de Eroil- 
Ijun filias et heres Thomae Rymour de Ercildoun salutem in 
[)omino. Noveritis me per fustem et baculura in pleno judi- 
:io resignasse ac per presentes quietera clamasse pro me et here- 
dibus meis Magistro domus S.inctJe Trinitatis de Soltre et fra- 
Iribus ejusdem domus totam terram meam cum omnibus per- 
linentibus suis quam in tenemento de Ercildoun hereditaria 
tenui renunciando de toto pro me et heredibus meis orani jure 
et clameo qua; ego seu antecessores mei in eadem terra alioque 
.em pore de perpetuo habuimus sive de fnturo habere possuinus. 
In cujus rei testimonio presentibus his sigilluni meum apposui 
data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post festum Sanctorum 
Apostolorum Symonis et Jade Anno Domini Millcsimo cc. 
Nonageeimo Nono. 



Note B.— P. 576. 



The reader is here presented, from an old, and unfortunately 
in imperfect MS , with the undoubted original of Thomas the 
Rhymer's intrigue with the Q,ueen of Faery. It will afford 
great amusement to those who would study the nature of tra- 
ditional poetry, and the changes effected by oral tradition, to 
compare this ancient romance with the foregoing ballad. The 
lame incidents are narrated, even the expression is often the 
lame ; yet the poems are as different in appearance, as if the 
older tale had been regularly and systematically modernized by 
t poet of the present day. 

Incipit Prophesia ThomiB de Erseldoun. 

In a lande as I was lent, 
Li the gryking of the day, 
Ay alone as I went. 
In Huntle bankys me for to play ; 
I saw the throstyl, and the jay, 
Ye mawes movyde of her song 
Ye wodwale sange notes gay. 
That al the wod abont range. 
In that longyng as I lay, 



Undir nethe a dem tie, 

I was war of a lady gay, 

Come rydyng ouyr a fairle : 

Zogh I suld sitt to domysday, 

With my tong to wrabbe and Wf) 

Certenly all hyr aray. 

It beth neuyer discryuyd for me. 

Hyr palfra was dappyll gray, 

Sycke on say neuer none ; 

As the son in somers day. 

All abowte that lady schone. 

Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone, 

A semly syght it was to se, 

Bryht with mony a precyous stone 

And compasyd all with crapste ; 

Stones of oryens, gret plente, 

Her hair about her hede it hang. 

She rode ouer the farnyle, 

A while she blew, a while she <ang, 

Her girths of nobil silke they were. 

Her boouls were of beryl stone, 

Sadyll and brydil war - - ; 

With sylk and sendel about bedone, 

Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne. 

And hyr croper of the arase. 

Her brydil was of gold fine, 

On euery syde 'bnothe hang bells thr 

Her brydil reynes - - - 

A seraly syzt - - - - 

Crop and patyrel - - - • 

In every joynt - - - - 

She led thre grew houndes in a leash, 

And ratches cow pled by ner ran ; 

She bar an horn about her halse. 

And undir her gyrdil mene flene. 

Thomas lay and sa - - - 

In the baiikes of - - - • 

He sayd Yonder is Mary of Might, 

That bar the child that died for me, 

Certes bot I may speke with that lady briglH, 

Myd my hert will breke in tliree ; 

I schal me hye with all my might, 

Hyr to mete at Eldyn Tre. 

Thomas rathly up her rase, 

And ran ouer mountayn hye, 

If it he Eothe the story sart. 



i 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



58? 



He met her eiyn at Eldyn Tre. 
Thomas knelyd down on his kne 
Undir nethe the grenewood spray, 
And sayd, Lovely lady, thou rue on me^ 
ftueen of Heaven as you may well be. 
But I am a lady of another coantrie, 
If I be pareld most of prise, 
I ride after the wild fee, 
My ratches rinnen at my devys. 
•f thou be pareld most of prise. 
And rides a lady in Strang foly, 
lovely lady, as thou art wise, 
Giue you me leue to lige ye by. 
Do way, Thomas, that were foly, 
I pray ye, Thomas, late me be, 
That sin will fordo all ray bewtie. 
Lovely ladye, rewe on me. 
And ener more I shall with ye dweU, 
Here my trowth I plyght to thee, 
Where you belieues in heuin or hell. 
Thomas, and you myght lyge rae by, 
Undir nethe this grene wode spray. 
Thou would tell full hastely. 
That thou had layn by a lady gay. 
Lady, mote I lyge by the, 
Undir nethe the grene wode tre, 
For all the gold in chrystenty, 
Suld you neuer be wryede for me. 
Man on molde you will me marre. 
And yet bot you may haf your will, 
Trow you well, Thomas, you chenyst ye wane 
For all my bewtie wilt you spill. 
Down lyghted that lady bryzt, 
Undir nethe the grene wode spray, 
And as ye story sayth full ryzt, 
Senyn tyraes by her he lay. 
She sayd, Man, yon lyst thi play, 
What berde in bouyr may dele with thee, 
That maries rae all this long d»v ; 
I pray ye, Thomas, let me be. 
Thomas stode up in the stede. 
And behelde the lady gay. 
Her heyre hang down about hyr hede, 
The tane was blak, the other gray. 
Her eyn semyt onte before was gray, 
Her gay clethyng was all away. 
That he before had sene in that stede 
Hyr body as blow as ony bede. 
Thomas sighede, and sayd, Alias, 
Me thynke this a dulM^U syght, 
That thou art fadyd in the face, 
before you shone as son so bryzt. 
Tak thy leue, Thomas, at son and mone 
At gresse, and at euery tre. 
This twelmonth sail you with me gone 
Medyl erth you sail not se. 
Alas he seyd, ful wo is me, 
[ trow my dedes will werke me care, 
Jesu, my sole tak to ye, 
Whedir so euyr my body sal fare. 
She rode furth with all her myzt, 
Undir netho the derne lee. 
It was as derke as at midnizt, 
And euyr in water unto the kne ; 
Through the space of days thre. 
He herde but swowyng of a flode ; 
Thomas sayd, Ful wo is me, 
Now I spyll for fawte of fode ; 
To a garden she lede hira tyte. 
There was frnyte in grete plente, 
Peyres and appless ther were rype, 
The date and the damese, 



The figge and als fy-Tjert tre ; 

The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste, 

The papigaye about gan fle, 

The throstylcock sang wald hafe no rest. 

He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand. 

As man for fante that was faynt ; 

She seyd, Thomas, lat al stand. 

Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt. 

Sche seyd, Thomas, i the hyzt. 

To lay thi hede upon my kne. 

And tliou shalt see fayrer syght, 

Than euyr sawe man in their kintre. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way 

That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn 1 

Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay, 

Whan synful sawles haf derayed their (eyM. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon secund way, 

That lygges lawe undir the ryse 1 

Streight is the way, sothly to say. 

To the joyes of paradyce. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way, 

That lygges ouyr yone how 1 

Wide is the way, sothly to say, 

To the brynyng fyres of belle. 

Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castell. 

That standes ouyr yone fair hill 1 

Of town and tower it beereth the belle. 

In middell erth is none like theretill. 

Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye, 

I pray thee curteis man to be ; 

What so any man to you say, 

Loke thu answer none but me. 

My lord is servyd at yche messe. 

With XXX kniztes feir and fre ; 

I shall say syttyng on the dese, 

I toke thy speche beyone the le. 

Thomas stode as still as stone. 

And behelde that ladye gaye ; 

Than was sche fayr, and ryche anone. 

And also ryal on hir palfreye. 

The grewhoundes had fylde thaim on the dell 

The raches coupled, by my fay, 

She blewe her home Thomas to chere. 

To the castell she went her way. 

The ladye into the hall went, 

Thomas folowyd at her hand , 

Thar kept her mony a lady gent. 

With curtasy and lawe. 

Harp and fedyl both he fande, 

The getern and the sawtry, 

Lut and rybid ther gon gan, 

Thair was al maner of mynstralsy, 

The most fenly that Thomas thoghl. 

When he com emyddes the flore, 

Fourty hertes to quarry were broght, 

That had been befor both long and aUtn. 

Lymors lay lappyng blode. 

And kokes standyng with dressyng knyfe, 

And dressyd dere as thai wer wode. 

And rewell was thair wonder. 

Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre, 

All that leue long day. 

Ladyes that were gret of gre, 

Sat and sang of rych array. 

Thomas sawe much more in that place, 

Than I can desoryve, 

Til on a day, alas, alas. 

My lovelye ladye sayd to me. 

Busk ye, Thomas, you must agaya, 

Here you may no longer be : 

Hy then zerne that you were at bamf 

' sal ye bryng to Eldy Tre 



688 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thomas answerd with heny 

And said, Lowely ladye, lat ma l>e, 

For I say ye certenly here 

Haf I be bot the space of dayes three. 

Sothly, Thomas, as I telle ye. 

Von hath ben here thre yeres, 

And here yon may no longer be ; 

And I sal tele ye a skele, 

To-morrow of helle ye foule fende 

Amang our folke shall chuse his fee ; 

For you art a larg man and an heade, 

T.owe you wele he will chuse thee. 

Fore all the golde that may be, 

Fro hens unto the worldes ende, 

Sail you not be betrayed by me. 

And thairfor sail you hens wende. 

She broght hym euyn to Eldyn Tre, 

Undir nethe the grene wode spray, 

In Huntle bankes was fayr to be, 

Ther breddes syng both nyzt and day. 

Ferre ouyr yon montayns gray, 

Ther hathe my facon ; 

Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way. 



The Elfin Q.aeen, after restoring Thomas to earth, ponrs 
forth a string of prophecies, in which we distinguish references 
to the events and personages of the Scottish wars of Edward 
III. The battles of Dupplin and Halidon are mentioned, and 
also Black Agnes, Countess of Dunbar. There is a copy of 
this poem in the Museum of the Cathedral of Lincoln, an- 
other in the collection in Peterborough, but unfortunately they 
are all in an imperfect state. Mr. Jamieson, in his curious 
Collection of Scottish Ballads and Songs, has an entire copy 
of this ancient poem, with all the collations. The lacunce of 
the former editions have been supplied from his copy. 



Note C. 

allusions to heraldry.— p. 578. 

' The muscle is a square figure like a lozenge, bat it is al- 
ways voided oi i\\e field. They are carried as principal figures 
by the name of Learmont. Learmont of Earlstoun, in the 
Merss, carried or on a bend azure three muscles ; of which 
family was Sir Thomas Learmont, who is well known by the 
name of Thomas the Rliymer, because he wrote his prophecies 
in rliimo. This prophetick heranid Uved in the days of King 
Alexander the Third, and prophesied of his death, and of many 
other remarkable occurrences ; particularly of the union of 
Scotland with England, which was not accomjilished until the 
reign of James the Sixth, some hundred years after it was fore- 
told by this gentleman, whose prophecies are much esteemed 
by many of the vulgar even at this day. I was promised by a 
friend a sight of nis prophecies, of which there is everywhere 
to be had an epicome, which, I suppose, is erroneous, and dif- 
'«rt in many things from the origmal, it having been oft re- 
printed by some unskilful persons. Thus many things are 
smissin^ in the small book which are to be met with in the 
•nginal, particulcirly these two lines concerning his neighbour, 
Bemerside ■ — 

' Tyde what may betide, 
Uaig shall be laird of Bemerside.' 

And indeed his prophecies concerning that ancient family have 
hitherto been true ; for, since that time to this day, the Haigs 
have been lairds of that place. They carrie. Azure a saltier 
cantoned with two stars in chief and in base argent, as many 
crescents in the flanqnes or ; and for crest a rock proper, 
with this motto, taken from the above written rhyme — ' Tide 
nat TBay.' " — N bbk'' in Marks of Cadency, p. 158. — He 



adds, "that Thomas' meaning maybe understood by heranldi 
when he speaks of kingdoms whose insignia seldom vary, but 
that individual families cannot be discovered, e.ther becasse 
they liave altered their bearings, or because they are poitted 
out by their crests and exterior ornaments, which are changed 
at the pleasure of the bearer." Mr. Nisbet, however, com- 
forts himself for this obscurity, by reflecting, that "we may 
certainly conclude, from his writings, that herauldry was in 
good esteem in his days, and well known to the vulgar." — 
Ibid. p. ICO. — It may be added, that the publication of \tf^ 
dictions, either printed or hieroglyphical, in which noble fara' 
lies were pointed out by their armorial bearings, was, in liw 
time of Queen Elizabeth, extremely common ; and the infl? 
ence of such predictions on the minds of the common peopu 
was so great as to occasion a prohibition, by statute, of proph- 
ecy by reference to heraldic emblems. Lord Henry Howard 
also (afterwards Earl of Northampton) directs against this 
practice much of the reasoning in his learned treatise, entitled, 
" A Defensation against the Poyson of pretended Prophecies.' 



Note D.— P. 580. 



The strange occupation in which Waldhave beholds Merlir 
engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage ii 
Geoffrey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. Tht 
poem, after narrating that the prophet had fled to the forest 
in a state of distraction, proceeds to mention, that, looking 
upon the stars one clear evening, he discerned from his astro- 
logical knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, 
upon the next morning, to take another husband. As he had 
presaged to her that this would happen, and had promised 
her a nuptial gift (cautioning her, however, to keep the bride- 
groom out of his sight), he now resolved to make good hia 
word. Accordingly, he collected all the stags and lesser 
game in his neighborhood ; and, having seated himself upon a 
bock, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cumberland, 
where Guendolen resided. But her lover's curiosity leading 
him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade Me^ 
lin's rage was awakened, and he slew him with the stroke ol 
an antler of the stag. The original runs thus : — 

" Dixerat : et silvas et saltus circuit omnes, 
Cervorumque greges agmen collegitin unum, 
Et damas, capreasque simul ; cervoquc resedit, 
Et, veniente die, compellens agmina pro: se, 
Festinans vadit quo nubit Ouendolwna, 
Postquam vcnit eo, pacienter ipse coegit 
Cervos ante fores, proctamans, ' Ouendolama, 
Ouendolcena, vent, te talia miincra spcctant. 
Ocius ergo venit subridens Ouendolwna, 
Oestarique virum cervo mirntur, ct ilium 
Sic parere viro, tantum quvue posse ferarum 
Uniri numerum quas pm se solus agebat, 
Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbo.t. 
Stabatab ezcelsa sponsus spectando fenestra 
In solio mirans cquitem, risumque movebat. 
Jist ubi vidit eum vales, animoqae quis easet 
Calluit, extemplo divulsit cornua cervo 
Quo gestabatur, vibrataquejecit in ilium 
Et caput illius penitus contrivit, eumque 
Reddidit exanimem, vitamque fugavit inaurA.t ; 
Ocius inde suum, talorum verbere, cervum 
Diffugiens egit, silvasque redire paravit." 

For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from 
a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I 
was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr. Ritson. There 
is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertain- 
ing Specimens of Early English Romances, published b« 
Mr. Ellii. 



CONTKIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



581 



® I c n f i n I a ; 



OB, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH 



The simple tradition, upon which the following 
stanzas are founded, runs thus : While two High- 
land hunters were passing the night in a solitary 
bothy (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting), and 
making merry over their venison and whisky, one 
of them expressed a wish that they had pretty 
lasses to complete their party. The words were 
scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young wo- 
men, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing 
and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by 
the siren who attached herself particularly to him, 
to leave the hut : the other remained, and, suspi- 
cious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon 
a tnuiip, or Jew's-harp, some strain, consecrated 
to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the 
temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he 
found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had 
been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into 
whose toils he had iMlen. The place was from 
thence called the Glen of the Green Women. 

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the 
Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender in 
Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now 
belongs to the Earl of Moray. This comitry, as 
«ell as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, 
ir> times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Mac- 
gregors. To the west of the Forest of Glenfinlas 
lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called 
the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoir- 
lich, aie mountains m the same district, and at no 
great aistance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith 
passes Callender and the Castle of Dotme, and 
joins the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny 
'\i immediately above Callender, and is the princi- 
pal access to the Highlands, from that town. 
Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The 
whole forms a sublime tract of Alpme scenery. 

This ballad first appeared in the Tales of Won- 
ier? 

1 Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, song 
by the aged of the clan. 

a In 1801. See ante, p. 567. — The scenery of this, the an- 
Jior's first serious attempt in poetry, reappears in the Lady of 
«e Iiake io Waverley, and in Rob Roy. — £d. 



(BitniinicLS 



OK, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. 



" For them the viewless forms of air obey, 

Their bidding heed, and at their beck repalf , 
They Itnow what spirit brews the stormful day 
And lieartless oft, like moody madness stare, 
To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare." 

COLMNI 



** HONE a rie' ! hone a rie' !* 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more 1" — 

O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 
Tlie chief that never fear'd a foe. 

How matchless was thy broad claymorte, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows teU,^ 

How, on the Teith's resounding shore, 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell, 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 

But o'er his hills, in festal day, 

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree,* 
While youths and maids the light strathfp«j 

So nimbly danced with Higliland glee 1 

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell. 

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 
But now the loud lament we swell, 

O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more 1 

«0 hone a rit' signifies — "Alas for the prino* m 
chief." 

< The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied •>• the Hif Maa4> 
ers to their Low-Country neighbore. 

^ See Appendix, Note A 



590 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


From distant isles a chieftain came, 
TJie joys of Ronald's halls to find, 

And chase with him the dark-browu game, 
That bomids o'er Albin's hills of wind. 


" What lack we here to crown our bliss, 
While thus the pulse of joy beats high! 

W hat, but fair woman's yielding kiss. 
Her panting breath and melting eye ? 


'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle 
Tho seer's prophetic spirit found,' 

As, with a minstrol's fire the while, 
He waked his harp's harmonious soimd. 


" To chase the deer of yonder shades, 
Tliis morning left their father's pile 

The fairest of oui mountain maids. 
The daughters of the proud Glengyle 


FuU many a spell to hun was known. 
Which «raQdering spirits shrink to hear ; 

And many a lay of potent tone, 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 


" Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, 
And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh 

But vain the lover's wily art. 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 


For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood, 

High converse with the dead they hold, 

Ajid oft espy the fated shroud. 

That shall the future corpse enfold. 


" But thou mayst teach that guardian fair 
WMe far with Mary I am flown. 

Of other hearts to cease her care, 
And find it hard to guard her own. 


EG it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den. 
The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

Ajid scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glea 


" Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt se* 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me. 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt teai* and smile 


No vassals wait their sports to aid. 

To watch their safety, deck their board ; 

Their simple dress, the Highland plaid. 
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword- 


" Or, if she choose a melting tale, 

All underneath the greenwood bough 

Will good St. Oran's rule prevail," 

Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ?" — 


Three summer days, tlirough brake and deU, 
Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 

A.nd still, when dewy evening fell, 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 


" Since Enrick's fight, since Moma's death. 
No more on me shall rapture rise. 

Responsive to the panting breath, 
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 


In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

The solitary cabin stood, 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

Which murmurs through that lonely wood. 


" E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

I bade my harp's wild waiUngs flow. 

On me the Seer's sad spirit came. < 


Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, 
\\ hen three successive days had flown ; 

And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 


" The last dread curse of angry heaven,' 
With ghastly sights and soimds of woe, 

To dash each glimpse of joy was given — 
The gift, the future iU to know. 


The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, 
Afar her dubious radiance shed. 

Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes. 
And resting on Benledi's head- 


" The bark thou saw'st, yon summer CDom, 
So gayly part from Oban's bay, 

My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 
Far on the rocky Colonsay. 


Now in their hut, in social guise. 
Their silvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; 

^d pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy 


•* Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son, 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's powe* 

As marching 'gainst the Lord of.Dowue, 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 


1 tV« Appendix. Note R. 


s $:«• Aiipendix, Note U. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY, 



501 



" Thou only saVst their tartans' wave, 
Aa i-^wn Benvoirlich's side they wound, 

He.ird'st but the pibroch,'' answering brave 
To many a target clanking round. 


And by the watch-fire's glimmerbg light, 
Close by the minstrel's side waa aeesi 

A huntress maid, in beauty bright, 
All dropping wet her rob-is of PTeen. 


•• J heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 
I saw the woimd his bosom bore, 

Whrn on the serried Saxon spears 
H^ pour d his clan's resistless roar. 


All dropping wet her TOrmen ts seem ; 

Chill'd was her cheek, her bos'^-m bsje, 
As, bending o'er the dyin^ gleam, 

She wrung the moisture from her ha'r. 


" And thou, who bidst me think of bliss. 
And bidst my heart awake to glee. 

And cour*. like thee, the wanton kiss — 
That heart, Ronald, bleeds for thee 1 


With maiden blush, she toftly said, 
" gentle huntsman, hast thou seen, 

In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, 
A lovely maid iu ve jt of green : 


" I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; [now . . . 
The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and 

No more is given to gifted eye I" 


" With her a Chief in Highland pride ; 

His shoulders buar the hunter's bow. 
The n-ountain dark adorns his side. 

Far on the -vm-d his tartans flow?" — 


' Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams. 

Because to-morrow's storm may lour ! 


" And who &vt thou ? and who are they V 
All ghastly guzing, Moy replied : 

" And why, ben^ath the moon's pale ray, 
Dare ye t/iue roam Glenfinlas' side ?" — 



" Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear ; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow. 
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. 

' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell. 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew." 

He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell, 
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. 

Within an hour return'd each hound ; 

In rush'd the rousers of the deer ; 
They howl'd in melancholy sound. 

Then closely couch'd beside the Seer 

No Ronald yet ; though midnight came, 
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams. 

As, bending o'er the dying flame. 
He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 
And sudden cease their moaning howl ; 

CljKe press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shivering limbs and stifled growL 

tJntouch'd, the harp began to ring, 
As softly, slowly, oped the door; 

And shook responsive every string. 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 



' Tartans — The fnl. Highland dress, made of the checkered 
tiTso termed 



" Where frlld Loch Katrine pours her tide. 
Blue, dark, and deep, roimd many an iulw. 

Our father's towers o'erhang her side, 
Th»d castle of the bold Glengyle. 

" To <;\iase the dun Glenfinlas deer, 

Om woodland course tliis morn we 'bo.-e 

And haply met, while wandering here. 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

" aid me, then, to seek the pair. 
Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; 

Alone, I dare not venture there. 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost, *- 

" Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there 
Then, first, my own sad vow to keep. 

Here will I pour my midnight prayer, 

Which still must rise when mortals sleep."-- 

" first, for pity's gentle sake. 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way! 
For I must cross the haunted brake, 

And reach my father's towers ere day "— 

■* 

" First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 

And thrice a Pater-noster say; 
Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 

So shall we safely wend our way." — 

3 Pibroch — A piece of martial mnsic, adapted to tnr Hif b 

land bagpipe. 



^9?. 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



* shame to knighthood, strange and foul 
Go, doflf the bonnet from thy brow. 

And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, 
Which best befits thy sullen vow. 

" Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 
'ITiy heart was froze to love and joy, 

Wlien gayly rung thy raptur'd lyre 
To wanton Moma's meltiug eye." 

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, 

And high his sable locks arose. 
And quick his color went and came, 

As fear and rage alternate rose. 

" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 

I lay, to her and love resign'd, 
Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. 

Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind ? 

" Not thine a race of mortal blood. 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended Une ; 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 

He mutter'd tlirice St. Oran's rhyme. 
And thrice St. FiUan's powerful prayer; 

Then tiu-n'd him to the eastern clime. 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; 

And loud, and liigh, and strange, they rung, 
As many a magic change they find. 

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form. 
Till to the roof her stature grew ; 

Tlien, mingUng with the rising storm, 
With one wild yell away she flew. 

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : 
The slender hut in fragments flew ; 

' See Appendix, Note D. 

" Lewi3 s coi.ecnon proaueen a.sc wnat Scott jtvst.y calls 
t> ' first serious attempts in verse ;' ami of these *he earliest 
'Wean to have been the Glenfinlas. Here the scene is laid in 
■>e most favorite district of his favorite Perthshire Hi;.'hland8 ; 
i.f. '.I'" Gaelic tradition on which it was founded was (:ir more 
iiri/ IU..IIVW oit the secret strength of his genius, as well as 
o ai.-edt ihc '.eelings of his countrymen, than any subject with 
>»'i.b ihi rtores ol German diabUrH could have snpplied 



But not a lock of Hoy's loose hair 
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale. 
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ■, 

High o'er the minstrel's head they sail. 
And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thimder s|iook the wood. 
As ceased the more than mortal yell 

And, spattering foul, a shower of blooci 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next dropp'd from high a mangled arm ; 

The fingers strain'd a half-drawn blade : 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm. 

Torn from the trunk, a gaspiug head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,. 

Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore 
That arm the broad claymore could wield, 

Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore 

Woe to Monelra's suUen rills ! 

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 
There never son of Al bin's hills 

Shall draw the himter's shaft aj^en ! 

E'en the tired pilgrim's bm-ning feet 
At noon shall shun that sheltering den, 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 

And we — behind the Chieftain's shield. 
No more shall we in safety dwell ; 

None leads the people to the field — 
And we the loud lament must ewell. 

hone a rie' ! hone a rie' I 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliesi tree ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald moro 

him. It has been alleged, however, that the poei makea « 
German use of his Scottish materials ; that the legend, aa 
briefly iold in the simple prose of his preface, is more afecting 
than the lofty and sonorous stanzas themselves ; that the 
vague terror of the original dream lo^es, ins'ead of gaining, by 
the expanded elaboration of the detail Thepa may be some- 
thing in these objections : but no man can pretend to be ai 
impartial critic of the piece which first awoke his own chi.'difli 
ear to the power of poetry and the lae'.iiy of vene. ' — iy • oj 
Sc«tt, vcl. ii. p. 25 



■MMAANisoaMUkBiB^ 



-'["^■"-^"■y-r- 



P ^ . — ■ .....^ 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



S93 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 

JJ<.-« jltied Lord Ronald's beltane-tree. — P. 589. 

Thk firo« jghted by the Highlanders, on the first of May, in 
.tamphance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are 
termed Tine Beltane-tree. It is a festival celebrated with vii- 
riona enperstitions rites, both in the north of Scotland and 
Id Walen 



Note B. 



TAe seer's prophetic spirit found. — P. 590. 

I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr. John- 
(on's definition, who calls it " An impression, either by the 
mind upon the eye, or by the eye npon the mind, by which 
things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were 
present." To which I would only add, that the spectral ap- 
pearances, thns presKiued, usually presage misfortune ; that the 
faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it ; and 
that they usually acquire it while tliemselves under the pres- 
■ure of melancholy. 



Note C. 

IVill good St, Oran's rule prevail ? — P. 591. 

St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and waa 
buried at Icnimkill, His pretensions to be a saint were rather 
dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried 
«li ve, in order to propitiate certain demons of the soil, who ob- 
(trncted the attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba 
caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days 
iiad elapsed ; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the as- 
iistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, 
flor a future state 1 He had no time to make further discov- 
eries, for Columba cause;' Jie earth once more to be shovelled 
over him with th^utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and 
Jie cemetery, was called Relig Ouran ; and, in memory of bii 
ngid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, 
or be buried in that plkce. Thia is the rule alluded to in Ham 

SQMI 

'5 



Note D. 
And thriee St. Fillan's powerful prayer. — P. 592. 

St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy foun- 
tains, &c., in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarins, ar 
Abbot of Pittenweem, in Fife ; from which situation he ro- 
tired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 649. 
While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand 
was observed to send forth such a splendor, as to ifTora light 
to that with which he wrote ; a miracle which siived many 
candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights 
in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to thvs 
saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St 
Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, hb. 7, tells us, that 
Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and 
luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it 
carried at the head of his army. Previous to the Battle ol 
Bannockbum, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, ab- 
stracted the relic, and deposited it in a place of security, lest it 
should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo I while Rob- 
ert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was ob- 
served to open and shut suddenly ; and, on inspection, tii« 
saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine 
as an assarance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But 
though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should 
assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at 
KiUin, Dpon Loch Tay. 

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, there is a copy of a 
very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which 
James III. confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strath- 
fillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a 
relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral 
staff called the ftuegrieh, which he and his predecessors are 
said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the 
Q,uegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is probably 
the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. 
The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther 
observes, that additional particulars, concerning St. Fillan, are 
to be found in Bbllendbn's Boece, Book 4, folio ocxiii., and 
in Pennant's Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. 11, 15. 

See a note on the lines in the first canto of Marmion. . . 

" Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can phrensied dreams dispel, 
And the crazed brain restore," &o. — Es 



6y4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®l)e (Bvt of 51 3ol)n. 



Smatt.ho'me, or Siaallbolm Tower, the scene of 
the following ballad, is situated on the northern 
boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of 
wild rocks, called Sandiknow '-Crags, the property 
of Hugh Scott, Esq., of Harden [now Lord Pol- 
war th]. The tower is a high square building, sur- 
rounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The cir- 
cuit of the outer court, being defended on three 
sides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only 
from the west by a steep and rocky path. ITie 
apartments, as is usual in a Border keep, or for- 
tress, are placed one above another, and commu- 
nicate by a narrow stair ; on the roof are two bar- 
tizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The 
mner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron 
gate ; the distance between them being nine feet, 
the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the ele- 
vated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen 
many miles in every direction. Among the crags 
by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is 
called the Watchfold, and is said to have been the 
station of a beacon, in the times of wai- with Eng- 
land. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. 
Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighborhood of 
Smaylho'me Tower. 

This ballad was first printed in Mr. Lewis's 
Tales of Wonder. It is here published, with some 
additional illustrations, particularly an account of 
the battle of Ancram Moor ; which seemed proper 
m a work upon Border antiquities The catastro- 
phe of the tale is founded upon a well-known Irish 
tradition." Tliis ancient fortress and its vicinity 
armed the scene of the Editor's infancy, and 
8«emed to claim from him tliis attempt to cele- 
wate them in a Border tale.* 



' " This place' is rendered interesting to poetical readers, 
• f its having been the residence, in early life, of Mr. Walter 
Scott, who has celebrated it in his ' Eve of St. John.' To it 
he prooably alludes in the introdnction to the tliira canto of 
Marn. lOn. 

' Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.' " 

S'cots Mag. March, 1809. 

• xtii tollowing pa:;Bag9, in Di. Hekrt SN'ork's .Appendix 
to the Antidote against Jltkeism, relates to u similar phenom- 
»non : — " I confess, that the boiliec of devils may not be only 
«rarm. but sindgingly hot, as it was in him that took one of 
Melancthon's relations by the hand, and so scorched her, that 

rbu (*nn-hoaai is the immadiate vicinity of Smaillislm. 



®l)e (£t)c of St. lol)n. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurr'd his courser on. 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, 

That leads to Brotherstone. 



He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 

His banner broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew, 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack* was braced, and his helmel 
was laced. 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 

Full ten pound weight and more. 

The Baron return'd in three days space, 

And his looks were sad and sour ; 
And weary was his courser's paco, 

As he reach'd his rocky tower. , 

He came not from where Ancram Moor* 

Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccletidi 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Yet was Ms helmet hack'd and hew'd. 

His acton pierced and tore. 
His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,— 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 
He held him close and stiU ; 



(he bare the mark of it to her dying day. But tne exampfe< 
of cold are more frequent ; as in that famous story of Cuntiin 
when he touched the arm of a certain woman of Pentoch, « 
she lay in her bed, he felt as cold as ice ; and so did the spirit ' 
claw to Anne Styles."— £rf. 1662, p. 135. 
» See the Introduction to the thurd canto of Marmion. . 

" Ft was a barren scene, and wild. 
Where naked cliff's were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of softest greei. , 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wallflower gr»w, fee— fcB. 

< The plate-jack is coat-armor; the vaunt-brace, ir waw 
brace, armor for the body ; the si'erthe, a ba.Ue-axo. 
^ See Appendix, Note A. 




THE EVE OP ST. JOHN. — Page 594. 



' nd he whistkd thrice for his little foot-page 



His name was EngUsh WilL 



' Come thou hither, my little foot-page, 

Come hither to my knee ; 
Though thou art young, and tender of age, 

I think thou art true to me. 

' Come, tell me all that thou haist seen, 

And look thou tell me true 1 
Smce I from Smaylho'me tower have been, 

What did thy lady do ?"— 

" My lady, each night, sought tne lonely light, 
That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 

li'or, from height to height^ the beacons bright 
Of the English foemen told. 

The bittern clamor'd from the moss, 
'Jbe wind blew loud and shrill; 
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 
To the eiry Beacon Hill. 

" 1 -watch'd her steps, and silent came 

Where ehe sat her on a stone ; 
N'o watchman stood by the dreary flame, 

It burned all alone 

" Tne second night I kept her in sight, 

Till to the fire she came, 
Ajid. by Mary's might ! an Armed KnigM 

Stood by the lonely flame. 

"" And many a word that warlike Wd 

Did speak to my lady there ; 
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, 

And I heard not what they were. 

* The third night there the sky was fair. 

And the mountain-blast was still, 
As again I watch'd the secret pair, 
On the lonesome Beacon Hill 

* And I heara her name the midnight hoiu", 

And name this holy eve ; 
.And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower ; 
Ask no bold Baron's leave. 

* ' He lifts his spear -with the bold Buccleuch ; 

His lady is all alone ; 
..'Le door she'll imdo, to her knight so true. 

On the eve of good St. John.' — 



- The 'Ditck-rood of Melrcse was a crncifix of black marble, 
jud of Boperior sanctity. 

* DrT-inrgl: Ably./ is beautifolly silnated on the banks of the 
Tweed. After its dis»olaUon, it became the property of the 
"(alliburtons of V^wm-uDs an-* ii row th«! sept of the Righ*. 



" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 
On the eve of St. John I must wander alone : 

In thy bower I may not be.' — 

" ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight 1 

Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, 

Is worth the whole summer's day. 

" ' And I'll chain the blood-hoimd, and the wardei 
shall not sound, 
And rushes shall be streVd on the stair ; 
So, by the black rood-stone,' and by holy St 
John, 
I conjure thee, my love, to be there !' — 

" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush 
beneath my foot, 
And the warder his bugle should not blow, 
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the 
east. 
And my footstep he would know.' — 

" ' fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east 
For to Dryburgh^ the way he has ta'en , 

And there to say mass, till three days do pass, 
For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — 

" He turn'd him aroimd, and grimly he frown'a • 

Then he laugh'd right scornfully — 
' He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that 
knight, 

May as well say mass for me : 

" ' At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirit* 
have power. 

In thy chamber will I be.' — 
With that he was gone, and my lady left alor •• 

And no more did I see." 

Then changed, I trow was that bold Baron's brow, 
From the dark to thti blood-red higL 

"Now, tell me the mien of the knight tL^c ha"< 
seen. 
For, by Mary, he shall die I" — 

" His arms shone fuU bright, in the beacon's rmi 
light; _ 

His plume it was scarlet and blue 
On his shield was a hound, in a silve." leash bound, 

And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 



Honorable the Earl of Bnchan. It belonged to ths orl-.t • 
Premonstratenses. — [The ancient Barons of Newmains wen 
ultimately represented by Sir Walter Scett, whose remains now 
repose in the cemetery at Orvborgh.— Ed.] 



598 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Oeiievolenoe, demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was 
sent by royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at 
•etlling his ransom, he found still more exorbitant in their 
exactions than the monarch. — Redpath's Border History, 
•: 563. 

Evers was much regretted by King Henry, who swore to 
Hvonge his death upon Angus, against whom he conceived 
Kmself to have particular grounds of resentment, on account 
of favors received by the earl at his hands. The answer of 
Anirus was worthy of a Douglas ; " Is our brother-in-law of- 
fended,"! said he, " that I, as a good Scotsman, have avenged 
my ravaged country, and the defaced tombs of my ancestors, 
upon Ralph Evers? They were better men than he, and I 
was bound to do no less — and will he take my life for that? 
Little knows King Henry the skirts of Kirnetable :'' I can keep 
myself there against all his English host." — Godscroft. 

Such was the noted battle of Ancrara Moor. The spot, on 
wliicli it was fought, is called Lilyard's Edge, from an Ama- 
lEonian Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tra- 
ilition, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as 
Squire Witherington.' The old people point out her monu- 
ment, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have 
been legible within this century, and to have run thus : 

" Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane. 
Little was her stature, but great was her fame ; 
Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps. 
And, when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her 
ovuraps." 

Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose. 

It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an ancestor of 
IjOrd Uvers held also a grant of Scottish lands from an English 
monarch. "I have seen," says the historian, "under the 
broad-seale of the said King Edward I., a manor, called Ket- 
nes, in the county of Forfare, in Scotland, and neere the fur- 
Jiest part of the same nation northward, given to John Ure 
aun his heires, ancestor to the Lord Ure, that now is, for his 
(e'rife done in these partes, with market, &o., dated at Laner- 

1 AnguM had married the widow of James IV., elBter to King Henry 

vni. 

i Kiraetable, now called Caihitable, ia a mountainous tract at the head 



cost, the 20th day of October, anno regis, 34" — Stows'i 
Mnnals, p. 2)0. This grant, like that of I'.extij, must havt 
been dangerous to the receiver. 



Note B. 

That nun who ne er beholds the day. — P. 597. 

The circnmstance of the nun, " who never saw the day," u 
not entirely imaginary. About fifty years ago, an unfortnnata 
female wanderer took up her residence in a dark vau't, among 
the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which, during the day, she 
never quitted. When night fell, she issued from this miserabla 
habitation, and went to the house of Mr. Haliburton of New- 
mains, the Editor's great-grandfather, or to that of Mr. Eis- 
kine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighborhood From 
their charity, she obtained such necessaries as she con'>d be 
prevailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted 
her candle, and returned to her vault, assuring her friendly 
neighbors, that, during her absence, her habitation was ar- 
ranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name ol 
Fatlips ; describing him as a little man. Wearing heavy iron 
ihoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, te 
dispel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regard, 
ed, by the well-informed, with compassion, au deranged in her 
understanding ; ami by the vulgar, with some degree of terror. 
The cause of her adopting this extraordinary mode of life she 
would never explain. It was, however, believed to have been 
occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence of a man to 
whom she was attached, she would never look upon the sun. 
Her lover never returned. He fell during the civil war of 
1745-6, and she never more wonld behold the light of day. 

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate wo. 
man lived and died, passes still by the name of the supernatu- 
ral being, with which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed 
imagination, and few of the neighboring peasants dare enter it 
by night.— 1803. 

of Douglasdale. [See notes to Castle Dangerous, Waverley NoT<la, vol, 
xlvii.] 
S See Ch*m/ Chat: 



Ca5|)0U) CastU. 



The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Cattle, the an- 
riont baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, 
are situated upon the precipitou.s banks of the 
riv^er Evan, about two miles above its junction 
with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conciu- 
Bion of the Civil Wars, during the reign of the un- 
foitimate Mary, to whose cause the house of Ham- 
ilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, 
which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and, 
very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the 
•uins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and 
creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawhng 
torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. lii the 
immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of im- 
niei^se oaks the remains of the Caledonian Forest, 



which anciently extended through the south ot 
Scotland, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. 
Some of these trees measure twenty -five feet, and 
upwards, in circmnference ; and the state of decay, 
in which they now appear, shows that they havfc 
witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole 
scenery is included in the magmficent and exten- 
sive park of the Duke of Hamilton. There waa 
long preserved in this forest the breed of the Scot- 
tish wild cattle, until their ferocity occa&'oned theii 
being extirpated, about forty years ago.' Their 
appearance waf beautiful, being milk-white, with 

1 The breed had not been entirely extirpated. There r» 
mained certainly a magnificent herd of these caJ*'^ jn CadycB 
Forest within these few years. 1833 — E>v, 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



609 



biiick muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are de- 
Bcriijed by ancient authors as b<iving white manes ; 
but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, 
p'.-'haps by intermixture with the tame breed.' 

in ietaiUng the death of the Regent Miuray, 
which is made the subject of the following ballad, 
it would be injustice to my reader to use other 
wnrds than those of Dr. Robertson, whose account 
M iiiit memorable event forms a beautiful piece 
(I hici-orical pamting. 

"Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person 
irho committed this barbarous action. He had 
been condemned to death soon after the battle of 
Langside, as we have aheady related, and owed 
his li*'e to the Regent's clemency. But part of bis 
estate had been bestowed upon one of the Re- 
gent's favorites,^ who seized his house, and turned 
out hio wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open 
fields, where, before next morning, she became 
furiously mad. This injury made a deeper im- 
pression on him than the benefit he had received, 
and from that moment he vowed to be revenged 
of the Regent. Party rage strengthened and in- 
flamed his private resentment. His kinsmen, the 
Hamiltons, applauded the enterprise. The max- 
uns of that. age justified the most desperate course 
he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed 
the Regent for some time, and watched for an op- 
portunity to strike the blow. He resolved at last 
to wait till his enemy should arrive at Linhthgow, 
through which he was to pass in his way from Stir- 
ling to Edinbm-gh. He took his stand in a wooden 
gaUery,' which had a window towards the street ; 
spread a feather-bed on the floor to hinder the noise 
of his feet from being heard ; hung up a black cloth 
behind him, that his shadow might not be observed 
from without ; aud, after all this preparation, 
calmly expected the Regent's approach, who had 
lodged, dm-ing the night, in a house not far distant. 
Some indistinct information of the danger which 
threatened him had been conveyed to the Regent, 
and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved 
to return by the same gate through which he had 
' antered, and to fetch a compass roimd the town. 
But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and 
he himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded 
direptly along the street ; and the throng of peo- 
ple obhging him to move very slowly, gave the 
assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot 
aim, with a single bullet, through the lower part 
t»f his bellj and killed the horse of a gentleman 

- They were formerly kept in the park at Drumlanrig, and 
»re gtiil to be seen at Chillingham Castle, in Northumberland. 
For their nature and ferocity, see Notes. 

* This was Sir James Bellenden, Lord Justice-Clerk, whose 
ihameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the catastrophe in 
tie text. — Spottiswoode. 

This projecting sailers is still shown. The house to which 



who rode on his other side. His followers m 
stantly endeavored to break into the house whence 
the blow had come ; but they found the dooi 
strongly barricadoed, and, before it could be forced 
open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,* which 
stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got 
far beyond their reach. The Regent died the same 
night of his wound." — History of Scotland, book v 

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, whei% 
he was received in triumph ; for the ashes of the 
houses in Clydesdale, which had been burned by 
Murray's army, were yet smoking ; and party pre- 
judice, the habits of the age, and the enormity ol 
the provocation, seemed to liis kinsmen to justify 
the deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this 
fierce and determined man Ipft Scotland, and 
served in France, imder the patronage of the fam 
Uy of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recom 
mended by having avenged the cause of their 
niece. Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. 
De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made 
to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, 
the famous Admiral of France, and tiie buckler ol 
the Huguenot cause. But the character of Both 
weUhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary 
trader in blood, and rejected the offer with cor 
tempt and indignation. He had no authority, he 
said, from Scotland to conamit murders in France ; 
he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he would 
neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of an- 
other man. — Thuanus, cap. 46. 

The Regent's death happened 23d January, 
1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contera 
porary historians, according to their religious or 
party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood ia 
unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat ol 
BothweUliaugh, " who," he observes, " satisfied, 
with a single ounce of lead, him whose sacrilegious 
avarice had stripped the metropolitan chiu-ch ol 
St. Andrews of its covering ;" but he ascribes it t« 
immediate divine inspiration, and the escape ol 
Hamilton to httle less than the miraculous inter 
ference of the Deity. — J ebb, vol. ii. p. 263. With 
equal injustice, it was, by others, made the ground 
of a general national reflection ; for, when Mather 
urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted 
the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellliaugh, th« 
other conspirator answered, "that neyther Poltrot 
nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, with- 
out some reason or consideration to lead them to 
it ; as the one, by byre, »nd promise of preferment 

it was attached was the property of the Archbishop of 3t An 
drews, a natural brother to the Duke oi Ohate'heianll, ani 
nncle to Bothwellhaugh. This, among other ciicamstances, 
seems to evince the aid which Bothwellhangh received 'ron 
his clan in effecting his purpose. 

4 The gill of Lord John Hamilton, Commendstor o i» 
broath 



tfOO SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Dr rewarde ; the other, upon desperate mind of re- 
venge, for a lyttle wrong done unto him, as the 
report goethe, according to the vyle trayterous 
iysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottea." 
— Muedin's State Papers, voL I p. 197. 


'Tis night — the shade of keep and spke 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream , 

And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is checkering the moonlight beam. 

Fades slow their %ht ; the east is gray ; 

The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 

And merry hunters qtiit the bower. 




ADDRESSED TO 
THE RIOBT BONORABLB 

LADY ANNE HAMILTON.* 


The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 

As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein 


When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 

The song went round, the goblet flow'd, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 


First of his troop, the Chief rode on ;" 
His shouting merry -men throng behind ; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 


Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
So sweetly rvmg each vaulted wall, 

And echoed light the dancer's bound, 
As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. 


Irom the thick copse the roebucks bound. 
The startled red-deer scuds the plain. 

For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound 
Has roused their mountain haimts again, 


But Cadyow's towers, m ruins laid, 
And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 

ThriU to the music of the shade. 
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 


Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have won^ 

What sullen roar comes down the gale, 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 


Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 
You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 

And tune my harp, of Border frame. 
On the wild banks of Evandale. 


Mightiest of all the blasts of chase, 

Tliat roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race, 

Tlie Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 


For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn. 

To draw oblivion's pall aside, 

And mark the long-forgotten urn. 


Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band. 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 


Then, noble maid 1 at thy command. 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand, 
The past retiuns — the present flies. 


Aim'd well, the Cliieftain's lance has flown ; 

Struggling in blood the savage Ues ; 
His roar is sunk in hoUow groan — 

Sound, merry huntsmen ! so'md the pryat ^ 


Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side. 
Were blended late the ruins green, 

ftise turrets in fantastic pride. 
And feudal banners flaunt between : 


'Tis noon — agamst the knotted ^^ak 
The hunters rest the idle spear ; 

Curls through the trees the slender smoke, 
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 


TTlere the rude torrent's brawling course 
"Was shagg'd with thorn and tanghng sloe, 

The ashler buttress braves its force, 
.and ramparts frown in battled row. 


Proudly the Cliieftain mark'd his clan, 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown. 

Yet miss'd his eye the 1 oldest man 
That bore the name of Hanultou. 


' Eldest daughter of Archibald, ninth Dnke of Hamilton. 

' The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was 
kates, Eul of Airan Dnke of Chatelheraalt, in France, and 


first peer of the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was appolnUM 
by Q.Qeon Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, nnder tlM 
singular title of her adopted f'vther. 
9 See Appendix Note A 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 601 


" Why fills not BothweUhaugh his place, 


And, reeking fi-om the recent deed. 


Still yioDt our weal and woe to share i 


He dash'd his carbine on the ground. 


Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 




Why shares he not our hunter's fare ?" — ■ 


Sternly he spoke — " 'Tis sweet to hear 




In good greenwood the bugle blown. 


Stern Claud replied,' with darkening face 


But sweeter to Revenge's ear. 


(Gray Paisley's haughty lord was he), 


To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 


• At merry feast, or buxon. chase. 




No more the warrior wU; thou see. 


" Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 




At dawning mom, o'er dale and down. 


* Few suns have set since Woodhouselee' 


But prouder base-born Murray rode 


Saw BothweUhaugh's bright goblets foam. 


Through old Linlithgow's crowded towu 


When to his hearths, in social glee, 




The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. 


" From the wild Border's humbled side,* 




In haughty triumph marched he, 


" There, wan from her maternal throes, 


While Knox relax'd his bigot pride. 


His Margaret, beautiful and mild, 


And smiled, the traitorous pomp to soe 


Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, 




And peaceful nursed her new-bom child. 


" But can stern Power, with aU his vaupt. 




Or Pomp, with aU her courtly glare, 


•* change accursed I past are those days 


Tlie settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 


False Murray's ruthless spoilers came, 


Or change the purpose of Despair ? 


And, for the hearth's domestic blaze. 




Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 


" With hackbut bent,' my secret stand. 




Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, 


• What sheeted phantom wanders wild. 


And mark'd, where, mingling in his band, 


Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, 


Troop'd Scottish pikes and EngUsh bowfc. 


Her arms enfold a shadowy child — 




Oh I is it she, the pallid rose ? 


" Dark Morton,' girt with many a spear. 




Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 


" The wilder'd traveller sees her glide. 


And clash'd their broadswords in the rear 


And hears her feeble voice with awe — 


The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan." 


' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Mm-ray's pride I 




And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh I' " 


" Glencahn and stout Parkhead* were nigh. 




Obsequious at tlielr Regent's rein. 


He ceased — and cries of rage and grief 


And haggard T-indesay's iron eye. 


Burst mingling from the kindred band. 


That saw fair Mary weep in vain." 


And half arose the kindling Chief, 




And half unsheathed his Arran brand. 


" 'Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, 


• 


Proud Murray's plumage floated high, 


But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock, 


Scarce could his trampling charger move, 


Rides headlong, with resistless speed. 


So close the minions crowded nigh." 


Whose bloody poniard's fi-antic stroke 




Drives to the leap his jaded steed ;' 


" From the raised vizor's shade, his eye. 




Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along. 


W hose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, 


And his steel truncheon, waved on high. 


As one some vision'd sight that saw, 


Seem'd marshalling the iron throng. 


Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair ? — 




'Tis he 1 'tis he 1 'tis Bothwellhaugh. 


" But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 




A passing shade of doubt and awe • 


From gory selle,^ and reehng steed. 


Some fiend was whispering in his breast ; 


Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound. 


' Beware of injm-ed Bothwellhaugh !' 


1 S«e AoDendii, Note B « Ibid, Note C. 


' Of this noted person, it is enough to say, tiiat he irai M 


» ibid. Note D. 


tive in the murder of David Rizzio, and at lo^t pnv* to iha 


« Selle — Saddle A word used by Spenser, and other u 


of Darnley. 


Uent authors. 


8 See Appendix, Note 6. 


'See Appendix Note E. 


9 Ibid. Note H 


Ibid NoteF 
70 


10 Ibid. Note I " Ibid. Note K- 



M)2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" The Jeath-shot parts — the charger springs — 
Wild 'ises tumult's startling roar 1 

And Murray's plumy h-oimet rmgs — 
— Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 

" What joy the raptured youth can feel. 
To hear bir love the loved one tell — 

Or he, w);o broaches on his steel 
The voli, by whom his infant fell 1 

" £Lt dearer to my injured eye 
To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 

And mine was ten times trebled joy, 
To hear him groan his felon souL 

" My Margaret's spectre gUded near ; 

With pride her bleeding victim saw ; 
And shriek'd in his death-deafen'd ear, 

' Remember injured Bothwellhaugh !' 

" Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind thy banner'd tree !' 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow I — 

Murray is fall'n, and Scotland free !" 

' An oak, half-sawn, with the motto through, is an ancient 
cognizance of the family of Hamilton. 

" Scott spent the Christmas of 1801 at Hamilton Palace, in 
Lanarkshire. To Lady Anne Hamilton he had been intro- 
Inced by her frierd, Lady Charlotte Campbell, and both the 
late and the present Dnkes of Hamilton appear to have par- 
taken of Lady Anne's admiration for Glenfinlas, and the Eve 
of St. John. A morning's ramble to the majestic ruins of the 
old baronial castle on the precipitous banks of the Evan, and 
among the adjoining remains of the primeval Caledonian for- 
est, suggested to him a ballad, not inferior in execution to any 
that he had hitherto produced, and especially interesting as the 
first in which he grapples with the world of picturesque inci- 
iTent unfolded in the authentic annals of Scotland. With the 
magnificent localities before him, he skilfully interwove the 
Jariug assassination of the Regent Murray by one of the oJans- 
men of 'the princely Hamilton.' Had the subject been ta- 
ken up in after years, we might have had another Marmion or 
Heart of Mid-Lothian ; for in Cadyow Castle we have the ma- 
terials and outline of more than one of the noblest ballads. 

" About two years before this piece began to be handed about 
ID Edmburgh, Thomas Campbell had made his appearance 



Vaults every wan-ior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim- - 
" Murray is fall'n, and Scotland freed ! 

Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of fiame 1" 

But, see ! the minstrel visirin failia — 

The glimmering spears are seen no woro ; 

The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high. 

The blackbird whistles down the vaie, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The banner'd towers of Evandale. 

For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed. 

And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids who list the minstrel's tale , 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale ! 

there, and at once seized a high place in the literary world bj 
his ' Pleasures of Hope.' Among the most eager to welcom* 
him had been Scott ; and I find the brother-bard thus express 
ing himself concerning the MS. of Cadyow : — 

" ' The verses of Cadyow Castle are perpetually ringing 1> 
my imagination — 

' Where, mightiest of the beasts of chase 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race. 
The mountain ball comes thundering on'— 

and the arrival of Hamilton, when 

• Reeking from the recent deed, 

He dash'd his carbine on the ground.' 

I have repeated these lines so often on the North Bridge, that 
the whole fraternity of coachmen know me by tongue Jis I pass. 
To be sure, to a mind in sober, serious street-walking humor, il 
must bear an appearance of lunacy when one stamps with th« 
hurried pace and fervent shake of the head, which strong, pith 
poetry excites.' " — Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 77. 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
• tound theprytet — P. 600. 



Pryte — The note blown at the death of the game. — In Co- 
tdonia olim frequena erat sylvestris quidam boa, nunc vera 
ra.rior,qui, color* candidissimo, jubam densamet demissam 
instar leonia gestat, truculentus acferus ab humane genere 
oJ)horr„ns, ut qucscunque homines vel manibus eontrectdrint, 
vei hclitu perjiaverint, ab iis multos post dies omnino absti' 
i%*jVAt. Ad hoc tanta audacia huic bovi indita erat, ut 



non solum irritatus equites furenter prostemeret, sed iu 
tantillum lacessitus omnes promiscue homines com'bui at 
ungulis peterit ; ac eanum, qui apud nos ferocissimi sunt, 
impetus plane contcmneret. Ejus carnes cartilaginoscB, sea 
saporis suavissimi. Erat is olim per illam vastissimam 
Caledonia sylvam frequens, sed humnna ingluvie jam a*i 
sumptus tribus tantum locis est reliquus, Strivilingii, Curm 
bernaldice, et Kincarni(E.--ljLZai,M\J8, Scoiise Descriptio, p. 
13. — [See a note on Castle Dangerous, Waverley Novel* 
vol. xlvii. — Eo ] 



N'OTE B. 

Stern Claud replied. — P. 601. 

1 ord Claud Hamilton, second son of the Duke of Chatel- 
leranlt, and commendator of the Abbey of Paisley, acted a 
iistingnished part during the troubles of dueen Mary's reign, 
<nd rem a and unalterably attached to the cause of that nn- 
Iirtnnate princess. He led the van of her army at the fatal 
oattle of Langside, and was one of the commanders at the 
Said of Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success 
t» the Queen's faction. .He was ancestor of the present Mar- 
f rk of Abercarn 



Note C. 
'Voodhouselee. — P. 601. 
This oarony, htretehing along the banks of the EsK, near 
Auchendinny, belonged to Bothwellhangh, in right of his 
»ife. The ruins of the mansion, from whence she Wcis expel- 
led in the brutal manner which occasioned her death, are still 
'■jE be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular report 
tanants them witK the restless ghost of the Lady Bothwell- 
haugh , whom, hov/ever, it confounds with Lady Anne Both- 
well, whose Lament is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious 
jf her rights, that a part of the stones of the ancient edifice 
Viaving been employed in building or repairing the present 
Woodhcuselee, she has deemed it a part of her privilege to 
hauct that house also ; and, even of very late years, has ex- 
Cued considerable disturbance and terror among the domestics. 
This is a more remarkable vindication ottherights of ghosts, 
TX the present Woodhonslee, which gives his title to the Hon- 
I'lable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the College of 
justice, is situated on the slope cf the Pentland hills, distant 
at least four miles from her prop. <• abode. She always ap- 
wars in white, and with her child in her arms. 



Note D. 



Drives to the leap his jaded steed. — P. 601. 
Birrel informs ue, that Bothwellhangh, being closely pni^ 
•ned, " after that spur and wand had failed him, he drew forth 
lis dagger, and strocke his liorse behind, whilk caused the 
horse to leap a very brode stanke [i. e. ditch], fcy whilk means 
ne escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the horses." — 
Birrkl's Diary, p. 18. 



Note E. 
From the wild Border's humbled side. — P. 601. 
Mnrray's death took place shortly after an expedition to the 
Borders ; which is thus commemorated by the author of his 
B;egy ;— 
" Se having stablischt all things in this sort, 
To Liddisdaill agane he did resort. 
Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and all the daills rode he. 
And also lay three nights in Cannabie, 
Whair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before. 
Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir sa sair ; 
And, that thay suld na mair thair thift allege, 
Threescore and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge. 
Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordour ; 
Than mycht the rasch-bus keep ky on the Border." 

Scottish Poems, 16th century, p. 232. 



Note F. 

Pfith hackbut bent.—V. 601. 
Hackbut bent — Gun coek'd. The carbine, with which the 
Segent was shot, is preserved at Hamilton Palace It is a 



brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the Hife, and, 
what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been nfled ol 
indented in the barrel. It had a matchlock, for wtiicb a vaoA 
em firelock has been injadiciouslv substituted. 



Note G. 



The wild Jhacfarlanes' plaided clan. — if. fiOl . 

This clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to the R» 
gent Murray. HoUinshed, speaking cf the battle of Langsi?9k 
says, " In this batayle the valiancie of an Heiland gentleman, 
named Macfarlane, stood the Regent's part in great steedo ; 
for, in the hottest brunte of the fighte, he came tr >vith two 
hundred of his friendes and countrymen, and so manfully gi.l 
in upon the flankes of the Queen's people, ihat he was a grejit 
cause of the disordering of them. This Macfarlane had been 
lately before, as I have heard, condemned to die, for some out- 
rage by him committed, and obtayning pardon through suyW 
of the Countess of Murray, he recompensed that clemencie by 
this piece of service now at this batayle." Cilder.vood's ac- 
count is less favorable to the Macfarlanes. He states thai 
"Macfarlane, with his Highlandmen, fled from the wing 
where they were set. The Lord Lindsay, who stood nearest 
to them in the Regent's battle, said, ' Let them go ! I shall fill 
their place better :' and so, stepping forward, witli a company 
of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spe»irs were now 
spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by 
force, being before almost overtlirown by the avaunt-guard ant 
harqnebusiers, and so were turned to flight." — Calderwood's 
J\IS. apud Keith, p. 480. Melville mentions the flight of th« 
vanguard, but states it to have been commanded by Morton 
and composed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Renfrew 



Note H. 

Glencairn and stout Parkhead drt mgrt. -P. 601. 

The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adhe*nt of the Regent. 
George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl 
of Morton, whose horse was killed by the same ball by wMcli 
Murray fell. 



Note L 



• haggard Lindesay's iron eye. 



That saw fair Mary weep in vain. — P. 601. 

Lord Lindsay, of tlie Byres, was the most ferocious and 
brutal of the Regent's faction, and, as such, was employed to 
extort Mary's signature to the deed of resignation presented to 
her in Lochleven castle. He discharged his commission with 
the most savage rigor; and it is even said, that when the 
weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes fronn 
the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his irM 
glove. 



Note K. 



So close the minions crowded nigh. — P. 601. 

Not only had the Regent notice of the intended attempt 
upon his life, but even of the very house from which it wa« 
threatened. With that infatuation at which men wonde> 
after such events have happened, he deemed it would be a 
sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot 
But even this was prevented by the crowd : so that Bothwell 
haugh had time to take a deliberate aim. — 8pottiswood» 
Buchanan. 



604 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®l)e ®raa Bxoi\)tx. 



A FRAGMEKT. 



The imperfect state of this ballad, which was 
written several years ago, is not a circumstance 
•iFected for the pm^pose of giving it that peculiar 
interest which is often foimd to arise from ungrati- 
fied curiosity. On the contrary, it was the Editor's 
intention to havje completed the tale, if he had 
found himself able to succeed to his own satisfac- 
tion. Yielding to the opinion of persons, whose 
judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friend- 
phip, b entitled to deference, he has preferred 
inserting these verses as a fragment, to his inten- 
tion of entirely suppressing them. 

The tradition, upon which the tale is foimded, 
regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, 
near Lasswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, 
now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally 
named Burndale, from the following tragic adven- 
ture. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, 
to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beau- 
[\tA daughter. This yoimg lady was seduced by 
^J-e Abbot of Newbattle, a richly endowed abbey, 
j.pon the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the 
larquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge 
■•I this circumstance, and learned also, that the 
.''vers carried on their guilty intercourse by the 
UJnnivance of the lady's nurse, who Uved at this 
aouse of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He 
ibmed a resolution of bloody vengeance, unde- 
t-irred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical 
•laracter, or by the stronger claims of natural 
fcff^ctlor. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy 
night, when the objects of his vengeance were 
Migaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a 
stuck of dried thoine, and other combustibles, 
which he had caused to be piled against the house, 
4nd reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwell- 
iV', with all its inmates.' 

The scene with v^hich tne ballad opens, was 
Xii/gested by the following curious passage, ex- 
:iT«ted from the Life of Alexander Peden, one of 
,'ie wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect 
01 Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II. and 
his successor, James. This person was supposed 
by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed him- 

1 This tradition was commonicated tu me oy Jonn Clerk, 
Beq., of Eldin, aathorof an Erawg uvon JVaval Tactics, who 
Till be remembered by pusierity, aa iiaving laagiit Uie Uemu» , 



self, to be possessed of supernatural gifts; for tt« 
wild scenes which they frequented, and the con 
stant dangers which were incurred through theii 
proscription, deepened upon their nainds the gloom 
of superstition, so general in that age. 

" About the same time he [Peden] came to An- 
drew Normand's house, in the parish of Alloway, 
in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in his 
barn. After he came in, he hslted a little, leaning 
upon a chair-back, with his face covered ; when he 
lifted up his head, he said, ' They are in this house 
that I have not one word of salvation imto ;' he 
halted a httle again, saying, ' This is strange, tha^ 
the devil wUl not go out, that we may begin oiu 
work !' Then there was a woman went out, iU- 
looked upon almost all her Ufe, and to her dying 
hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the 
same. It escaped me. in the former passages, 
what John Muirhead (whom I have often men- 
tioned) told me, that when he came from Ireland 
to Galloway, he was at family-worship, and giving 
some notes upon the Scripture read, when a very 
ill-looking man came, and sat down witliin the 
door, at the back of the hallan [partition of the 
cottage] : immediately he halted s-nd said, ' There 
is some unhappy body just now come into this 
house. I charge him to go out, and not stop my 
mouth !' This person went out, and he insisted 
[went on], yet he saw him neither come in nor go 
out." — The- Life and Prophecies of Mr. Alexander 
Peden, late Minister of tlie Gospel at New Qlenluce. 
in Galloway, part u. § 26. 

A friendly correspondent remarks, " that the 
incapacity of proceeding in the performai>o? of a 
religious duty, when a contaminated person i? 
present, is of much higher antiquity than the era 
of the Reverend Mr. Alexander Pedsn." — Vidk 
Hygini Fabulas, cap. 26. "Medea Corintho exu!^ 
Athenas, ad jEgeum Pandionis filium dejenit \m 
Iwspitium, eique nupsit. 

" Postea sacerdos Diance Medeam exagi- 

tare caepit, regique negabat sacra caste facere posse, 
eo quod in ea civitate esset mulier venefica et tcele- 
raia; tunc exulatur" 

of Britain to concentrate iier thunders, and to laoncb thea 
against her foes with an nnerritg aim. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 60)1 


^\)t <S)va^ BrotI)e». 


His unblest feet his native seat, 
'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 


Thx I'ope he was saying the high, high mass, 


ITiro' woods more fair no stream more aweflt 


W on Saint Peter's day. 


RoUs to the eastern main 


With the power to him given, by the saints in 




heaven, 


And lords to meet the pilgrim came. 


To wash men's sins away. 


And vassals bent the knee ; 




For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 


The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, 


Was none more famed than he. 


And the people kneel'd around, 




And from each man s soul his sins did pass, 


And boldly for his coimtry, still. 


A? he kiss'd the holy ground. 


In battle he had stood. 




Ay, even when on the banks of Till 


And all, among the crowded throng, 


Her noblest pour'd their blood. 


Was still, both limb and tongue, 




While, through vaulted roof and aisles aloofi 


Sweet are the paths, passing sweet! 


The holy accents nmg. 


By Eske's fair streams that run. 




O'er airy steep, through copse wood dee^ 


At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear, 


Impervious to the sim. 


And falter'd in the sound — 




And, when he would the chalice rear, 


There the rapt poet's step may rove. 


He dropp'd it to the grotmd. 


And yield the muse the day ; 




There Beauty, led by timid Love, 


" The breath of one of evil deed 


May shun the tell-tale ray ; 


' Pollutes our sacred day ; 




He has no portion m our creed, 


From that fair dome, where suit is paid 


No part in what I say. 


By blast of bugle free,' 




To Auchendinny's hazel glade,' 


*' A being, whom no blessed word 


And haunted Woodhouselee.' 


To ghostly peace can brmg ; 




A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd. 


W ho knows not Mel /ille's beechy grove * 


Recoils each holy thing. 


And Roshn's rocky glen,* 




Dalkeith, which all the- virtues love,* 


" Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise 1 


And classic Hawthomden V 


My adjuration fear 1 




I charge thee not to stop my voice. 


Yet never a path, from day to day, 


Nor longer tarry here I" — 


The pilgrim's footsteps range. 




Save but the solitary way 


Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd, 


To Burndale's ruin'd grange. 


In go w a of sackcloth gray ; 




Far jom-neying from his native field. 


A woeful place was that, I weet. 


He first saw Rome that day. 


As sorrow could desire ; 




For nodding to the fall was each crumbling 


For forty days and nights so drear, 


wall, 


I ween he had not spoke, 


And the roof was scathed with fire. 


And, save with bread and water clear, 




His fast he ne'er had broke. 


It fell upon a sunmier's eve, 




W hUe, on Carnethy's head. 


Amid the penitential flock. 


The last faint gleams of the sun's low beam* 


Seem'd none more bent to pray ; 


Had streak'd the gray with red ; 


But, when the Holy Father spoke, 




He rose and went his way. 


.And the convent beU did vespers tell, 




Newbattle's oaks among. 


Again unto his native land 


And mingled with the solemn knell 


His weary course he drew. 


Our Ladye's evening song : 


To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, 




Ani Fentland's mountains blue. 


1 Bee Appendix, Notes 1 to 7 



606 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, 

Came slowly down the wind, 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell. 

As nis wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, 

Nor ever raised his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place, 

"Thich did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire. 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

• Now, Christ thee save !" said the Gray Bro- 
ther ; 

" Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

" come ye from east, or come ye from west. 
Or bring reliques fi-om over the sea ; 

Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the 
divine, 
Or St. John of Beverley ?"— 

' The contemporary criticism on this noble ballad was all 
eeble, but laadatory, with the exception of the following re- 
nark : — " The painter is justly blamed, whose figures do not 
torrespond with his landscape — who assembles banditti in an 
Elysium, or bathing loves in a lake of storm. The same adap- 
tation of parU is expedient in the poet. The stanzas — 



to 



' Sweet are thy paths, O passing sweet 1' 
' And classic Hawthomden,' 



disagreeably contrast with the mysterious, gloomy character 
${ the ballad. Were these omitted, it would merit high rank 
tar the terrific expectation it excites by the majestic intro- 
duvjtion, and the awful close." — Critical Review, November, 
1803.— Ed. 



" I come not from the shrine ol St. James tt 
divine. 

Nor bring r* Uques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father, the PopC; 

Which for ever wiU cling to me."— 

" Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so ! 

But kneel thee down to me, 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deaaly sin, 

That absolved thou mayst be." — 

" And who art thou, thou Gray Brother. 

That I should shrive to thee, [and heaven 
When He, to whom are given the keys of earti 

Has no power to pardon me ?" — 

"01 am sent from a distant clime, 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime. 

Done here 'twLxt night and day." 

The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand. 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Gray Brother laye.* 



" Then came The Gray Brother, founded on another ^»De^ 
stition, which seems to have been almost as ancient as the be- 
lief in ghosts ; namely, that the holiest service of the alta» 
cannot go on in the presence of an unclean person — a heinous 
sinner unconfessed and unabsolved. The fragmentary form ol 
this poem greatly heightens the avvfulness of its impression ; 
and in construction and metre, the verses which really beUng 
to the story appear to me the happiest that have ever been 
produced expressly in imitation of the ballad of the middle 
age. In the stanzas, previously quoted, on the scenery of tha 
Esk, however beautiful in themselves, and however interest- 
ing now as marking the locality of the eompos'T;on, b' must 
be allowed to have lapsed into another strain, an*" j»rodn'»d i 
pannus purpureus which interferes with a^C mats the generkJ 
texture." — Life of Scott, vol. ii. p. 36. 



APPENDIX 



Notes 1 to 7. 

BCKNERT OF THE BSK. — P. 605. 

1 The barony of Pennycnik, the property of Sir George Clerk, 
iart., is held by a singular tenure ; the proprietor being bound 
lO flit upon a large rocky fVagment called the Buckstane, and 
wind three blasts of a horn, when the King shall come to hunt 
n the Borough Mnir, near Edinburgh. Hence the family 
'<««n adopted u tbeir cieflt a demi-forester proper, wmding a 



hom, with the motto. Free for t Klatt. The beautiful man 
sion-house of Pennycnik is much admired, both on account o' 
the architecture and surrounding scenery. 

" Auchendlnny, situated upon the Eske, belov Pennycuih 
the present residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq 
author of the Man of Feeling, Src. — Edition 1803. 

8 " Haunted Woodhouselee."— For the traditions connected 
with this ruinous mansion, see Ballad of Cadyow CaslU, Not^ 
p. 603. 



CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 



60'" 



* Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Honorable Lord 
Melville, to whom it gives the title of Viscount, is delightfnlly 
situated upon the Eslie, tear Lasswade. 

6 The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the 
ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic chapel, vvhich is still 
in beautiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell 
In which they are situated, belong to the Right Honorable 
the Earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former Lords of 
losliu. 

' Th* village and castle of Dalkeith belonged of old to the 
'«mou$ Earl of Morton, out is now the residence of the noble 
inraily of Buccleuch. The park extends along the Eske, 
•t'Tch is there joined by its sister stream of the same name. 

' Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A 
nouse of more modern date is enclosed, as it were, by the 
rcios oi tl:e uacient castle, aod overhangs a tremendons preci- 



pice upon the banks of the Eske, perforated Dy winding cave^ 
which in former times were a refuge to the opuressed patrioti 
of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who 
journeyed from I^ondon on loot in order to visit him. The 
beauty of this striking scene has been much injured of late 
years by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now 
looks in vain for the leafy bower, 

" Where Jonson sat in Drumraond's social shade." 

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source till it joini 
the sea at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such 
a varied succession of the most interesting objects, as well a» 
of the most romantic and beautiful scenery. 1803. . , . 
— The beautiful scenery of Hawlhornden has, since the above 
note was written, recovered all its oroper ornament of wood 
1831. 



toar-0Dng 



OF THE 



ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOON?. 



" Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms ? 

" Caratach. Not where the cause implies ageneral conquest. 
Had we a difference with some petty isle. 
Or with our neighbors, Britons, for our landmarks, 
The taking in of some rebellious lord, 
Or making head against a slight commotion. 
After a day of blood, peace might be argued : 
But where we grapple for the land we live on, 
The liberty we hold more dear than life, 
T.'ie gods we worship, and, next these, our honors, 
ilnd, with those, swords that know no end of battle — 
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbor. 
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance. 
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest, 
A;id, where they march, but measure out more ground 

To add to Rome 

It must not be — No ! as they are our foes, 

Let's use the peace of honor — that's fair dealing ; 

But in our hands our swords. Tbe hardy Roman, 

That thinks to graft hiaiself into my stock, 

Mast tirst begin his kindred under ground, 

And be allied in ashes." bonduea. 



Thk following War-Song was written during the 
apprehension of an invasion.* The corps of volun- 
teers to which it was addressed, was raised in 
1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed 
at their own expense. It still subsists, as the 
Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cav- 
alry, commanded by the Honorable Lieutenant- 
Colonel Dundaa.' The noble and constitutionpJ 

The S2ng originally appeared in the Scots Magazine for 
aOS. -Ed 



measure of arming freemen in <lefence of their owi 
rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edin- 
burgh, which fuj-nished a force of 3000 armed and 
disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of 
cavalry, from the city and county, and two corpe 
of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guna 
To such a force, above all others, mieht, in simUai 
circumstances, be applied the exhortation of oui 
ancient Galgacus : " Proinde ituri in aciem, et nui 
jores vestros et posteros cogitate." 1812. 



tDar^0ong 



OF THK 

ROYAL EDESTBURGH LIGHT DRAGOOKS 

To horse 1 to horse I the standard fliee 

The bugles sound the call ; 
The Galhc navy stems the seas. 
The voice of battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all 1 

From high Dimedin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowa'd ; 

We boast the red and blue.' 



' Now Viseoont Melville.- 
^ The royal colon. 



■IHt. 



008 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 

Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn ; 
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And, foaning, gnaw the chain ; 

Oh 1 had they mark'd the avenging call' 

Their brethren's murder gave, 
i:)isunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Xor patriot valor, desperate grown, 

Sought freedom in the grave 1 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born. 
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, 
To hail a maater in our isle, 

Or brook a victor's scorn ? 

No 1 though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood. 
The sun, that sees our falling day, 
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 

And set that night in blood 

• The allosion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the 
'atnl lOth August, 1792. It is painful, I ut not useless, to re- 
nti«, that the passive temper with whicli the Swiss regarded 
tbo death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered 
h. diacliarge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the 
att>(Te8siva injustice, by which the Alps, snce tho seat of the 



For gold let Gallia's legions figfat, 

Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
Unbribed, imbought, our swords we drair. 
To guard our king, to fence our law, 

Nor shall their edge be vtun. 

If ever breath of British gale 

Shall fan the tricolor, 
Or footstep of invader rude, 
With rapine foul, and red with Uond. 

Pollute our happy shore, — 

Then farewell home ! and farewell friend* 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 
Where charging squadrons furious ride. 

To conquer or to die. 

To horse ! to horse 1 the sabres gleam ; 

High sounds our bugle-call ; 
Combined by honor's sacred tie, 
Our word is Laws and Liberty I 

March forward, one and all 1* 



mort virtuous and free people upon the Cwnmiem, obit*, al 
length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and miliUr} 
desjiot. A Btate degraded is half enslaved. — 1812. 

s Sir Walter Scott was, at the time when he wrote lUi 
song, Qnartc-rmaster of the Edinburgh Light CavaJif . Bm 
OD*) of the Epiitles Introductory to Marmion.- Ed 



UV or COIITRIBUTIONS TO UIHSTRELSY OF TBK SCOTTISH BORDBK. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



60» 



iSalla&s, 



TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, &c. 



tDUUam anif ^eien. 

[1796.'] 

nn TAXED FBOM THE " LENOEE " OF BUSGEB. 



The Author had resolved to omit the following 
yersion of a well-known Poem, in any collection 
xhich he might make of his poetical trifles. But 
the publishers having pleaded for its admission, 
the Author has consented, though not unaware of 
^he disftdvantage at which this youthful essay (for 
t was written in 1795) must appear with those 
which have been executed by much more able 
hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor of Norwich, 
and that of Mr. Spencer. 

The following Translation was written long be- 
fore the Author saw any other, and originated in 
the following circumstances : — A lady of high rank 
in the hterary world read this romantic tale, aa 
translated by il* Taylor, in the house of the cele- 
brated Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh. 
The Author was not present, nor indeed in Edin- 
biu-gh at the time ; but a gentleman who had the 
pleasure of hearing the ballad, afterwards told 
him the story, and repeated the remarkable cho- 
rus — 

" Tramp I tramp ! across the land they speede, 
Splash ! splash I across the sea ; 
Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace I 
Dost fear to ride with me 1" 

In attempting a translation, then intended only 
fcO circulate among friends, the present Author did 
not hesitate to make use of this impressive stanza ; 
for which freedom he has since obtained the for- 
giveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it 
properly belongs. 

> The Chasb and William and Helen ; Two Ballads, 
from the German of Gottfried Angnstns Burger. Edinburgh : 
Printed by Mundell and Son, Royal Bank Close, for Manners 
■ad Miller, Parliament Square ; and sold by T. fladoll •"-« . 



WILLIAM AND HELEN 



From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 
And eyed the dawning red : 

" Alas, my love, thou tarriest long ! 
art thou false or dead ?" — 

IL 
With gallant Fred'rick's princely powwt 

He sought the bold Crusade ; 
But not a word from Judah's wan 

Told Helen how he sped. 

IIL 
With Paynim and with Saracen 

At length a truce was made, 
And every knight return'd to dry 

The tears his love had shed. 

IV. 
Our gallant host was homeward bounti 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laurel in each plume, 

The badge of victory. 



And old and young, and sire and son, 

To meet them crowd the way. 
With shouts, and mirth, and melody 

The debt of love to \m/ 

VL 
Full many a maid her true-love met, 

And sobb'd in his embrace, 
And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles 

Array'd fuU many a face. 

and W. Davies, in the Strand, London. 1790. 4to.- 9« 



' Enay on Imitations of t'^ Ancient Ballad, 
and Life of Seott, toI. i. chapters 7 find 8. 



ante, p. Ml 



VIL 

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; 

She sought the host in vain ; 
Foi none could teU her William's fate, 

If faithless, or if slain. 

VIII. 
The martial band is past and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair, 
Xnd in distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 

IX. 

" O rise, my child," her mother said, 

" Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 
A perjured lover's fleeting heart 

No tears recall again." — 



" mother, what is gone, is gone, 

What's lost for ever lorn ; 
Death, death alone can comfort me ; 

O had I ne'er been bom 1 

XL 

" break my heart, — break at once ! 

DrinK my life-blood, Despair 1 
No joy remains on earth for me, 

For me in heaven no share." — 

XIL 

" enter not in judgment, Lord I" 

The pious mother prays ; 
" Impute not guilt to thy frail child 1 

She knows not what she says. 

XIII. 

" say thy pater noster, child 1 

O turn to God and grace 1 
His wiU, that turn'd thy bliss to bale, 

Oan change thy bale to bliss." — 

XIV. 

' O mother, mother, what is bliss ? 

mother, what is bale ? 
My William's love was heaven on earth. 

Without it earth is heU. 

XV 

•* Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, 
Since my loved William's slain ? 

I only pray'd for William's sake, 
And all my prayers were vain." — 

XVL 

"O take the sacrament, my chUd, 
And (heck these tears that flow ; 

By resignation's humble prayer, 
O hallow'd be thy woe 1" — 



XVIt 

"No sacrament can quench this fiie 

Or slake this scorching pain ; 
No sacrament can bid the dead 

Arise and live again. 

XVIII. 
" break, my heart, — break at once 1 

Be thou my god. Despair ! 
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, 

And vain each fruitless prayer."- - 

XIX. 

" ent.er not in judgment. Lord, 

With thy frail child of clay ! 
She knows not what her tongue hac spoke 

Lnpute it not, I pray 1 

XX. 

" Forbear, my child, this desperate woe; 

And tiun to God and grace ; 
Well can devotion's heavenly glow 

Convert thy bale to bliss." — 

XXL 

" mother, mother, what is bliss f 

O mother, what is bale ? 
Without my William what were heaven, 

Or with him what were heU ?" — 

XXIL 
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom. 

Upbraids each sacred power. 
Till, spent, she sought her silent room, 

All in the lonely tower. 

XXIIL 

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands, 

Tin sim and day were o'er. 
And through the glimmering lattice shone 

The twinkling of the star. 

XXIV. 
Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell 

That o'er the moat was hung ; 
And, clatter 1 clatter I on its boards 

The hoof of courser rung. 

XXV. 
The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded ; 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep soimded. 

XXVL 
And hark 1 and hark ! a knock — Tap 1 tap I 

A rustling, stifled noise ; — 
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ;— 

At length a whispering voice. 



XXVIL 

Awake awake, arise, my love I 

Bow, Hoi en, dost thou fare ? [weep'st ? 

Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st thou, or 

Hast thought on me, my fair ?" — 

XXVIIL 
" Mj love ! my love ! — so late by night ! — 

I waked, I wept for thee : 
Much have I borne since dawn of morn ; 

Where, "WiUiam, couldst thou be >" — 

XXIX. 
" We saddle late — from Hungary 

I rode since darkness fell ; 
Ind to its bourne we both return 
Before the matin-bell." — 

XXX. 

" rest this night within my arms, 

And warm thee in their fold I 
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind : — 

My love is deadly cold." — 

XXXI. 

* Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush I 

This nis^ht we must awav ; 
The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; 
I cannot stay tiU day. 

XXXII. 

* Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mount'st behind 

Upon my black barb steed: 
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles, 
We h.aste to bridal bed." — 

XXXIII. 

" To-night — to-night a hundred miles I — 

O dearest William, stay 1 
The beU strikes twelve — dark, dismal hour \ 

wait, my love, till day 1" — 

XXXIV. 

" Look here, look here — the moon shines clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride ; 
Mount and away I for ere the day 

We reach our bridal bed. , 

XXXV. 

* The black barb snorts, the bridle rings ; 

Haste, busk, and boime, and seat theel 
The feast is made, the chamber spread, 
The bridal guests await thee." — 

XXXVL 

Strong love prevail'd : She busks, she boimes, 

She mounts the barb behind, 
^d round her darling William's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 



XXXVIL 

And, hurry 1 hurry ! off they rode, 

As fast as fast might be,; 
Spurn'd from the cburser's thundering heel* 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XXXVIIL 

And on the right, and on the left. 

Ere they could snatch a view, 
Fast, fast each moimtain, mead, and plam. 

And cot, and castle, flew. 

XXXLX. 

" Sit fast — dost fear ? — The moon shines clear- 

Fleet goes my barb — keep hold 1 
Fear'st thou ?"— " no 1" she famtly said ; 

" But why so stern and cold ? 

XL. 

" What yonder rings ? what yonder sings » 
Why slu-ieks the owlet gray 'i" — 

" 'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, 
The body to the clay. 

XLL 

" With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, 

Ye may inter the dead : 
To-night I ride, with my young bride, 

To deck our bridal bed. 

XLIL 
" Come with thy choir, thou coffin'd gue^, 

To swell our nuptial song I 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! 

Come aU, come all along I" — 

XLIIL 
Ceased clang and song ; down sunk the hi»r 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And, hurry 1 hurry 1 all the train 

The thimdering steed pursues 

XLIV. 
And, forward ! forward I on they go ; 

High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider's laboring breath, 

As headlong on they speed. 

XLV. 
" William, why this savage haste ? 

And where thy bridal bed ?" — 
" 'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill, 

And narrow, trustless maid." — 

XLVL 
" No room for me ?" — " Enough for tn-rtb - 

Speed, speed, my barb, thy course ' — 
O'er thundering bridge, through Ix xmg lurf^ 

He drove the furious horse. 



t12 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XLVII. 

Tramp I tramp ! along the land they rode, 

Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
Tlie scourge is wight, the spur is bright, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XLVIII. 

Klod past on right and left how fast 

Each forest, grove, and bower 1 
On right and left fled past how fast 

Each city, town, and tower ! 

XLIX. 
" Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, 

Dost fear to ride with me ? — 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride I" — 

" William, let them be !— 



" See there, see there ! What yonder swings 
And creaks 'mid whistling rain ?" — 

" Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel ; 
A murderer in his chain. — 

LI. 

" Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride." — 

LIL 

And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash I 

The wasted form descends ; 
And fleet as wind through hazel bush 

The wild career attends. 

LIII. 
Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, 

Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
Tlie scourge is red, the spur drops blood, 

Tlie flashing pebbles flee. 

LIV. 
How fled what moonshine faintly show'd 1 

How fled what darkness hid 1 
How fled the earth beneath their feet, 

The heaven above their head I 

LV. 
•* Dost fear 5 dost fear ? The moon shines clear, 

And well lue dead can ride ; 
Does faithful Helen fear for them ?"^ 

"O leave in peace the dead!" — 

LVL 
" Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the f ock 

The sand will soon be run : 
Barb 1 Barb ! I smell the momtng air ; 

The race is wellnigh done." — 



LVIL 
Tramp 1 tramp 1 along the land they rode 

Splash I splash 1 along the sea ; 
The scourge is red, the spur diops blood, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

Lvni. 

" Hurrah ! hurrah 1 weU ride the dead ; 

The bride, the bride is come; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed, 

For, Helen, here's my home." — 

LIX. 

Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door, 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a church and tower. 

LX. 

With many a shriek and cry whiz round 
The birds of midnight, scared ; 

And rustling like autumnal leaves 
Unhallow'd ghosts were heard. 

LXI. 

O'er many a tomb and tombstone pal«" 

He spurr'd the fiery horse. 
Till sudden at an open grave 

He check'd the wondrous course. 

LXII. 
The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 

Down drops the casque of steel. 
The cuirass leaves his shiinking sidev 

The spur his gory heel. 

LXIII. 
The eyes desert the naked skull, 

The mould'ring flesh the bone, 
Till Helen's lily arms entwine 

A ghastly skeleton. 

LXIV. 
The furious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And, vrith a fearful bound. 
Dissolves at once in empty air. 

And leaves her on the ground. 

LXV. 
Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, 

Pale spectres flit along, 
Wheel round the maid in dismal da^ce, 

And howl the funeral song ; 

LXVL 
" E'en when the heart's with anguish clelt| 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven I" 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN, 



tilt 






€l)e tDUb huntsman. 

This is a translation, or rather an imitation, of 
the Wilde Jdger of the German poet Biirger. The 
tradition upon which it is founded bears, that for- 
merly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, 
Damed Faulkenburg, was so much addicted to the 
ipleasures of the chase, and ptherwise so extremely 
profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this 
unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other 
days consecrated to religious duty, but accompa- 
nied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon 
the poor peasants, who were under his vassalage. 
WTien this second Nimrod died, the people adopted 
a superstition, founded probably on the many va- 
rious uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a Ger- 
man forest, during the silence of the night. Tliey 
conceived they still heard the cry of the Wild- 
grave's hounds ; and the well-known cheer of the 
deceased himter, the sounds of liis horses' feet, and 
.he rustling of the branches before the game, the 
pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly dis- 
criminated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, 
visible. Once, as a benighted Chasseur heard this 
infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the 
haUoo, with which the Spectre Huntsman cheered 
his hoimds, he could not refrain from crying, 
" Gluck zu Falkenburgh I" [Good sport to ye, 
Falkenburgh !] " Dost thou wish me good sport ?" 
answered a hoarse voice ; " thou shalt share the 
game ;" and there was thi-own at him what seemed 
to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring 
Chasseur lost two of liis best horses soon after, and 
never perfectly recovered the personal effects of 
tliis ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with 
•ome variations, is universally believed all over 
Germany. 

The French had a similar tradition concerning 
at asrial hunter, who infested the forest of Foun- 
tainbleau. He was sometimes visible ; when he 
appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, a 
tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be 
found in " Sully's Memoirs," who says he was called 
Lie Grand Veneur. At one time he chose to hunt 
60 near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I 
mistake not, Sully himself, came out into the 
eourt, supposing it was the sound of the king re- 
turning from the chase. This phantom is else- 
where called Saint Hubert. 

The superstition seems to have been very gen- 
eral, as appears from the following fine poetical 
description of this phantom chase, as it was heard 
E the wilds of Ross-shire. 

" Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of Roes,— 
So to the simple swain tradition tells, — 
Were wont with clans, and ready vassals throng'd, 
To wake the boanding stag, or guilty « olf. 



There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon. 

Beginning faint, but rising still more loud. 

And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds, 

And horns, hoarse winded, blowing far and keen :— 

Forthwith the hubbub multiplies ; the gale 

Labors with wilder shrieks, and rifer din 

Of hot pursuit ; the broken cry of deer 

Mangled by throttling dogs ; the shouts of men, 

And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hill. 

Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale 

Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's eaw 

Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, he eyes 

The mountain's height, and all the ridges roncd, 

Yet not one trace of living wight discerns. 

Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands, 

To what, or whom, he owes his idle fear. 

To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to tiend ; 

But wonders, and no end of wondering finds." 

Albania — reprinted in Scottish Descriptive Poemt 
pp. 167, 168. 

A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scot 
tish capuchin, related to his being buried on a hil 
haunted by these unearthly cries of hounds anc 
himtsmen. After liis sainted relics had been de 
posited there, the noise was never heard more 
The reader wUl find this, and other miracles, re 
corded iu the life of Father Bonaventura, wliich i 
written in the choicest Italian. 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN 
[1796.'] 

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 
To horse, to horse ! halloo, lialloo ! 

His fiery courser snuffs the nioru. 

And thronging serfs their lord pursut 

The eager pack, from couples freed. 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake 

While answering hound, and horn, and steed. 
The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallow'd day 
Had painted yonder spire with gold. 

And, calling sinful man to pray. 

Loud, long, and deep the bell had i< U'd 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides , 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ' 
When, spurring from opposing sides, 

Two Stranger Horsemen join the traJA 

Who was each Stranger, left and right, 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

The right-hand steed was silver white, 
The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 

> Pnblished (1796) with William and Helen, apd entil • 
' Thk Chac»." 



314 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The right-hand horseman, young and fair, 
His smile was like the morn of May ; 

The left, from eye of tawny glare, 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

lie waved his huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! 

What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, 
T 1 match the princely chase, afford ?" — 

" C-'ease thy loud bugle's changing knell," 
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice ; 

" AuJ for devotion's choral swell. 
Exchange the rude miliallow'd noise. 

" To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear, 
Yon bell yet simmions to the fane ; 

To-dav the Warning Spu'it hear, 

To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." — 

" Away, and sweep the glades along 1" 

The Sable Himter hoarse replies ; 
" To muttering monks leave matin-song, 

A.nd bells, and books, and mysteries." 

The Wildgrave spiur'd his ardent steed. 
And, launching forward with a bound, 

" Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede. 
Would leave the jovial horn and hound ? 

" Hence, if cm" manly sport offend ! 

With pious fools go chant and pray : — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend ; 

Halloo, haUoo 1 and, hark away 1" 

The Wildgrave spurr'd liia courser light. 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill ; 

And on the left and on the right. 

Each Stranger Horseman followed stiU. 

Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, 
A stag more white tlian mountain snow ; 

And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
" Hark forward, forward I holla, ho 1" 

A heedless wretch has cross'd the way ; 

He gasps the thundering hoofs below ; 
But, live who can, or die who may. 

Still, "Forward, forward !" on they ga 

See, where yon sunple fences meet, 

A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd; 

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandiuan with toil embrown'd : 

• mercy, mercy, noble lord 1 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 

* Earn'd by the sweat these brows ha'e pour'd, 

In scorching hour of fierce July." 



Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleada, 
The left still chee 'ing to the prey ; 

The impetuous Earl no warning heeda. 
But furious holds the onward way. 

" Away, thou hound ! so basely born. 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow l"-" 

Then loudly rimg his bugle-horn, 
" Hark forwaad, forward, holla, ho 1" 

So said, so done : — A single bound 

Clears the poor laborer's hmnble pale ; 

Wild follows man, and horse, and homid, 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man and horse, and hound and horn 
Destructive sweep the field along ; 

While, joying o'er the wasted corn. 

Fell Famine marks the maddening throng 

Again uproused, the timorous prey 

Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill 

Hai'd run, he feels his strength decay, 
And trusts for life his simple skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appear'd ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill. 
His track the steady blood-houjids trace ; 

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still. 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 

Full lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 
" spare, thou noble Baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's little all ; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care 1"— 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

Tlie Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds. 
But furious keeps the onward way. 

" Unmanner'd dog ! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant ar.d beggar whine, 

Tliough human spirits, of thy sort. 

Were tenants of theae carrion kine I" — 

Again lie wi:ids his bugle -horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, bolla, ho t' 

And through the herd, in ruthless scorn. 
He cheers his furious hoimds to gc. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall ; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman UMf 
The murderous cries the stag appal. — 

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



eu 



With blood hesmear'd, and white with foam. 


And, from a cloud of swarthy red, 


While big the tears of anguish pour, 


The awful voice of thunder spoke. 


He seelis, amid the forest's gloom 




The hiuuble hermit's hallow'd bowei, 


" Oppressor of creation fair I 




Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool 1 


But man and horse, and horn and hound. 


Scorner of God 1 Scourge of the poor 1 


Fast rattling on his traces go ; 


The measure of thy cup is full, 


The sacred rhapel rung around 




With, "Hark away 1 and, holla, ho I" 


" Be chased for ever through the wood 




For ever roam the affriglited wild ; 


A-U mild, amid the rout profane. 


And let thy fate instruct the proud. 


The holy hermit pour'd his prayer ; 


God's meanest creature is his child." 


' Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; 




Re's' ere his altar, and forbear 1 


'Twas hush'd : — One flash, of sombre glare 




With yellow tinged the forests brown ; 


' The meaneai brute has rights to plead. 


Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair. 


Which, wroug'd by cruelty, or pride, 


And horror chill'd each nerve and bono. 


Draw vengeance on the ruthless head : — 




Be warn'd at leng+h, and turn aside." 


Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill . 




A rising wind began to sing ; 


Still the Fair Horsen-an anxious pleads; 


And louder, louder, louder stUl, 


The Bhick, wild whoopmg, points the prey : — 


Brought storm and tempest on its wing 


Ala* I the Earl no warning heeds, 




But frantic keeps the forward way. 


Earth heard the call ; — her entrails rend ; 




From yawning rifts, with many a yell. 


• Holy or not, or right or wrong, 


Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 


Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn ; 


The misbegotten dogs of heU. 


Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, 




Not God himself^ shall make me turn 1" 


What ghastly Huntsman next arose, 




Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 


He spurs his horse, he winds his bom, 


His eye like midnight lightning glows, 


" Hark forward, forward, hoUa, ho !" — 


His steed the swarthy hue of helL 


But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, 




The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 


The Wildgiave flies o'er bush and thorn. 




With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 


And horse and man, and horn and hound, 


Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, 


And clamor of the chase, was gone ; 


And, " Hark away, and hoUa, ho 1" 


For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound. 




A deadly silence reign'd alone. 


With "wild despair's reverted eye. 




Close, close behind, he marks the thrcnj^ 


Wild gazed the afifrighted Earl around ; 


With bloody fangs and eager cry ; 


He strove in vain to wake his horn, 


In frantic fear he scours along. — 


In vain to call : for not a sound 




Could from his anxious lips be borne. 


Still, still shall last the dreadful cliase, 




Till tune itself shall have an end ; 


He listens for his trusty hoimds ; 


By day, they scour earth's cavern'd space^ 


No distant baying reach'd his ears : 


At midnight's witching hour, ascend. 


His comser, rooted to the ground, 




The quickemng spur immindful bears. 


This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 




That oft the lated peasant hears ; 


Still dark and darker frown the shades. 


Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross. 


Dark as the uarkness of the grave ; 


When the wild din invades his eara 


And not a sound tlie still invades, 




Save what a distant torrent gave. 


The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 




For human pride, for human woe, 


nigh o'er the sinner's humbled head 


When, at his midnight mass, he hears 


At length the solemn silence broke 


The infernal cry of; " Holla, ho I" 



816 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WOxvKS. 



ffljc ^fre:=3Sfns. 



The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were 
ipon him." — Eastern Tale. 

[1801.] 



TTiis ballad was written at the request of Me. Lewis, 
to be inserted in his "Tales of Wonder.'" It is 
'Ji£ third in a series oj four ballads, on the sub- 
ject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, how- 
ever, partly historical ; for it is recorded, that, 
during the struggles of the Latin kingdcym. of 
Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint- Alban, 
deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Chris- 
tians in many combats, till he was finally routed 
ind slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, un- 
««• the walls of Jerusalem. 



Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an 

ear, 
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your 

glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 

see you that castle, so strong and so high ? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? 
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land, 
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand ? — 

" Now palmer, gray pahner, tell unto me. 
What news bring you home from the Holy Coim- 

trie ? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare oiu" nobles, the flower of the 

land ?"— 

* well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, 
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have ; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 

For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have 
"voa" 

A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung ; 
O'er the palmer's gray locks the fair chain has she 
flung: 

• pahner, gray palmer, this chain be thy fee. 
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy 

Countrie. 

" And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 
BaT» ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave ? 

1 Published in 1801 See aitU p. 573. 



When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cr M 

rush'd on, , 

saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?"- — 

" lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; 
lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; 
Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on 

high; 
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

" The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt 

falls, 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls ; 
The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope ii 

gone ; 
Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon." 

she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at bei 

need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land. 
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. 

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, 

had he ; 
A heathenish damsel his' light heart had won. 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 

" Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldsl 

thou be ; 
Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee 
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thos 

take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore, 
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou 

wake; 
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sak«. 

" And, last, thou shaJt aid us with counsel and 

hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's lai d , 
For my lord and my love then Coimt Albert IT 

take, 
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulenwi's sake." 

He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled 

sword. 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; 
He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put oi^ 
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep, deep nndei 

ground, 
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround 



BALLADS FP .^M THE GERMAN. 



611 



He haa watch'd until dayLreak, but sight saw he 

none, 
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

A-mazed was the Princiss, the Soldan amazed, 
Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed ; 
rh»y search'd all his garments, and, under his 

weeds. 
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep, deep imder ground. 
He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whis- 
tled round ; 
Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, 
The flame burn'd unmoved, and naught else did 
he spy. 

Loud murmur'd the priests, and amazed was the 

King, 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they 

sing; 
They search'd Albert's body, and, lo 1 on his breast 
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress'd. 

The priests they erase it with care and with pain, 
And the recreant return'd to the cavern again ; 
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell : 
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell 1 

High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, 
And he turn'd him five steps, half resolved to 

retreat ; 
But his heart it was harden'd, his purpose was 

gone. 
When he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanoa 

Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce 
trode. 

When the wii^ds from the four points of heaven 
were abroad. 

They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, 

And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire- 
King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh, 
The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high ; 
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame. 

Unmeasured in height, undistinguish'd in form, 
His breath it wag lightning, his voice it was storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame. 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmer'd through 

smoke, 
^d Mowit Lebanon shook as the monarch he 

spoke : 

TO 



"With this brand shalt thou conquer thus lonp 

and no more. 
Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." 

The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon ; and 

see ! 
The recreant receives the charmed gift on his knee 
The thimders growl distant, and faint gleam the 

fires, 
As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires. 

Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among. 
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it wa* 

strong ; 
And the Red-cross wax'd faint , and the Crescent 

came on, 
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, 

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave 

Till the Knights of the Temple, and Kniglits of 

Saint John, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on 

The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied. 
The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each 

side ; 
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew 
TiU he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwii' 

unto. 

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did 

wield, 
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-crosp 

shield ; 
But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before 
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd 

low 
Before the cross'd shield, to his bteel saddlebow ; 
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cioss his head, 
" Bonne Grace, Notre Dame I" he unwittingly said 

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was 

o'er, 
It spnmg from his grasp, and was never seen more* 
But true men have said, that the hghtning's led 

wmg 
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-Kaig 

He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntJeted hand ; 
He stretch'd, with one bufi^et, that Page on the 

strand ; 
As back from the stripling the broken casque 

roU'd, 
You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlet* </ 

gold. 



618 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare 
On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood- 
clotted hair ; 
For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood. 
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 

The Siracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and crossleted shield ; 
AuQ the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead, 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain.— 

Oh, who is yon Paynim lies stretch'd 'mid the 

slain 5 
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee ? — 
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie I 

•The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, 
The Count he was left to the vulture and hoimd : 
Her soul to high mercy Oiu" Lady did bring ; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, 

How the Red-cross it conquered, the Crescent it 

feU: 
And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'mid their 

glee. 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



iFretrerfcfe anU ^Ifce. 



[1801.] 



This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from 
a fragment introduced in Goethe's " Claudina von 
ViUa Bella," where it is sung by a member of a 
gang of banditti, to engage tUe attention of tlie fam- 
ily, while his companions break into the castle. It 
moes any Httlc merit it may possess to my friend 
Mr. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an extremely 
riide state ; and who, after some material improve- 
ments, published it in his " Tales of Wonder." 



Feederior leaves the land of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to measure, 

Careless casts the parting glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his prancing steed. 

Keen to prove his untried blade, 

Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 



Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn. 

Lovely Alice wept alone; 
Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope, and peace, and honor flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs I 
See, the tear of anguish flows 1 — 

Mingling soon with bursting sobs, 
Loud the laugh of phrensy ros« 

Wild she cm-sed, and wild she pray'd ; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought his aid, 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and far from France, 
Faithless Frederick onward ridea; 

Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 
MantUug o'er the mountain's sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound, 
As the tongue of yonder tower, 

Slowly, to the hiUs around. 

Told the fourth, the fated hour 1 

Starts the steed, and snuffs ^he air, 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 

Bristles high the rider's hair, 
Struck with strange mysterious feara 

Desperate, as his terrors rise, 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anidous, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days, and seven long nights, 
Wild he wander'd, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright. 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seven+h sad night descends ; 

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour ; 
While the deafening thunder londa 

All the terrors of its '•oar. 

Weary, wet, and spent -vwth toil. 

Where his head shall Frederick hide I 

Where, but in you ruin'd aisle, 
By the lightning's flash descried I 

To the portal, dank and low. 

Fast his steed the wanderer bouna . 

Down a ruin'd staircase slow. 
Next his darkling way he woimd. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ! 

Glimmering lights are seen to glide I* 
" Blessed Mary, hear my cry 1 

Deign a sinner's steps to g^de l" 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



61S 



Often lost their quivering beam. 
Still the lights move slow before, 

Till they rest then- ghastly gleam 
Right against an iron door. 

rhundering voices from •within, 
Mis'd with peals of laughter, rose ; 

As they fell, a solemn strain 
Lent its wild and wondrous close I 

Midst the din. he seem'd to hear 

Voice of friends, by death removed ; — 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
'Twas the lay that AUce loved. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke ; 
F"ur times, at its deaden'd swell, 
•^Ichoes from the ruins spoke. 

A 8 the lengthen'd clangors die, 

Slowly opes the iron door 1 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a ^uneral's form it wore 1 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 

All with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend, 

Long since number'd with the dead I 

Abce, in her grave-clothes boimd, 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 

AU arose, with thundering sound ; 
All ^he expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave, 
Wild their notes of welcome swell : — 

" Welcome, traitor, to tlie grave ! 
Perjured, bid the light farewell 1" 



®l)c Battle 01 ScmpacI). 



[1818.] 

Thisk verses are a literal translation of an an- 
dent Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sempach, 
foaght 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which 
the Swiss cantons established their independence ; 
Ihe author, Albert Tchudi, denominated the Sou- 
ler, from his profession of a shoemaker. He was 

citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among his 
countrymen, both for his powers as a Meister- 
Singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier ; 
go that he might share the praise conferred by 
Collins on jEschylus, that — 



Not alone he narsed the poet's flame, 



But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steel. 

The circumstance of their being written by a 
poet retm-ning from the weU-fought field he de- 
scribes, and in which his country's fortune was 
secured, may confer on Tchudi's verses an interest 
which they are not entitled to claim from their 
poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more ht- 
erally it is translated, the more it loses its simpli- 
city, without acquiring either grace or strength 
and, therefore, some of the faults of the verses 
must be imputed to the translator's feeling it s 
duty to keep as closely as possible to his original 
The various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, 
and disproportioned episodes, must be set down 
to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. 

The military antiquary will derive some amuse- 
ment from the minute particulars which the mar- 
tial poet has recorded. The mode in which the 
Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of the 
Swiss, was by forming a phalanx, wliich they de- 
fended with their long lances. The gallant Wink- 
elreid, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among 
the spears, clasping in his arms as many as he 
could grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iron 
battaUons, is celebrated in Swiss history. When 
fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length o' 
their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their de 
fensive armor, rendered the Austrian men-at-arms 
a very unequal match for the light-armed moun- 
taineers. The victories obtained by the Swisf ov t 
the German cliivalry, hitherto deemed as formt 
dable on foot as on horseback, led to important 
changes in the art of war. The poet describes the 
Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks 
from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in 
allusion to an inconvenient piece of foppery, often 
mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III, 
Archduke of Austria, called " The handsome man- 
at-arms," was slain in the Battle of Sempach, witl« 
the flower of his chivalry. 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.' 

'TwAS when among our linden-trees 
Tlie bees had housed in swarms 

(And gray-hair'd peasants say that these 
Betoken foreign arms), 

Then look'd we down to Willisow, 

The land was all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 

1 This translation first appeared in Blackwood'* EdinMr 
Magazine for February, 1818. — Ed. 



620 



iSUOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Austrian nobles made their vow, 

So hot their heart and bold, 
'' On Switzer carles we'U trample now, 

And slay both young and old." 

With clarion loud, and banner proud, 

From Zurich on the lake, 
In martial pomp and fair array. 

Their onward march they make. 

* Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 

Ye seek the moimtain strand. 
Nor wot ye what shall be your lot 
In such a dangerous land. 

" I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins. 

Before ye farther go : 
A skirmish in Helvetian hills 

May send your souls to woe." — 

" But where now shall we find a priest 

Our shrift that he may hear ?" — 
" The Switzer priest* has ta'en the field, 

He deals a penance drear. 

" Right heavily upon your head 

He'U lay his hand of steel ; 
And with his trusty partisan 

Your absolution deal" — 

'Twas on a Monday morning then, 

The com was steep'd in dew. 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en. 

When the host to Sempach drew. 

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 

Together have they join'd ; 
The pith and core of manhood stern. 

Was none cast looks behind. 

It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 

And to the Duke he said, 
" Yon little band of brethren true 

Will me^t ds undismay'd." — 

* Hare-castle,' thou heart of hare I" 

Fierce Oxenstern replied. — 
Shalt see then how the game will fare," 
The taunted knight replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets bright. 
And closing ranks amain ; 

I All the Swiss clergy who were able to bear amu fonght Ji 
•It patriotic war. 

In the original, Haatenstein, or Hare-stone, 

* This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, dnring 
•>• middle tgea of wearing boots with the points or peaks 



The peaks they hew'd from their boot-poiut« 
Might wellnigh load a wain.* 

And thus they to each other said, 

" Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell, 

The peasants are so few." — 

The gallant Swiss Confederates there 

They pray'd to God aloud, 
And he display'd his rainbow fair 

Against a swarthy cloud. 

Then heart and pulse throbb'd more and man 

With courage firm and high. 
And down the good Confederates bore 

On the Austrian chivalry. 

The Austrian Lion* 'gan to growl. 

And toss his mane and tail ; 
And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt, 

Went whistling forth like haiL 

Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there, 

The game was nothing sweet ; 
The boughs of many a stately tree 

Lay shiver'd at their feet. 

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast. 

So close their spears they laid ; 
It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, 

Who to his comrades said — 

" I have a virtuous wife at homi, 

A wife and infant son ; 
I leave them to my country's care,— 

This field shall soon be won. 

" These nobles lay their spears right thicl, 

And keep full firm array. 
Yet shall my charge their order break. 

And make my brethren way." 

He rush'd against the Austrian band. 

In desperate career. 
And with his body, breast, and hand, 

Bore down each hostile spear. 

Four lances splinter'd on his crest, 

Six shiver'd in his side ; 
StUl on the serried files he press'd— 

He broke their rauke, and died. 



tomed upwards, and so long, that in some casei they ' 
fastened to the knees of tKe wearer with small chains. Whe» 
they alighted to fight upon foot, it would seem that the Aa» 
trian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these pealu, thai 
they might move with the necessary activity. 
* A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



621 



This patriot's self-devoted deed 

First tamed the Lion's mood, 
And the four forest cantons freed 

Fi'im thraldom by his blood. 

Right where his charge had made a lane, 

His vaUaat comrades burst, 
With sword, and axe, and partisan, 

And hack, and stab, and thrust. 

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine, 

And granted ground amain, ' 

fhe Mountain Bull' he bent his brows, 

And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, 

At Sempach in the flight, 
The cloister vaults at Konig's-field 

Hold many an Austrian knight. 

It was the Archduke Leopold 

So lordly woxild he ride, 
But he came against the Switzer churls, 

And they slew him in his pride. 

The heifer said unto the bull, 

" And shall I not complain ? 
There came a foreign nobleman 

To milk me on the plain. 

" One thrust of thine outrageous horn 

Has gaU'd the knight so sore, 
rhat to the chiu-chyard he is borne, 

To range our glens no more." 

An Austrian noble left the stour, 

And fast the flight 'gan take ; 
And he arrived in luckless hour 

At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher caU'd 

(His name was Hans Von Rot), 
" For love, or meed, or charity, 

Receive us in thy boat 1" 

Their anxious call the fisher heard. 

And, glad the meed to win. 
Bis shallop to the shore he steer' d, 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly row'd his way. 
The noble to his follower sign'd 

He should the boatman slay. 

» A pnn on the Urhs, or wild-bnll, which gives name to 
fOft Canton of Uri. 

' The translation of the Noble Moringer appeared originally 
h the Edinbnrgh Annual Register for 1816 {published in 



The fisher's back was to them tum'd. 

The squire his dagger drew, 
Hans saw his shadow in the lake 

The boat he overthrew. 

He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they stroya, 
He stunn'd them with his oar, 

" Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, 
You'll ne'er stab boatman more. 

" Two gilded fishes m the lake 

This morning have I caught, 
Their silver scales may much avail. 

Their carrion flesh is naught." 

It was a messenger of woe 

Has sought the Austrian land : 

" Ah ! gracious lady, evil news 1 
My lord lies on the strand. 

" At Sempach, on the battle-field. 
His bloody corpse lies there." — 

" Ah, gracious God !" the lady cried, 
" What tidings of despair !'" 

Now would you know the minstrel wigh* 

Who sings of strife so stem, 
Albert the Souter is he hight, 

A burgher of Lucerne. 

A merry man was he, I wot, 

The night he made the lay, 
Returning from the bloody spot. 

Where God had judged the day. 



®l)c JfobU iHortniger. 



AN ANCIENT BALLAD. 



TBANSLATED FROM THE OEKMAM 
[1819."] 

The original of these verses occtira in a ?cUectiw« 
of German popular songs, entitled, Sammlung 
Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, jj-ibliihed by 
Messrs. Busching and Von der Hagen, }x)th, and 
more especially the last, distinguished for theii 
acquaintance with the ancient popular CK'etry and 
legendary history of Germany. 

In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, it H 

1819). It was composed daring Sir Walter Scott's seven and 
alarming illness of April, 1819, and dictated, in the interval* 
of exquisite pain, to his daughter Sophia, and his friend W 
liam Laidlaw. — Eo. See Life of Scott, vol. vi. o 7* 



022 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



«tated to have oeen extracted from a manuscript 
Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to Saint 
Leon:ird iu Weisenhorn, which bears the date 1538 •, 
and the song is stated by the author to have been 
generaUy sung in the neighborhood at that early 
period. Thomann, as quoted by the German Ed- 
itor, seems faithfully to have believed the event 
he narrates. He quotes tombstones and obituaries 
to prove the existence of the personages of the 
ballad, and discovers that there actually died, on 
the nth May, 1349, a Lady Von Neuffen, Count- 
ess of Marstetten, who was, by birth, of the house 
of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been 
Moringer's daughter, mentioned in the ballad. He 
quotes the same authority for the death of Berck- 
hold Von Neuffen, in the same year. Tlie editors, 
on the wiiole, seem to embrace the opinion of Pro- 
fessor Smith of Ulm, who, from the language of 
the ballad, ascribes its date to the 15th century. 

ITie legend itself turns on an incident not peoa- 
liar to Germany, and wliich, perhaps, was not un- 
likely to happen m more instances than one, when 
crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their 
disconsolate dames received no tidings of their 
fate. A story, very similar in circumstances, but 
without the miraculous machinery of Saint Thom- 
as, is told of one of the ancient Lords of Haigh-hall 
in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of the 
late Countess of Balcarras ; and the particulars are 
represented on stained glass upon a window in 
that ancient manor-house.' 



THE NOBLE MORINGER. 



0, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian 

day, 
[t was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he 

lay; 
He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was 

as sweet as May, 
A«d said, "Now, lady of my heart, attend the 

words I say. 

IL 

* Tia 1 have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant 
shrine, 

And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave 
tlie land that's mine ; 

Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou 
wilt pledge thy fay, 

rhat thou for my return wilt wait seven twelve- 
months and a day." 

' Bee IntTodoctioD to " T >» Betrothed," Waveriey Nove\B, 
'»' Kixvii. 



ni. 

Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troub 

led in her cheer, 
" Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what ordei 

takest thou here ; 
And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thj 

lordly sway, 
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art f^i 

away ?" 

IV. 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of that have thoo 

no care. 
There's many a valiant gentlaman of me holda 

Uving fair ; [my Btate, 

The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, m^ 

lovely mate. 



"As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow 

which I have plight. 
When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true 

knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain 

were sorrow now. 
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath 

heard his vow." 

VL 

It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him 

boune. 
And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer 

and with gown : 
He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with 

miniver, 
He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed hia 

forehead fair. 

VIL 

" Now hear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vas- 
sal art thou mine. 

And such the trust that I repose in that proved 
worth of thine. 

For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and 
lead my vassal train, 

And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return 
again." 

VIIL 
Tlie Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily 

said he, 
" Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take 

this rede from me ; 
That woman's faith's a brittle trust — Sevec 

twelve-months didst thou say ? 
I'll pledge me for no lady's truth beyonc tho 

seventh fair day." 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



62« 



IX. 

rhe noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart was 

full of care, 
His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Mars- 

letten's heir, 
To -whom he spoke right anxiously, " Thou trusty 

squire to me. 
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am 

<*'er the sea ? 



* To watch and ward my castle sirong, and to 

protect my land, 
And to the limiting or the host to lead my vassal 

band ; . 
And pledge thee for my lady's faith till seven 

long years are gone, 
A.nd guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by 

Saint Jolm i" 

XL 

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, 
and young. 

And readily he answer made with too presump- 
tuous tongue ; 
My noble lord, cast care away, and on your jour- 
ney ■^ end, [have end. 

And trust th'a charge to me until your pilgrimage 

XIL 

Sf-ly upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly 

tried, 
■"o guard your lands, and ward your towers, and 

with your vassals ride ; 
uid for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and 

so dear, 
rU gage my head it knows no change, be absent 

thirty year." 

XIIL 

rhe noble Moringer took cheer when thus he 
heard him speak, 

ki.<i doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow 
left his cheek ; 

A long, adieu he bids to all — hoists topsails, and 
away. 

And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelve- 
months and a day. 

XIV. 

It was t>ie noble Moringer within an orchard 

slept, 
When rj the Baron's slumbering sense a boding 

vision crept; 
A^nd whisper'd in his ear a voice, " 'Tis time, Sir 

Knight, to wake, 
fhy lady and thv heritage another master take. 



XV. 

"Thy tower another banner knows, thy steedi 
another rein. 

And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vas- 
sal train ; 

And she, the Lady of thy lovs, so faithful one* 
and fair, 

This night within thy fathers' hall she wed« Mars 
tetten's heir." 

XVI. 

It is ibe noble Moringer starts up and tears hin 

beard, 
" Oh would that I had ne'er been born 1 what 

tidings have I heard 1 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less would 

be my care, 
But, God 1 that e'er a squire imtrue should wed 

ray Lady fair. 

XVII. 
" good Saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd, " mv 

patron Saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my 

vow ! [name, 

My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of 
And I am far in foreign land, and must endure th» 

shame." 

XVIII. 
It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard 

his pilgrim's prayer. 
And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'ei 

power'd his care ; 
He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd be 

side a rill, 
High on the right a castle stood, low on the left v 

milL 

XIX. 
The Moringer he started up as one from spell on 

bound, 
And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly alJ 

around ; 
" I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the 

stream I know. 
Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'u de 

pilgrim's woe 1" 

XX. 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill h« 

drew, 
So alter'd was his goodly form that none their 

master knew ; [chanty, 

The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, foi 
Tell a poor palmer in your laud what tidings d»' 

there be 8" 



^24 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



XXL 

riie miller answered him again, " He knew of little 
news, 

Save that the Lady of the land did a new bride- 
groom choose ; 

Her husband died in distant land, such is the con- 
stant word. 

His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy 
"uord. 

XXIL 

" Of him I held the little miU which wins me living 

free, 
fiod rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind 

to me I 
A.nd whan Saint Martin's tide comes round, and 

miUers take their toll, 
The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both 

cope and stole." 

XXIII. 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and 

weary man ; 
" Now help me, every saint in heaven that can 

compassion take. 
To gain the eutrance of my hall this woeful match 

to break." 

XXIV. 

His very knock it soimded sad, his call was sad 

and slow. 
For heart and head, and voice and band, were 

heavy all with woe ; 
And to the warder thus he spoke : " Friend, to thy 

Lady say, 
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor 

for a day. 

XXV. 

" Fve wander'd many a weary step, my strength 
is wellnigh doie. 

And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no mor- 
row's sun ; 

I *)ray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's 
bed and dole, 

And for the sake of Moringer's, her once-loved 
husband's souL" 

XXVL 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame 
before, 

* A pilgrim, worn and travel-toil'd, stands at the 
castle-door ; 

And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for har- 
bor and for dole, 

ind for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's 
■ouL" 



XXVIL 
The Lady's gentle heart was moved, " Do up th« 

gate," she said, 
" And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet 

and to bed ; 
And since he names my husband's name, so that 

he lists to stay. 
These towers shall be his harborage a twelii*^ 

month and a day." 

XXVIIL 
It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal 

broad, 
It was the noble Moringer that o'er *he threshold 

strode ; 
"And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he aaid, 

" though from a man of sin, 
That the true lord stands here once inore his 

castle-gate within." 

XXIX. 
Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad 

and slow ; [Lord to know ; 

It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe 

and wrong. 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little 

space so long. 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, anJ come 

was evening hour, 
The time was nigh when new-made brides retire 

to nuptial bower ; 
" Our castle's wont," a bridrfs-man stid, ' hat^ been 

both firm and long. 
No guest to harbor in our halls tiU he shall chant 

a song." 

XXXL 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he 

sat by the bride, 
« My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, " lay shalm 

and harp aside ; 
Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule 

to hold. 
And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and 

with gold."— 

XXXIL 

" ChiU flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas tb«5 the 

pilgrim sung, 
" Nor golden meed nor garment gay, unlocks hia 

heavy tong" . , 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board aa 

rich as thine. 
And by n- / side as fair a bride with all her chamu 

was mine 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



623 



XXXHL 

But time traced furrowa on my face, and I grew 
silver-hair'd, 

For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left 
this bro-w and beard ; 

Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's 
latest stage, 

Vnd mingb with your bridal mirth the lay of fro- 
zen age." 

XXXIV. 

ft was the noble Lady there this woeful lay that 

hears. 
And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was 

dimm'd with tears ; 
She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker 

take. 
And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her 

sake. 

XXXV. 

[t was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the 

wine 
A. bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so 

fine: 
Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but 

the sooth, 
Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his 

bridal truth. 

XXXVL 

ITien to the cupbearer he said, " Do me one kindly 

deed, 
And should my better days return, full rich shall 

be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so 

gay, 

\nd crave her of her courtesy to pledge the pami- 
er gray." 

XXXVII. 

The cupbearer was coiurtly bred, nor was the boon 
denied. 

The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the 
bride ; 

•• Lady," he said, " your reverend guest sends tms, 
and bids me pray, 

rhat, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVIIL 

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it 
close and near, 

Fhan you might hear her shriek aloud, " The Mor- 
inger is here !" 



Then might you see her start from seat, whUe tears 

in torrents fell. 
But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies besl 

can telL 

XXXIX. 

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and ever5 

saintly power, 
That had return'd the Moringer before the mid 

night hour ; 
And loud she utter'd tow on vow, that never waa 

there bride. 
That had like her preserved her troth, or been so 

sorely tri*>d- 

XL. 

" Tes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to con 

stant matrons due, , 
Who keep the troth that they have plight, so stead 

fastly and true ; 
For cotuit the term howe'er you will, so that yoii 

coimt aright. 
Seven twelve-months and a day are out when bella 

toU twelve to-night." 

XLL 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there 

he drew, 
He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his wea 

pon threw ; 
" My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were 

the words he said, 
" Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take 

thy vassal's head." 

XLIL 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud dia 
say, 

" He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelve- 
months and a day ; 

My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaki 
her sweet and fair, 

I give her for the bride you lose, and name her fot 
my heir. 

XLIIL 

" The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, tbp 

old bridegroom the old. 
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so puiMV 

tually were told ; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my 

castle gate, 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a da\ too 

late." 



626 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



FROM THE GEKMAN OF GOETH^. 

{The Erl-King is a goblin that haunts the Black 
Forest in Thuringia. — To be read by a candle 
particularly long in the snuff.) 

O -w H© rides by night thro' the woodland so wild ? 
It is the fond father embrachig his child ; 
\nd close the boy nestles within his loved arm, 
To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. 

* O father, see yonder 1 see yonder !" he says ; 
" My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze ?" — 
" 0, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud." 
" No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." 

{The Erl-King speaks.) 
" come and go with me, thou loveliest child ; 
By manv a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled ; 
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, 
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy." 

" O, father, my father, and did you not hear 
The Erl-King whisper so l»w in my ear ?" — 

» 1797 " To Miss Christian Rutherford. — I send a gob- 
lit ^^of^( You see I have not altogether lost the faenlty of 
ikyving I aasore yon theie is no small impadence in attempt- 



** Be still, my heart's darling — my child, be at eau 
It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees.* 

Erl-King. 
" wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest bc"v ? 
My daughter shall tend thee with care and vnth joy 
She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro' 

wUd, 
And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child 

" father, my father, and saw you not plam, 
The Erl-King's pale daughter gUde past thro the 

rain ?"— 
" yes, my loved treasure, 1 knew it full soon •, 
It was the gray willow that danced to the mooa' 

Erl-King. 
" come and go with me, no longer delay, 
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away." — 
" father 1 father 1 now, now keep your hold, 
The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold 1' 

Sore trembled the father ; he spurr'd thro' the wild 
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child ; 
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread. 
But, clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was deail F 

ing a renior of that ballad, as it has been trans ated by t,twt§ 
. . W. S."—Life, vol. i. p 378. 



mm m sau JkS>e s%'m no: oxuuw 



Cgrical anir iltt0cellane0it0 |)tecc0, 

IN THE ORDER OF THEIR COMPOSITION OR PUBLICATION. 



Kubenile Hfnes. 

FEOM VIBGIL. 



1182.— tEtat. 11. 



" Scott's autobiogi-aphy tells us that his transla- 
hons in verse from Horace and Virgil were often 
jpproyed by Dr. Adams [Rector of the High School, 
Edinburgh]. One of these little pieces, written in 
a weak boyish scrawl, witliiu pencilled marks still 
risible, had been carofuUy preserved by his moth- 
er ; it was found folded up in a cover, inscribed 
by the old ladj—' My Walter's first lines, llSZ.' " 
— LocKHAST, Life of Scott, vol. L p. 129. 

In awful ruins ^tna thunders nigh, 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky 
Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire, 
From their dark sides there bursts the glowing 

fire ; 
At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd, 
Tha^ lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost : 
Som'^.i'imes the mount, with vast convulsions torn, 
Emiti- huge rocks, which instantly are borne 
With li'ud explosions to the starry skies, 
The atones made liquid as the huge mass flies, 
Then bb>ck again with greater weight recoils, 
WMle ifitna thundering from the bottom boils. 



®n a 2CJ)unlicr Storm. 



1783.— ^T. 12. 



" In Scott's Introduction to the Lay, he alludes 
to an original effusion of these ' schoolboy days,' 
prompted by a thunder-storm, which he says, ' was 
jnucb approved of, until a malevolent critic sprung 



» " rt must 1 think, be allowed that these lines, thongh 
ti >\e ' la%s hj which the poet himself modestly ascribes 
k£m «iid aot to be compatod with the effoiK of Pope, ttill 



up in the shape of an apothecary's blue-buskined 
wife,' <fec. (fee. These liues, and another short piec« 
' On the Setting Sun,' were lately found wrappec 
up in a cover, inscribed by Dr. Adam, ' Waltei 
Scott, July, 1783.'" 

Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll, 
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, 
Yet 'tis thy voice, my God, that bids them fly, 
Tliy arm directs those lightuings through the sky 
Then let the good thy mighty name revere, 
And harden'd sinners thy just vengeance fear 



®n tl)e Settfufl Sun. 



1783. 



Those evening clouds, that setting ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

Their great Creator's praise ; 
Then let the short-lived thing call'd man, 
Whose life's comprised within a span, 

To Him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds, 

And tints, so gay and bold, 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold 1' 



JEH Vfolet. 



1797. 



It appears from the Life of Scott, vol L p. 338, 
that these lines, first published in the Engliab 

less of Cowley at the same period, show, nevj^heless, prak*- 
worthy dexterity for a boy of twelve."— Life of Scott, vol i. 
p. 131. 



628 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Minstrelsy, 1810, were written in 1797, on occa- 


W'hen Clyde, despite his sheltering wood, 


«ion of the Poet's disappointment in love. 


Must leave his channel dry ; 




And vainly o'er the limpid flood 


The violet in her green-wood bower, 


The angler guides his fly ; 


Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, 




May boast itself the fairest flower 


If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes 


In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 


A wanderer thou hast been, 




Or hid thee from the summer's blaze 


Tbrmgh fair her gems of azure hue, 


In Blautyre's bowers of green, 


Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining ; 




Fve seen an eye of loveUer blue. 


Full where the copsewood opens wild 


More rfweet through wat'ry lustre shining. 


Thy pilgrim step hath staid, 




W here BothweU's towers, in ruin piled. 


The Buanner sun that dew shall tlry, 


O'erlook the verdant glade ; 


Ere yet the day be past its morrow ; 




for longer in my false love's eye 


And many a tale of love and fear 


fiemain'd the tear of parting sorrow. 


Hath mingled with the scene — 




Of Bothwell's banks that bloom'd so dear 
And BothweU's bonny Jean. 




Eo a SLaDis. 


0, if with rugged minstrel lays 


WITH FLOWERS FROM A R01iL\N WALL. 


Uusated be thy ear. 




And thou of deeds of other days 
Another tale wUt hear, — 

Then all beneath the spreading beech, 


1797. 


Written in 1797, on an excursion from Gillsland, 


aa Cumberland. See Life, vol. i. p. 366. 


Flung careless on the lea. 




The Gothic muse the tale shall teacn 


Take these flowers which, purple waving, 


Of BothweU's sisters three. 


Ou the ruin'd rampart grew. 




Where, the sons of freedom braving, 


Wight WaUace stood on Deckmont head, 


Rome's imperial standards flew. 


He blew his bugle round. 




TiU the wild bull in Cadyow wood 


Warriors from the breach of danger 


Has started at the sound. 


Pluck no longer laurels there ; 




Tliey but yield the passing stranger 


St. George's cross, o'er BothweU hung, 


Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair. 


Was waving far and wide, 




And from the lofty turret flung 




Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; 

* 

And rising at the bugle blast 




Jragmcnts. 


That mai-ked the Scottish foe. 


^ 


Old England's yeomen muster'd fast, 

A J l A xl_ TVT 1- 




And bent the Norman bow. 


(1.) BOTHWELL CASTLK 




TaU in the midst Sir Aylmer' rose, 
Proud Pembroke's Earl was he — 




1799. 


While" 


The following fragment of a baUad written at 




BiJthwell Castle, in the autumn of 1799, was first 


(2.) THE SHEPHERD'S TALE.* 


;*rinted in the Life of Sir Walter Scott, voL ii. p. 28. 
When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers 


1799. 


Are mellowing in the noon ; 




Wlien sighs round Pembroke's ruin'd towers 


"Another imperfect baUad, in which ho had 


The sultry breath of June ; 


meant to blend together two legends famiUar u 


• Sir Aylmer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, Edward the 


tie, the ruing of which attest the magnificence of the invader 


ftoil's Governor of Scollsnd, asually resided at Both well Cas- 


—Ed. 3 l,ife of 9cott, vol i. p. 31. 

1 



LntlCAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



62& 



tvery reader of Scottish history and romance, has 
been found in the same portfoUo, and the hand- 
miting proves it to be of the same eai'ly date." — 
LocKHAaT, vol. ii. p. 30. 



^d ne'er but once, my son, he says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod, 
In persecution's iron days, 

When the land was left by God. 

From BewUe bogs with slaughter red, 
A wanderer hither drew, ^ 

And oft he stopt and tm'n'd his head. 
As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For trampling round by Cheviot edge 

Were heard the troopers keen. 
And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge 

The death-shot flash'd between. 

The moonbeams through the misty shower 
On yon dark cavern fell ; [white, 

ITu-ough the cloudy night the snow gleam'd 
Which sunbeam ne'er could quelL 

" Yon cavern dark is rough and rude, 

And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the men of blood. 

That himt my Mfe below I 

" Ton spell-bound den, as the aged tell. 

Was hewn by demon's hands ; 
But I had lourd' melle with the fiends of hell. 

Than with Clavers and his band." 

He heard the deep-mouth'd bloodhoimd bark. 

He heard the horses neigh, 
He plunged him in the cavern dark. 

And downward sped his way. 

Now faintly down the winding path 
Came the cry of the faulting hound. 

And the mutter'd oath of baulked wrath 
Was lost in hollow sound. 

He threw him on the flinted floor. 

And held his breath for fear ; 
He rose and bitter cursed his foes. 

As the soimds died on his ear, 

" bare thine arm, ihou battling Lord, 

For Scotland's wandeiing band ; 
Dash from the oppressor's grasp the sword. 

And sweep him from the land 1 

* Lourd ; i. e. liefer — rather. 



" Forget not thou thy people's groans 
From dark Dunnotter's tower, 

Mix'd with tlie seafuwl's shrilly moans, 
And ocean's bm-sting roar 1 

" 0, in fell Clavers' hoiu- of pride, 

Even in his mightiest day, 
As bold he strides through conquest's tida^ 

stretch him on the clay 1 

" His widow and his httle ones, 

O may their tower of trust 
Remove its strong foimdation stones. 

And crush them in the dust 1"— 

" Sweet prayers to me," a voice repUed, 
" Thrice welcome, guest of mine 1" 

And glimmering on the cavern side, 
A light was seen to shine. 

An aged man, in amice brown. 
Stood by the wanderer's side, 

By powerful charm, a dead man's arm 
The torch's light suppUed. 

From each stiff finger, stretch'd upright, 

Arose a ghastly flame. 
That waved not in the blast of night 

Which through the cavern came. 

0, deadly blue was that taper's hu«. 

That flamed the cavern o'er. 
But more deadly blue was the ghastly hue 

O'f his eyes who the taper bore. 

He laid on his head a hand like lead, 

As heavy, pale, and cold — 
" Vengeance be thine, thou guest of mme. 

If thy heart be fiim and bold. 

" But if faint thy heart, and caitiff fear 

Thy recreant sinews know. 
The mountain erne thy heart shall tear, 

Thy nerves the hooded crow." 

The wanderer raised him undismay'd : 

" My soul, by dangers steel'd. 
Is stubborn as my border blade. 

Which never knew to yield. 

" And if thy power can speed the hour 

Of vengeance on my foes, 
Theirs be the fate, from bridge and gat» 

To feed the hooded crows." 

The Brownie look'd him in the face. 
And his color fled with speed — 

" I fear me," quoth he, " imeath it wiU b« 
To match thy word and deed. 



5^0 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" In ancient days -when English bands 


The casque hung near each cavalier ; 


Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 


The plumes waved mournfully 


The sword and shield of Scottish land 


At every tread which the wanderer made 


Was valiant Halbert Kerr. 


Through the hall of gramarye. 


" A warlock loved tlie warrior well, 


The ruddy beam of the torches' gleam 


Sir Mchael Scott by name, 


That glared the warriors on, 


And he sought for his sake a spell to make, 


Reflected hght from armor bright, 


Should the Southern foemen tame. 


In noontide splendor shone. 


« ' Look thou,' he said, * from Cessford head, 


And onward seen in lustre sheen. 


As the July sun sinks low. 


Still lengthening on the sight, 


And when glimmering white on Cheviot's height 


Through the boundless hall stood steeds in stall 


Thou shalt spy a wreath of snow. 


And by each lay a sable knig^ht. 


The spell is complete which shall bring to thy 




feet 


Still as the dead lay each horseman dread. 


The haughty Saxon foe.* 


And moved nor limb nor tongue ; 




Each steed stood stiff as an earthfast clifl^ 


" For many a year wrought the wizard here. 


Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 


In Cheviot's bosom low. 




Till the speU was complete, and in July's heat 


No sounds through all the spacious hall 


Appear'd December's snow : 


Tlie deadly stiU divide. 


But Cessford's Halbert never came 


Save where echoes aloof from the vaulted roof 


The wondrous cause to know. 


To the wanderer's step replied. 


" For years before in Bowden aisle 


At length before his wondering eyas. 


The warrior's bones had lain. 


On an iron column borne. 


And after short while, by female guile, 


Of antique shape, and giant size, 


Sir Michael Scott was slain. 

• 


Appear'd a sword and horn. 


" But me and my brethren in this cell 


" Now choose thee here," quoth his lea 'e.'. 


His mighty charms retain, — 


" Tliy venturous fortune try ; 


And he that can quell the powerful spell 


Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale, 


ShaU o'er broad Scotland reign." 


In yon brand and bugle he." 


He led him through an iron door 


To the fatal brand he mounted his hand, 


And up a winding stair, 


But his soul did quiver and quail ; 


And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze 


The life-blood did start to his shuddering hearl 


On the sight which open'd there. 


And left him wan and pale. 


Tliroiigh the gloomy night flash'd ruddy light, — 


The brand he forsook, and the horn he took 


A thousand torches glow ; 


To 'say a gentle sound ; 


The cave rose high, like the vaulted sky, 


But so wUd a blast from the bugle bradt, 


O'er stalls in double row. 


That the Cheviot rock'd around. 


In every stall of that endless hall 


From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas. 


Stood a steed in barbing bright ; 


The awful bugle rung ; 


At the foot of each steed, all arm'd save the head. 


On Carlisle wall, and Berwick withal, 


Lay stretch'd a stalwart knight. 


To arms the warders sprung. 


In each mail'd hand was a naked brand ; 


With clank and clang the cavern rang. 


As they lay on the black bull's hide, 


The steeds did stamp and neigh ; 


Each visage stern did upwards turn. 


And loud was the yell as each warrior fell 


With eyeballs fix'd and wide. 


Sterte up with hoop and cry. 


A launcegay strong, full twelve eUs long. 


" Woe, woe," they cried, " tliou caitiff. cowaril 


By every waiTior hung ; 


Tliat ever thou wert born 1 


At each pommel there, for battle yare, 


Why drew ye not the knightly sword 


A Jedwood axe was »^ung. 


Before ye blew the horn ?" 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



631 



The morning on the mountain shone, 

And on the bloody ground 
Hurl'd from the cave with shiver'd bone, 

The mangled -wretch was found 

And still beneath the cavern dread, 

Among the glidders gray, 
A shapeless stone with hchens spread 

Marks where the wanderer lay.' 



(3.) CHEVIOT. 



I'TQg. 



Go sit old Cheviot's crest beiow, 
And pensive mark the lingering snow 

In all his scaurs abide, 
And slow dissolving from the hill 
In many a sightless, soundless riU, 

Feed spai'kling Bowmont's tide. 

Fair shines the stream by bank and lea, 
As ■R'imphng to the eastern sea 

She seeks Till's sullen bed, 
Indenting deep the fatal plain. 
Where Scotland's noblest, brave in vain, 

Around their monarch bled. 

And westward hills on hills you see, 
Sven as old Ocean's mightiest sea 

Heaves high her waves of foam. 
Dark and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot roU'd, 

Earth's mountain billows come. 



» * Tne re»der may be interested by comparing with this 
Mllad the aT ihor's prose version of part of its legend, as given 
B one of tl < last works of iiis pen. He says, in tlie Letters 
Ml Demof.o'ogy and Witchcraft, 1830 : — ' Thomas of Ercil- 
loyfLB, ('anng his retirement, has been supposed, from time to 
ime to be levying forces to take the field In some crisis of 
'lii country's fate. The story has often been told of a daring 
aowe-jockey having sold a black horse to a man of venerable 
uid antique appearance, who appointed the remarkable hil- 
lock upon Eildon hills, called the Lncken-hare, as the place 
where, at twelve o'clock at night, he shonid receive the price. 
He came, his money w is paid in ancient coin, and he was in- 
Tited by his customer lo view his residence. The trader in 
norses followed his guide in the deepest astonishment through 
(everal long ranges of stalls, in each of which a horse stood 
motionless, while an armed warrior lay equally still at the 
Boarger's feet. ' All these men,' said the wizard in a whisper, 

will awaken at the battle of Sheriffmuir.' At the extremity 
•f this extraordinary depot hnng a sword and a horn, which 



(4.) THE REIVER'S WEDDING*. 



1802. 



In " The Reiver's Wedding," the Poet had evi- 
dently designed to blend together two traditional 
stories concerning his own forefathers, the Scoti 
of Harden, which are detailed in the first chap 
ters of his Life. The biographer adds : — " I kno^ 
not for what reason, Lochwood, the ancient for 
tress of the Johnstones in Annandale, has be«i 
substituted for the real locality of his ancestor'i 
driunhead Wedding Contract." — Life, vol. il p. 94 



win ye hear a mirthful bourd ? 

Or will ye hear of courtesie ? 
Or will hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye ? 

" Ca' out the kye," quo' the village herd, 

As he stood on the knowe, 
« Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's ten. 

And bauld Lord WiUiam's cow." — 

" Ah ! by my sooth," quoth William then, 

" And stands it that way now. 
When knave and churl have nine and ten. 

That the Lord has but his cow ? 

" I swear by the Ught of the Michaelmas moon, 

And the mig-ht of Mary high, 
And by the edge of my braidsword brown. 

They shall soon say Harden's kye." 

He took a bugle frae his side, 

With names carved o'er and o'er — 

Full many a chief of meikle pride 
That Border bugle bore — * 



the prophet pointed out to the borse-dealei as containing the 
means of dissolving the spell. The man in confusion took 
the horn and attempted to wind it. The horses instantly 
started in their stalls, stamped, and shook their bridles, tin 
men arose and clashed their armor, and the mortal, terrified at 
the tumult he had excited, dropped the hort from his handl. 
A voice like that of a giant, louder even ban the trmoU 
around, pronounced these words : — 

' Woe to the coward that ever he was bom. 
That did not draw the sword before he blew the horn. 

A whirlwind expelled the horse-dealer from the cavern, th« 
entrance to which he could never again find. A moral might 
be perhaps extracted from the legend, namely, that it is better 
to be armed against danger before bidding it defiance.' 

3 This celebrated horn is still in the possession ot the chi<* 
of the Harden family, Lord Polwanh. 



iS" 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



He blew a note baith sharp and hie, 
Till rock and water rang around — 

Thi'ee score of moss-troopers and three 
Have mounted at that bugle sound. 

The Michaelmas moon had enter'd then. 

And ere she wan the fuU, 
Ye might see by her hght in Harden glen 

A bow o' liVe and a bassen'd bull. 

And loud and loud in Harden tower 
The quaigh gaed round wi' meikle glee ; 

For the English beef was brought in bower, 
And the EngUsh ale flow'd merrilie. 

And mony a guest from Teviotside 
And Yarrow's Braes were there ; 

Was never a lord in Scotland wide 
That made more dainty fare. 

They ate, they laugh'd, they sang and quaflf'd, 

Till naught on board was seen. 
When knight and squire were boune to dine, 

But a spur of silver sheen. 

Lord William has ta'en his berry brown steed — 

A sore shent man was he ; 
" Wait ye, my guests, a httle speed— 

Weel feasted ye shall be." 

He rode him down by Falsehope burn, 

His cousin dear to see. 
With him to take a riding turn— 

Wat-clraw-the-sword was he. 

And when he came to Falsehope glen. 

Beneath the trysting-tree, 
On the smooth green was carved plain,' 

" To Lochwood boimd are we." 

" O if they be gane to dark Lochwood 

To drive the Warden's gear, 
BetwLrt our names, I ween, there's feud ; 

I'll go and have my share : 

" For little reck I for .■''ohnstone's feud, 

The Warden though he be." 
So Lord WilUam is away to dark Lochwood, 

With riders barely three. 

The Warden's daughters in Lochwood sate, 

Were all both fair and gay, 
All save the Lady Margaret, 

And she was wan and wae. 

• " At Linton, In Roxburghshire, there ii a circle of etonea 
■afronnding a emooih plot of turf, called the Tryst, or place 
»f apjicintment, which tradition avers to have been the ren- 
trsvo it of the neighboring waniorak The name of the leader 



The sister, Jean, had a full fair skin, 
And Grace was bauld and braw ; 

But the leal-fast heart her breast within 
It weel was worth them a'. 

Her father's pranked her sisters twa 

With meikle joy and pride ; 
But Margaret maun seek Dundrennan'* wa- 

She ne'er can be a bride. 

On spear and casque by gallants gent 

Her sisters' scarfs were borne, 
But never at tUt or tournament 

Were Margaret's colors worn. 

Her sisters rode to Thirlstane bower. 

But she was left at hame 
To wander roimd the gloomy tower, 

And sigh young Harden's name. 

" Of all the knights, the knight most fair. 

From Yarrow to the Tyne," 
Soft sigh'd the maid, " is Harden's heir 

But ne'er can he be mine ; 

" Of all the maids, the foulest maid 

From Teviot to the Dee, 
Ah 1" sighing sad, that lady said, 

" Can ne'er young Harden's be." — 

She looked up the briery glen, 

And up the mossy brae. 
And she saw a score of her father's men 

Yclad in the Johnstone gray. 

fast and fast they downwards sped 

The moss and briers among, 
And in the midst the troopers led 

A shackled knight along. 

* t * * « * • 



STfje iSavti's Sncantatton 

WEITTEN UNDEE THE THREAT OF INVASION IS /HI 
AUTUMN OF 1804. 

The forest of Glemnore is drear. 

It is all of black pine and the dark oak-tree ; 
And the midnight wind, to the mountair deer, 

Is whistling the forest lullaby : 
The moon looks tlirough the drifting storm. 
But the troubled lake reflects not her form, 

was cut in the turf, and the arrangement of vhe letteii M 
nounced to his followers the course which be had taicen. '•' 
Introduction to the Minstrelsy, p. 185. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



69S 



For the waves roll whitening to the land. 
And dash against the shelvy strand. 
There is a voice among tlie trees, 

That mingles with the groaning oak- 
Thai mingles with the stormy breeze, 

And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ; — 
There ia a voice within the wood. 
The voice of the bard in fitful mood ; 
His song was louder than the blast, 
^8 the bard of Glenmore through the forest past. 

" Wake ye fi-om your sleep of death, 
Minstrels and bards of other days ! 
For the midnight wind is on the heath. 

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze : 
The Spectre with his Bloody Hand,' 
Ifl wandering through the wild woodland ; 
The owl and the raven are mute for dread, 
And the time is meet to awake the dead I 

" Souls of the mighty, wake and say, 

To what liigh strain your harps were strung, 
When Lochlin plow'd her billowy way. 

And on your shores her Norsemen flung ? 
Her Norsemen train'd to spoil and blood, 
SkiU'd to prepare the Raven's food, 
AU, by your harpings, doom'd to die 
On bloody Largs and Loncarty.* 

" Mute are ye all ? No murmurs strange 

Upon the midnight breeze sail by ; 
Nor through the pines, with whistling change 

Mimic the harp's wild harmony 1 
Mute are ye now ? — Ye ne'er were mute. 
When Murder with his bloody foot, 
And Rapine with his iron hand, 
Were hovering near yon mountain strand. 

* yet awake the strain to tell, 

By every deed in song enroU'd, 
By every chief who fought or fell. 

For Albion's weal in battle bold i-^ 
From Coilgach,' first who roU'd his car 
Through the deep ranks of Roman war, 
Tc him, of veteran memory dear. 
Who victor died on Aboukir. 

" By all thsir swords, by all their scars. 

By all their names, a mighty spell 1 
By all their wounds, by aU tlieir wars. 

Arise, the mighty strain to tell 1 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, 
More impious than the heathen Dane, 
More grasping than aU-grasping Rome, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither come 1" 



> Tlie forest of Glenmore is hannted b) a spirit called Lham- 
'•Mf ot Red- land. 

m 



The wind is hush'd, and still the lake — 

Strange murmurs fiU my tinlding eara, 
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake, 

At the dread voice of other years — 
" When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, 
And blades round warriors' heads were fluug, 
The foremost of the band were we. 
And hymu'd the joys of Liberty 1" 



J^ellbellgn. 



1805. 



In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of t*i 
enis, and of a most ainiable disposition, perisfua 
by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellytu 
His remains were not discovered till three month* 
afterwards, when they were found guarded by a 
faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant du- 
ring frequent solitary rambles through the wild* 
of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 



I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty HellveUyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty 

and wide ; [l^Dg. 

All was stUl, save by fits, when the eagle was yel- 

And starting aroxmd me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn waa 

bending. 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending 
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wan* 
derer had died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown moun- 
tain-heather, 
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd m 
decay. 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weat'ner, 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantles* 
clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hiU-fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think Ihat his silence wan 
slumber ? 
When the wind waved iJe garment, how oft 
didst thou start i 

8 Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received tw« 
bloody defeat*. ^ The Galgacos of Tacitus. 



S34 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



flow many long days and long weeks didst thou 

number, 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy 

heart ? 
And, oh, was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er 

him — 
So mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him. 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before 

him — 
Unhoflor'd the PDgrim from life should depart ? 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has 
yielded, 
TTie tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted 
hall; 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches 

are gleaming ; 
In the proudly-arch'd chape? tte baimers axe 

beaming, 
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
Lamenting a Chief of the people shoxild falL 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
To lay down thy head like the meek moimtain 
lamb, 
When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in 
stature 
And draws his last sob by the Bide of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch '^y this desert lake 

lying, 
rhy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. 
In the arms of HeUvellyn and Catchedicam. 



arjic IDsfnfl asars.* 



1806, 



Air — Daffydz Oangwen. 

The WeUh tradition bears, that a Bard, on his 
dtath-bed, demanded his harp, and played tfu air 
to which these verses are adapted; requesting 
that it might be performed at his funeral. 



Uinas Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is nigh. 
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die : 

' This and the following were written for Mr. George Thorn* 
ion's Welsh Kua, «nd are contaii/sd in his Seleut Melodies, 
nil i. 



No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, 
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing 
wave. 

IL 

In spring and in autunm thy glories of shade 
Unhonor'd shall flourish, unhonor'd shall fade ; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, 
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture ihai 
sxing. 

III. 
Thy sous, Dinas Emlinn, may march in theii pride. 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side • 
But where is the harp shall give Ufe to their name ! 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame I 

IV. 
And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair, 
"Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark 

hair; 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall 

die? 



Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene, 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

VL 

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! BtQl green be thy shades, 
Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy 

maids ! 
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness cac 

tell. 
Farewell, my loved Harp ! my last treasure, fare 

weUl 



etc Norman jH^otsessljoe. 



1806. 



AiR— TAe War-Song of the Men of Glamorgan. 

The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, an4 
possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were 
usually unable to encounter the shock of the 
Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, hmoevet, 
they were stcccessful in repelling the invaders ; 
and the following verses are supposed to celcbratf 
the defeat of Clare, Earl of Siriguil and Fein 
broke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstov 
Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. Rymny it 
a stream which divides the counties of Montnouth 




THE PALMER. —Page 635. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



639 



and Glamorgan : Caerphili, the scene of the sup- 
posed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignijied by 
the ruins of a very ancient castle. 



Rcr- glo-ws the forge in Striguil's bounds, 
And bammers din, and anvil sounds, 
And armorers, with iron toil, 
Barb many a steed for battle's broiL 
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel 
Around the courser's thundering heel, 
That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground I 

11. 

From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of mom, 
Was heard afar the bugle-horn ; 
And forth, in banded pomp and pride, 
Stout Clare aud fiery Neville ride. 
They swore, their banners broad should gleam, 
In crimson light, on Rymny'w stream ; 
They vow'd, Caerphdi's sod shoidd feel 
The Norman charger's spurriing heeL 

IIL 

And sooth they swore — the sun arose. 
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows ; 
For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 
RoU'd down the stream to Severn's tide ! 
And sooth they vow'd — the trampled green 
Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
A Norman horseman's cm'dling blood I 

IV. 
Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil. 
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; 
Their orphans long the art may rue. 
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. 
No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ; 
Nor trace be there, in early spring, 
Sa^e of the Fairies' emerald ring. 



SDc iHafU of Soro.* 



1806. 



"}, vcm shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 
And Weak were the whispers that waved the 
dark wood, 

1 Tkii, uid the three following, were first published in Ha> 
l}c » CoUcHstion of Scottish Airs. Edin. 1806. 



All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd m sorrow. 

Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to th« 
flood. 
" saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend 
ing; 
Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's cry, 
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending. 
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor dit 1" 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle 
With the breezes they rise, with the breeze, 
they fail, 
Till the shout, and the groaa, and the conflict'! 
dread rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamor, came loading thi 
gale. 
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary 

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien 

" save thee, fair maid, for oiu- armies are flying 

save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low . 
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lymg 

And fast through the woodland approaches thi 
foe." 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow, 

And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd witl 
despair ; 
And when the sun sank on the sweet lake of Toro 

For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair 



m^z palmer. 



1806 



" OPEN the door, some pity to sho\r 
Keen blows the northern wind I 

The glen is white with the drifted snow, 
And the path is hard to find. 

" No outlaw seeks your castle gate. 
From chasing the King's deer. 

Though even an outlaw's wretched »tat« 
Might claim compassion here. 

" A weary Palmer, wore and weak, 

I wander for mj sin ; 
O open, for Our Lady's sake 1 

A pUgrim's blessing win 1 

" m give you pardons from the Pope, 
And reliques from o'er the sea ; 

Or if for these you wiU not op«« 
Yet open for charity. 



636 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



*< The hare is crouching in her form, 

The hart beside the hind ; 
An aged man, amid the storm. 

No shelter can I find. 

" You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar 
Dark, deep, and strong is he, 

And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, 
rJnless you pity me. 

"The iron gate is bolted hard. 

At which I knock in vain ; 
The owner's heart is closer barr'd, 

Wl»o hears me thus complain, 

" Farewell, farewell 1 and Mary grant. 
When old and frail you be, 

You never may the shelter want, 
That's now denied to me." 

The Ranger on his couch lay warm, 
And heard him plead in vaia ; 

But oft amid December's storm, 
He'U hear that voice again : 

For lo, when through the vapors dank. 
Morn shone on Ettrick fair, 

A corpse amid the alders rank, 
The Palmer welter'd there. 



erjie ittarif of Wcftjpatjj. 



1806. 



rh£re is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, wheri Neid- 
path Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the 
Earln of March, a mutual passion subsisted be- 
tween a daughter of that noble family, and a son 
of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As 
the alliance was thought unsuitable by her pU- 
rents, the young man went abroad During his 
absence, the lady fell into a consumption ; and 
at length, as the only means of saving her life, 
Asr father consented that Iier lover should be re- 
called. On the day when he was expected to pass 
through Peebles, on tJte road to 2'ushielaw, the 
ycntng lady, though much exhausted, caused Iier- 
self to be carried to the balcony of a house in 
Peebles, belonging to the family, that sh-e might 
see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eager- 
ness gave such force to her organs, that she is 
said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at 
an iitcredible distance. But Tushielaw, unpre- 
pared for the change in her appearance, and not 



expecting to see her in that place, rode on withmA 
recognizing lier, or even slackening his pace. 2'hi 
lady was unable to support t}ie sJwck ; and, aftei 
a short stf^.tggle, died in the anns of hei attend- 
ants. Th^re is an incident similar to this tradi- 
tional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur d'Epine,' 



O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
And love, in life's extremity, 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower, 

And slow decay from mourning. 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower. 

To watch her love's retm-ning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 

Her form decay'd by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand, at nighty 

You saw the taper s hinin g j 
By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was flying ; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew. 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear, 

Seem'd in her frame residing ; 
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear, 

She heard her lover's riding: 
Ere scarce a distant form was ken'd. 

She knew, and waved to greet him ; 
And o'er the battlement did bend, 

As on the wing to meet him. 

He came — ^he pass'd — a heedless gaze, 

As o'er some stranger glancing ; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltermg phrase^ 

Lost in his com-ser's prancing — 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken, 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, 

Which told her heart was broken. 



C^anlierfnfl CWflUt. 



1806. 



All joy was bereft me the day that you left me, 
And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon vmia 
sea; 

weary betide it 1 I wander'd beside it, 
And batn'd it for parting my WiUie and me. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



681 



Far o'er the wave hast thou foUow'd thy fortune, 
Oft fough+ the squadrons of France and of Spain ; 

A.e kiss of -nelcome's worth twenty at parting, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 

rtTien the sky it was mirk, and the winds they 
were wailing, 
I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ee, 
And thought o' the bark where my Willie was 
sailing, 
And wish'd that the tempest could a' blow 
on me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, 
Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame, 

Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring, 
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean 
faem. 

When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they 
did rattle. 

And bhthe was each heart for the great victory, 
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle. 

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. 

But now shalt thou teU, while I eagerly Usten, 
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar ; 

And trust me, I'U smile, though my een they may 
gUsten ; 
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. 

And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 
'tween lovers. 
When there's naething to speak to the heart 
thro' the ee ; 
low often the kindest and warmest prove rovers. 
And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. 

rill, at times — could I help it? — I pined and I 

ponder'd. 

If love could change notes like the bird on the 

tree — 

Ncrw I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, 

Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. 

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through 
channel. 

Hardships and danger despising for fame, 
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal. 

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame 1 

Enough, now thy story in annals of glory 
Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and 
Spain ; 
No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou 
leave me, 
I never wiU part with iny Wilhe agaia 



«ealtl) to JLovXi JHelbfl c. 



1806. 



Air — Carriekfergm. 

" The impeachment of Lord Melville was amcog 
the first measures of the new (Whig) Govenunent- 
and personal affection and gratitude graced as well 
as heightened the zeal with which Scott watched 
the issue of this, in his eyes, vindictive proceeding 
but, though the ex-minister's ultimate acquittal 
was, as to all the charges involving his personal 
honor, complete, it must now be allowed that the 
investigation brought out many circimastances by 
no means creditable to his discretion ; and the re- 
joicings of his friends ought not, therefore, to have 
been scornfully jubilant. Such they were, how- 
ever — at least in Edinburgh ; and Scott took hia 
share in them by inditing a song, which was sung 
by James Ballantyne, and received with clamorous 
applauses, at a pubhc dinner given in honor of the 
event, on the 27th of June, 1806." — Life, vol ii. p 
322, 



Since here we are set in array round the table. 
Five hundred good fellows well met in a hall, 
Come listen, brave boys, and I'U sing as I'm able 
How innocence triumph'd and pride got a fall 

But push round the claret — 

Come, stewards, don't spare it — 
With rapture you'U drink to the toast that I give 

Here, boys. 

Off with it merrily — 
Melville for ever, and long may he live 1 

What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing, 

Pitt banish'd RebeUion, gave Treason a string ! 

Why, they swore on their honor, for Akthub 

O'Connor, 

And fought hard for Despaed against oountry 

and king. 

WeU, then, we knew, boys, 
Pitt and Melville were true boys, 
And the tempest was raised by the friends oi 
Reform. 
Ah, woe! 

Weep to his memoi y , 
Low lies the pilot that weather'd the storm 1 

And pray, don't you mind when the Blaes ferst 
were raising. 
And we scarcely could think the house safe o'ei 
our heads ? 

I Published on a broadside, aod reprinted in th« Life •! 
Scott, 1837. * 



838 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



When villains and coxcombs, French politics 
praising, [beds ? 

Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our 
Our hearts they grew bolder 
When, musket on shoulder, 
Stepp'd forth oiu" old Statesmen example to give. 
Come, boys, never fear. 
Drink the Blue grenadier — 
Here's to old Hakry, and long may he live 1 

They would turn us adrift ; though rely, sir upon 
it— 
Om- own faithful chronicles warrant us that 
The free mountaiaeer and his bonny blue bonnet 
Have oft gone as far as the regular's hat. 
We laugh at their taunting. 
For all we are wanting 
Is license our hfe for our country to give. 
Off with it men-ily, 
Horse, foot and artillery, 
Each foyal Volunteer, long may he live 1 

'Tis not us alone, boys — the Army and Navy 

Have each got a slap 'mid their pohtic pranks ; 
CoRNWALLis cashier'd, that watch'd winters to 
save ye. 
And the Cape call'd a bauble, imworthy of thanks. 
But vain is their taimt, 
No soldier shall want 
The thanks that his coimtry to valor can give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink it off merrily,— 
Sia David and Popham, and long may they live 1 

And then our revenue — Lord knows how they 
view'd it. 
While each petty statesman talFd lofty and big ; 
But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whitbread had 
brew'd it. 
And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig. 
In vain is their vaimting. 
Too surely there's wanting 
Wh&t judgment, experience, and steadiness give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink about merrily, — 
Dsalfch to sage Melville, and long may he live ! 

Oar King, too — our Princess — I dare not say more, 

fir, — 
May Providence watch them with mercy and 

might 1 
VVTiile there's one Scottish hand that can wag a 

claymore, sir, 

• The Magistrates of Edinburgh had rejected an application 
IBf illumination of the town, on the arrival of the news of 
Lord Melville's acquittal. 

* Fint pDbIi||ied in the cctitinnation of Strutit's Q,aeenhoo- 



They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up ftf 
their right. 

Be damn'd he that dare not,— 
For my part, I'U spare not 
To beauty afflicted a tribute to give : 
Fill it up steadily. 
Drink it off readily — 
Here's to the Princess, and long may she live I 

And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glory, 
And make her brown visage as Light as hei 
heart ;' 
Tin each man Ulumine his own upper story. 
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to part 
In Grenville and Spencer, 
And some few good men, sir. 
High talents we honor, shght difference forgive , 
But the Brewer we'll hoax, 
Tallyho to the Fox, 
And drink Melville for ever, as long as we live T 



J^untfnjj Sonfl. 



1808. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

On the mountain dawns the day, 

AU the jolly chase is here. 

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spt^ar ! 

Hounds are in their couples yelling, 

Hawks are wliistUng, horns are Jmelling, 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : 

And foresters have busy been, 

To track the buck in thicket green ; 

Now we come to chant our lay, 

" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the green-wood haste away , 
We can show you where he hes, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made, 
Wlien 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

hall, 1808, inserted in the Edinburgh Annual Register cf th* 
same year, and set to a Welsh air in Thomson's Select Mel^ 
dies, vol. ill. 1817. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



639 



Louder, louder chant the lay 

Waken, lords and ladies gay 

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stem huntsman 1 who can bauJk, 

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; 

ITiink of this, and rise with day, 

Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



15 IMTTATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. 



1808. 



My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

Though bootless be the theme ; 
I loved, and was beloved again, 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For, as her love was quickly got, 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more I'll bask in flame so hot, 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Wot maid more bright than maid was e'er 

My fancy shall beguile, 
By flattering word, or feigned tear. 

By gesture, look, or snule : 
No more I'U call the shaft fair shot. 

Till it has fairly flown, 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ; — 

I'll rather freeze alone. 

Each ambush'd Cupid FU defy, 

In cheek, or chin, or brow, 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow : 
ril lightly hold the lady's heart. 

That is but lightly won ; 
ril steel my breast to beauty's art, 

And learn to live alone. 

The flaunting torch soon blazes out, 

The diamond's ray abides ; 
rhe flame its glory hurls about, 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine. 

And glow'd a diamond stone. 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I'll darkling dwell alone. 

> Published anonymously in the Edinburgh Annual Regis- 
ter of 1808. Writing to his brother Thomas, the author says, 

• The Resolve is mine ; and it is not — or, to be less enigmati- 
«i, it is an old fragment, which I coopered up into its present 

.ate "With the purpose of quizzing certain judges of poetry, 
vno have been extremely delighted, and declare that no living 



No waking dream shall tinge my thought 
With dyes so bright and vain, 

No silken net, so slightly wrought. 
Shall tangle me again : 

No more I'U pay so dear for wit, 
I'U Uve upon mine own, 

Nor shaU wild passion trouble it,— 

. I'U rather dweU alone. 

And thus I'U hush my heart to rest,*— 

" Thy loving labor's lost ; 
Thou shalt no more be wildly bleat, 

To be so strangely crost ; 
The widoVd turtles mateless die, 

The phoenix is but one ; 
They seek no loves — no more wUl I— 

I'll rather dweU alone." 



DESIGNED FOE A MONUMENT 

IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACB 0» 

THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD. 

Amid these aisles, where once his precepts show'd 
The Heavenward pathway which in Ufe he trod, 
This simple tablet marks a Father's bier, 
And those he loved in Ufe, in death are near , 
For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise, 
Memorial of domestic charities. .[spread. 

StiU wouldst thou know why o'er the marble 
In female grace the wiUow droops her head; 
Why on her branches, eUent and unstrung. 
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; 
What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust 

TiU waked to join the chorus of the just, 

Lo 1 one brief line an answer sad suppUes, 
Honor'd, beloved, and mourn' d, here Seward liea 
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship aay 
Go seek her genius in her Uving lay. 



TO MISS BAILLIe's PLAY OF THE FAMILY LK6ENB.' 



1809, 



'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigli. 
Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die 

poet could write in the same exquisite taste." — Life »/ Scott 
vol. iii. p. 330. « Edinburgh Annual Register, 18U9. 

3 Miss Baillie's Family Legend was produced with consid- 
erable success on the Edinburgh stage in the winter of 1809-lU 
This prologue was spoken on that occasion by he Author 
friend, Mr. Daniel Terry. 



640 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKrf. 



Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, 
We list the legends of our native land, 
Link'd as they come with every tender tie, 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, 
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. 
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil, 
Or till Acadia's' winter-fetter'd soil. 
He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, 
And, as he hears, what dear Ulusions rise 1 
It opens on his soul his native dell, 
The woods wUd waving, and the water's swell ; 
Tradition's theme, the tower that tlireats the plain, 
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; 
The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told. 
By gray hair'd patriarch, the tales of old. 
The infant group, that hush'd their sports the 

while. 
And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile. 
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, 
And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind ? 
Oh no ! Foir She, within whose mighty page 
Esch tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, 
Has felt the wizard mfluence they inspire, 
And to your own traditions timed lier lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has raised the sail 
By MuU's dark coast, has heard tliis evening's tale. 
The plaitled boatman, resting on his oar. 
Points to the fatnl rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night 
Our humble stage thall offer to your sight ; 
Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
Ihe filial token of a Daughter's love. 



WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF CRABBE, AND PUBLISHED 
IN THE EDINBURGH ANNUAL REGISTER OF 1809." 

Welcome, grave Stranger to our green retreats. 
Where health with exercise and freedom meets I 
Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosopliic plan 
By nature's lim.t« metes the rights of man ; 
Generous as he. who now for freedom bawls. 
Now gives full ' alue for true Indian shawls : 
O't court, o'er rastomhouse, his shoe who flings, 

> Aoaiia, or Nova Scotia. 



Now bilks excisemen, and now bulliej kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind : 
Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees, 
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheew 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe. 
Our buckskinn'd justices expoimd the law. 
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain. 
And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; 
And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke 
The kist light fetter of the feudal yoke. 
To give the denizens of wood and wUd, 
Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. 
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair London i 

race, 
Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase, 
And long'd to send them forth as free as when 
Pour'd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train, 
When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, 
And scarce the field-pieces were left behind I 
A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismay'd 
On every covey fired a bold brigade ; 
La Bonce Humanite approved the sport. 
For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt 
Shouts patriotic solemnized the day. 
And Seine re-echo'd Vive la Liberte 1 
But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again. 
With some few added links resumes his chain. 
Then, since such scenes to France no more ar« 

kn^wn, 
Come, view with me a hero of thine own ! 
One, whose free actions vindicate the cause 
Of silvan liberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'er 
tops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse, 
Leaving between deserted isles of land, 
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand • 
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen, 
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green. 
Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep. 
Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dingle deep 
Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trii), — 
In earthly mire philosophy may shp. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream. 
Till, guided by the cliarcoal's smothering steam, 
We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
Of hovel forra'd for poorest of the poor ; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receiver, 
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say. 
Rise in the progress of one night and day 
(Though placed where stiU the Conqueror's hestJi 

o'erawe, 
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law), 

» See Life of Scott vol. lii. p. 329. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



d41 



The builder claims the unenviable boon, 
To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon 
As -wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore 
On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.' 

Approach, and through the unlatticed window 

peep — 
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; 
Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun 
5toop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate 

hand, 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside liim stand ; 
While round the hut are in disorder laid 
ITie tools and booty of his lawless trade ; 
For force or fraud, resistance or escape, 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. 
His pilfer'd |>owder in yon nook he hoards. 
And the tilch'd lead the church's roof affords — 
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret. 
That while his sermon's diy his walls are wet.) 
The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping net are there. 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of*hare, 
Cordage f'^r toils, and wiring for the snare. 
Barter'd for game fiom chase or warren won. 
Yon cask holds moonlight," run when moon was 

none ; 
ii!!iid late-snatched spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart. 
To wait the associaty higgler's evening cart. 

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest : 
WTiat scenes perturb'd are acting in liis breast I 
His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain. 
And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; 
For short and scant the breath each effort draws. 
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause. 
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretch'd, 
Flis sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch' d, 
Whil<» the tongue falters, as to utterance loth. 
Sounds if aire inijiort — watchword, thi-eat, and 

oath. 
ITiough, stujiefied by toil, and drugg'd with gin, 
The body sleep, the restless guest within 
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay 'd. — 

" Was that wild start of terror and despair, 
Those bursting eyeballs, and that wilder'd air, 
Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare ? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch, 
For grouse or partridge massacred in March ?" — 

No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe, 
There is no wicket in the gate of law 1 

1 Sneh is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending 

froatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, smng- 

jl«rB, and (leer-stealera, who infest it. In the forest courts 

presiding judge wears as a badge of office an antique Btii^ 



He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal, must imdo each bar : 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride, 
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrie: 
wide. 

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dreaa. 
Whom liruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Elaick 

Jfed, 
Was Edward Mansell once ; — the hghtest lieart, 
Tliat ever play'd on holiday his part I 
The leader he in every Christmas game, 
The harvest feast grew blither when he came. 
And liveliest on the chords the bow did glimce. 
When Edward named the tune and led the dance 
Kind was his heart, his passions quick rdu :^irong, 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his s; eg ; 
And if he loved a guri, his father swore. 
" 'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er. 
Himself had done the same some thirty years bo 
fore." 

But he whose humors spurn law's awful yoke, 
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are 

broke. 
The common dread of justice soon allies 
The clown, who robs the warren, or excise. 
With sterner felons train'd to act more dread. 
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. 
Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass. 
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, — 
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motivei 

draw, 
Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; 
Their foes, their friends, theii- rendezvous the same, 
TiU the revenue baulk' d, or pilfer'd game, 
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads 
To darker vUlany, and direr deeds. 

Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades Jong, 
And oft the owl renew'd her dismal song; 
Around the spot where erst he felt the wounii. 
Red WilUam's spectre walk'd his midnight roun<:i 
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting l(y>k. 
From the green marshes of the stagnant brcyk 
The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook 1 
The waning moon, with storm pi'esaging gler in, 
Now gave and now withheld her doubtful boara , 
The old Oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them high 
Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky — 
'Twas then, that, couch'd amid the brushwood sere 
In Malwood-walk yoimg Mansell watch'd the deer 
The fattest buck received his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard, and souglit the spot 

rup, said to have been that of William Bnfns. See Ml 
William Rose's spirited poem, entitled "The Red King." 

" To the bleak coast of sauage Labrador." — Falcon» 

3 A cant term for smuggled spirit!. 



()42 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Stout xrere their hearts, and stubborn was their 

strife, 
O'orpower'd at length the Outlaw drew his knife; 
Next morn a corpse Wiis found upon the full — 
The rest hia waking agony may tell I 



S n fl. 



f)R, say not, my love, with that mortified air. 
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, 

Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair, 
For those raptures that still are thine own. 

Though April liis temples may wreathe with the 
vine, 

Its tendrils in infancy curl'd, 
Tis the ardor of August matures us the wine, 

Whose hfe-blood enhvens the world. ' 

Though thy form, that was fashion'd as light as a 
fay's. 

Has assumed a proportion more round. 
And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's, at gaze 

Looks soberly now ou the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me again, 

Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; 
Elsough, that those dear sober glances retain 

For me the kind language of love. 



OE, 

THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 



1812. 



TwAS a Mar^chal of France, and he fain would 

honor gain, 
And he long'd to take a passing glance at Portu- 
gal from Spain ; 
With his flying guns Ijiis gallant gay, 
And boasted corps d'arm6e — 
he fear'd not our dragoons, with their long swords, 
boldly riding, 
TNTiack, fal de ral, <fec. 

To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down, 
Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sack'd the 
town, 

• This song was written shortly after the battle of Badajos 
(April, 1812), for a Yeomanry Cavalry dinner. It was first 
^nted in Mr. George Thomson's Collection of Select Melo- 
tim, and staoia io vol. \i. of the last edition of that work. 



When, 'twas peste ! raorbleu ! mon General 
Hear the English bugle-call ! 
And behold the hght dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly ridmg, 
Whack, fal de ral, <fec. 

Right about went horse and foot, artillery and all, 
And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumblec) 
tliiough the wall ;" 
They took no time to seek the door. 
But, best foot set before — 
they ran from our dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, <fec. 

Those valiant men of France they had ssarcely fled 

a mQe, 
When on their flank there sous'd at once the Brit 
ish rank and file ; 
For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then 
Ne'er minded one to ten, 
But came on like hght dragoons, with their long 
swords, boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, <fec. 

Three hundred British lads they made three thou- 
sand reel, 
Their hearts were made of English oak, their swordj 
of Sheflield steel, 
Their horses were in Yorkshire bred. 
And Beresford them led ; 
So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long swordfl. 
boldly riding. 
Whack, fal de ral, <fec. 

Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beresford, 

to Long, 
And a single word of Bonaparte before I close my 
song: 
The eagles that to figlit he brings 
Should serve his men with wings, 
Wlien they meet the bold dragoons, with t) ■« 
long swords, boldly riding, 
Wliack, fal de ral, (fee. 



t^n t|ie i^assacre of ^lencoi 



1814 



" In the beginning of the year 1692, an actior 4 
unexampled barbarity disgraced the govemuienf 

5 In their hasty evacuation of Campo Mayor, the Frencl 
pnlled down a part of the rampart, and marched ont over Un 
glacis 

8 First poDlTshed in Thomson's Select Melodies, 1814 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



64J 



rf King William III. in Scotland. In the August 
preceding, a proclamation had been issued, offering 
an indemnity to such insurgents as should take the 
oath^ to the Kin:;^ and Queen, on or before the last 
day of December ; and the chiefs of such tribes as 
bad been iu arms for James, scon after took advan- 
tage of the proclamation. But IVfacdonald of Glen- 
coe Tas prevented by accident, rather tliau by de- 
sign, from tendering his submission within the lim- 
ited time. In the end of December he went to 
Cf'lonel Jlill, who commanded the garriseti in Fort 
Wilham, to take the oaths of allegiance to the gov- 
ernment ; and the latter having fmuished him with 
a letter to Sh- Colin Campbell, sheriff of the county 
of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to 
Inverary, to make his submission in a legal manner 
before that magistrate. But the way to Inverary 
lay tlirough almost uupassable mountains, the sea- 
son was extremely rigorous, and the whole coun- 
try was dvered with a deep snow. So eager, 
however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before 
the limited time should expire, that, though the 
road lay within half a mile of his own house, he 
stopped not to visit his family, and after various 
obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had 
elapsed, and the sheriff hesitated to receive his 
submission ; but Macdonald prevailed by his im- 
portunities, and even tears, in inducing that func- 
tionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, 
and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time 
Sir John Dalrymple, afterwards Earl of Stair, being 
in attendance upon William as Secretary of State 
for Scotland, took advantage of Macdonald's neg- 
lecting to take the oath within tlie time prescribed, 
and piocuLred from the king a warrant of military 
execution against that chief and his whole clan. 
This was done at the instigation of tlie Earl of 
Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had 
plundered, and whose treachery to government in 
negotiating with the Highland clans, Macdonald 
Lin. self had exposed. The King was accordingly 
persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to 
the pacification of the Highlands ; and the fact of 
the unfortunate chief's submission having been con- 
cealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to 
mihtary execution against his clan were in conse- 
quence obtained. The warrant was both signed 
and countersigned by the King's own hand, and 
the Secretary urged the officers who commanded 
in the Higlilands to execute their orders with the 
utmost rigor. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in 
Aigyle's regiment, and two subalterns, were or- 
dered to repair to Glencoe on the first of Febru- 
ary with a hundred and twenty men. CampbeU, 
being uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was re- 
ceived by the father with all manner of friendship 
Mid hospitality. The men were lodged at free 
quarters hi the hou«es of his tenants, and received 



the kindest entertainment. Till the 13th of th« 
month the troops Uved in the utmost harmony and 
familiarity with the people ; and on the very night 
of the massacre the officers passed the evening at 
cards in Macdonald's house. In the night, Lieu- 
tenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called iu 
a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly 
admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising 
to receive his guest, was shot dead tlnough the 
back with two bullets. His wife had ah'eadv 
dressed ; but she was stripped naked by the sol 
diers, who tore the rings off her fingers with then 
teeth. Tlie slaughter now became general, and 
neither age nor infirmity was spared. Some wo- 
men, in defending their cliildren, were killed ; boys 
imploring mercy were shot dead by officers on 
whose knees they hung. In one place rune per 
pons, as thuy sat enjoying themselves at table, were 
outcliei'ed by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Camp- 
bell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by 
the soldiers, and then shot at mtervals, one by one. 
Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops ; 
and several who fled to the mountains perished by 
famine and the inclemency of the season. Those 
who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuoua 
night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had re 
ceived the charge of the execution from Dalrym- 
ple, was on liis march with four hundred men, tr 
guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe ; 
but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the 
weather, which proved the safety of the unfortu- 
nate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laic' 
the houses in ashes, and carried away the catth 
and spoil, wliich were divided among the officers 
and soldiers." — Article "Britain;" Encyc. Britan 
nicn — New Edition. 



" TELL me. Harper, wherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of waU and woe; 
Far down the desert of Glencoe, 

Where none may fist their melody ? 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, 
Or to the dun-deer glancing by, 
Or to the eagle, that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy f 

" No, not to these, for they have rest,— 
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest. 
The stag his lair, the erne her nest, 

Abode of lone security. 
But those for whom I pour the lay, 
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain-gray. 
Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, 

Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. 

" Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, 
The very household dogs were dumb. 



644 SCOTT'S POET 


IC.-.i WORKS. 


Unwout to bay at guests that come 


The Tliistle, though her leaf be rude, 


In guise of hospitality. 


Yet faith we'll no misca' that, 


His blithest notes the piper plied, 


She shelter'd in her solitude 


Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 


The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that. 


The dame her distaff flung^aside. 




To tend her kmdly housewifery. 


The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine 




(For Blucher's sak^ hiu-ra that). 


" The hand that mingled m the meal^ 


The Spanish Olive, toc, shall join. 


At midnight drew the felon steel. 


And bloom in peace for a' that" 


And gave the host's kind breast to feel 


Stout Russia s Hemp, so surely twined 


Meed for liis hospitality ! 


Around our wreath we'll draw that, 


Tho friendly hearth wliich warm'd that hand, 


And he that would the cord unbind, 


At midnight arm'd it with the brand, 


Shall have it for his gra-vat 1 


That bade destruction's flames expand 




Their red and fearful blazonry. 


Or. if to choke sae puir a sot. 




Your pity scorn to thraw that, 


" Then woman's shriek was heard in vain. 


The Devil's elbow be liis lot, 


Nor infancy's unpitied plain. 


Where he may sit and claw that. 


More than the warrior's groan, could gain 


In spite of slight, m spite of might. 


Respite from ruthless butchery ! 


In spite of brags, an' a' that. 


The winter wmd tliai whistled shrill, 


The lads that battled for the right, 


Tlie sn(<ws that night that cloked the hill, 


Have won the day, an' a' that 1 


Though wild and pitiless, had still 




Far more than Southern clemency. 


There's ae bit spot I had forgot. 




America they ca' that ! 


" Long have my harp's best notes been gone. 


A coward plot her rats had got 


Few are its strings, and faint their tone. 


Their father's flag to gnaw that : 


They can but sound in desert lone 


Now see it fly top-gallant high, 


Their gray-hair'd master's misery. 


Atlantic winds shall blaw that. 


Were each gray hair a minstrel string. 


And Yankee loon, beware your croun. 


Each chord should imprecations fling, 


Tliere's kames in hand to claw thai I 


Till startled Scotland loud should ring 




' Revenge for blood and treachery I' " 


For on the land, or on the sea. 




Where'er the breezes blaw that. 




The British Flag shall bear the grie. 
And win the day for a' that I 




^ot a' t!)at an' a' tftat.* 

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. 




Sonji, 

FOR THE ANNIVERSAET MEETING OK TB« PITT CLUB 


1814. 




Thodoh right be aft put down by strength, 


OF SCOTLAND. 


As mony a day we saw that, 
The true and leilfu' cause at length 




1814. 


Shall bear the grie for a' that. 
For a' that an' a' that. 






Guns, guillotines, and a' that. 


0, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omcQ 


rhe Flexir-d 3-hs, that lost her right, 


When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'd in 


Is queen again for a' that ! 


vain. 
And beholding broad Europe bow'd down by he? 


We'll twine her in a friendly knot 


foemen, 


"With England's Rose, and a' that ; 


Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her reign ( 


rhe Shamrock shall not be forgot, 


Not the fate of broad Europe could bend hisbrav« 


For Wellington made braw that. 


spirit 




To take for his country the safety of shame ; 


8onf at the first meeting of the Pitt Clul) of Scotland : and 


0, then in her triumph remember his merit, 


.iihed ID the Scots Magazine for July, 1S14 


And hallow the goblet that flows to his namA 



A 




GLENCOE. — Page 644. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS I'lECES. 



64; 



Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the 
furro-w, 
The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, 
He may plough it with labor, and sow it in sorrow, 
And sigli while he fears he has sow'd it in vain ; 
He may die ere his children shall reap in their 
gladness, 
But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his 
claim ; 
\iid their jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with sad- 
ness, 
While they hallow the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Though anxious and timeless liis life was expended, 

In toils for our country preserved by his care. 
Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations as- 
cended. 

To light the long darkness of doubt and despair ; 
The storms he endiu-ed in our Britain's December, 

The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame, 
In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain remember, 

And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. 

Nor forget His gray head,who, all dark in affliction, 

Is deaf to the tale of our victories won, 
And to sounds the most dear to paternal aS^ection, 

The shout of his people applauding his Son ; 
By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster, 

By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim ; 
With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his 
Master, 

Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his 
name. 

Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad 
measure. 
The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid. 
To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright 
treasure, 
The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that 
obey'd ; 
Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like his glory. 
Forget not our own brave Dalhousie and 

GRiBME ; 

A thousand years hence hearts shall boimd at their 
Btjry, 
And hailow the goblet that flows to their fame. 

I " On the 30th of Jnly, 1814, Mr. Hamilton,* Mr. Erskine.f 
tnd Mr. Duff,:^ Commissioners, along with Mr. (now Sir) Wal- 
ter Scott, and the writer, visited the Lighthouse ; the Com- 
missioners being then on one of their voyages of Inspection, 
noticed in the Introduction. JTliey breakfasted in the Library, 
when Sir Walter, at the entreaty of the jiarty, Uj'on inscribing 
his name in the Album, added these interesting lines." — Stb- 
VB>snN's Jiccount of the Bell-Rock IJghthouse, 1824. 
Pcoit's Diary of the Voyage is now published in the 4th volume 
*f his Life. 

' These lines were written in the Album, kept at the Sound 
W Ulva Inn in the month of August, 1814. 



^i)aros Uoquftuv.' 

Fae in the bosom of the deep. 

O'er these wide shelves my watch 1 keep ■ 

A ruddy gem of changeful light. 

Bound on the dusky brow of night, 

Tlie seaman bids my lustre hail, 

And scorns to strike his timorous saiL 



a f n *J ,' 



ADDRESSED TO BANALD MAODONALD, ESQ., OF STAFF .i 



1814. 



Staff A, sprung from high Macdonald, 
Worthy branch of old Clan- Ranald I 
Staffa ! king of all kind fellows ! 
Well befall thy hills and valleys, 
Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallowa— 
Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder. 
Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; 
Moimtaius which the gray rai^ covers. 
Where the Chieftain spirit hovers. 
Pausing while his pinions quiver, 
Stretch'd to quit our land for ever ! 
Each kind influence reign above thee 
Warmer heart, 'twixt this and Staffa 
Beats not, than in heart of Staffa 1 



Jletter fn Uetse 

ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COMMISSIONEKS OK 
NORTHERN LIGHTS. 

" Of the letters which Scott wrote to his frienda 
dm-ing those happy six weeks, I have recovered 
only one, and it is, thanks to the leisure of th? 
yacht, in verse. The strong and easy heroics of 
the first section prove, I think, that Mr. Canning 
did not err when he told liim that if he chose be 
might emulate even Dryden's command of that 

s Afterwards Sir Reginald Macdonald Stewart Seton otf 
Staffa, Allauton, and Touch, Baronet. He died 16th ApriJ 
1838, in his 61st year. The reader will find a warm tribute tq 
Staffa's character as a Highland landlord, in Scott's article oa 
Sir John Carr's Caledonian Sketches. — Miscellantous Pruai 
Works, vol. xix. 



• The late Robert Hamilton, Esq., Advocate, long Sheriff-Depute fli 
Lanarkhsire, and afterwards one of the Priucipal Clerks of Seaaioo in Scot- 
land—died ill 1831. 

t Afterwards Lord Kinneder, 

] The late Adam Dtiff, Esq., Sheriff- Deputs of the count; of Edinbarfk. 



;4G 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Qoble 1 leasure ; and the dancing anapaests of the 
4(icond, show that he could with equal facility 
have rivalled the gay graces of Cotton, Anstey, or 
Moore." — Lockhakt, Life, vol. iv. p. 372. 



lO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 
ttc. dec. &c. 

Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick, 
Zetland, 8lh August, 1814. 

He.\i.th to the cliieftain from his clansman true 1 
From her true minstrel, health to fair Buccleuch 1 
Hcaltli from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves 
Fler cliaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves ; 
Where late the sun scarce vanish'd from the sight, 
And his oright pathway graced the short-lived 

night, 
Thougli thirker now as autumn's shades extend, 
The north wnids whistle and the mists ascend ! 
Health from the land where edtlying whirlwinds 

toss 
Tlie storm-rock'd cradle of the Cape of Noss ; 
On outstretch'd cords the giddy tnigine shdes, 
His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, 
And he that lists such desperate feat to try, 
May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky. 
And feel the mid-au- gales around him blow, 
And see the billows rage five hundred feet below. 

Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore. 
The hardy islesman tugs the daring oar, 
Praci ised alike his venturous course to keep. 
Through the white breakers or the pathless deep. 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves. 
What conifcrt greets him, and what hut f eceives ? 
Lady 1 the worst your presence ere has cheer'd 
(When want and sorrow fled as you appear'd) 
Were to a Zetlander as the liigh dome 
Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. 
Here rise no grf)ve8, and here no gardens blow. 
Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; 
But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm array'd, 
Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, 
With many a cavern seam'd, the dreary haimt 
t^f the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
Wila round their rifted brows, with frequent cry 
As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly, 
And from their sable base, with sullen soimd, 
\n sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound. 

Tet <!ven these coasts a touch of envy gain 
From those whose land has known oppression's 

cliain ; 
■"'•r here the industrious Dutchman comes once 

morn 



To moor liis fishing-craft by Bressay's shore . 
Greets every former mate r.nd brother lar, 
Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war. 
Tells many a tale of Galhc outrage done, 
And ends by blessing God and Welhngton. 
Here too the Greerdand tar, a fiercer guest, 
Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; 
Proves each wild frohc that m wine has birth, 
And wakes the laud with brawls and boislerout 

mirth. 
A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow 
The captive Norseman sits in silent woe, 
And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. 
Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway 
His destined course, and seize so mean a prey; 
A bark with planks so warp'd and seams so rivea 
She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven 
Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none 
Can hst his speech, and miderstand his moaii ; 
In vain — no Islesman now can use the tongue 
Of the bold Norse, from whom their li»jwa*<» 

sprmig. 
Not thus of old the Norsemen hither capue. 
Won by the love of danger or of fame ; 
On every storm-beat cape a shapeless towe. 
Tells of their wars, their conquests, and theu 

power ; 
For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian land. 
Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand ; 
A race severe — the isle and ocean lords. 
Loved for its own delight the strife of swords ; 
With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied, 
And blest then- gods that they in battle dierl 

Such were the sires of Zetland s simple race, 
And still the eye may faint resemblance trace 
In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair. 
The limbs atldetic, and the long light hair — 
(Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sings, 
Of fair-hair'd Harold, first of Norway's Kings) ; 
But their high deeds to scale these crags confined 
Their only warfare is with waves Jiid wind. 

WTiy should I talk of Mousa's castled coast ? 
Wliy of the horrors of the Sumburgh Host ? 
May not these bald disjointed lines suflice, 
Penu'd while my comrades whirl the rattling 

dice — 
Wliile down the cabin skylight lessening shine 
The rays, and' eve is chased with mirth and wine I 
Imagined, while down Mousa's desert day 
Our well-trimm'd vessel urged her nimble way, 
Wliile to the freshening breeze she lean'd her side 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide ? 

Such are the lays that Zetland Isles supply 
Drench'd with the drizzly spray and dropping sfcy 
Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. W. Scon 



LYKiCAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



641 



POSTSCEIPTUM. 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. 

In lespect that your Grace has commission'd a 
Kraken, 
You will please be mform'd that they seldom are 

taken ; 
It 13 January two years, the Zetland folks say, 
Binc' they saw the last Kraken hi Scalloway bay ; 
[le lay m the offing a fortnight or more, 
Bui the deril a Zttlander put from the shore, 
Though bold in the seas of the North to assail 
The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and 

whale. 
[f your Grace thuiks I'm writing the thing that is 

not. 
You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott — 
(He's not from our clan, though his merits de- 
serve it, 
But springs, I'm iuform'd, from the Scotts of Scot- 

starvet) ;' 
lie question'd the folks who beheld it with eyes, 
But they differ'd confoundedly as to its size. 
For instance, the modest and diffident swore 
That it seem'd like the keel of a ship, and no 

more — • 
Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more 

higli. 
Said it rose lilc an island 'twixt ocean and sky — 
But all of the hulk had a steady opinion 
That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's do- 

mmion — 
And I tliink, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly 

would wish, 
To cumber yom" house, such a kettle of fish. 
Had yom- order related to night-caps or hose. 
Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty of those. 
Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? 
And direct me to send it — by sea or by mail ? 
The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but still 
I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. 
Ina^ed, as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty, 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty. 
Pursued by seven Orkneymen's boats and no more, 
Betwii't Truffness and Lulfness were drawn on the 

shore ! 
Y^rA. ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; 
I OMv that I did not, but easily migh*^ — 
For tliis mighty shoal of leviathans lay 
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay, 
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil, 
hxid fiinching (so tenn it) the blubber to boil; 
(Ye sphits of lavender, drown the reflection 
That a'W'akes at the thoughts of this odorous dis- 
section). 

' The Scotts of Scotstarvet, and other families of the name 
« Fife and elsewhere, tlaim no kindred with the great clan 
tf tl« Boriai', — and thei armorial bearings are diflereot 



To see this huge marvel full fain would we go. 
But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. 
We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I musi 

stai'e 
When I think that in verse I have once call'd i\ 

fair ; 
'Tis a base httle borough, both dirty and mean — 
There is notliing to hear, and there's naught to b< 

seen, 
Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate lia 

rangued. 
And a palace that's built by an earl that wai 

hang'd. 
But, farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are going, 
The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes are blowing 
Om- commodore calls all his band to their places, 
And 'tis time to release you — good ni^ht to youi 

Graces ! 



bcrecs from iUaocrleg. 



1814. 



" The following song, which has been since bor 
rowed by the worshipful author of the famoug 
' History of Fryar Bacon,' has been with difficulty 
deciphered. It seems to have been sung on occa 
sion of carrying home the bride." 

(1.)— BRIDAL SONG. 
To the tune of " I have been a Fiddler," Si-e. 

And did ye not hear of a mirth befell 
The morrow after a wedding day, 

And carrying a bride at home to dwell ? 
And away to Tewin, away, away I 

The quintain was set, and the garlanda were 
made, 

'Tis pity old customs should ever decay. 
And woe be to him that was horsed on a jade, 

For he carried no credit away, away 

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ; 

We set them a cockhorse, and made then 
play 
The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-frees, 

And away to Tewin, away, away \ 

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish 
That would go to the plough that day ; 

But on his fore-horse his wench he carriea, 
And away to Tewm, away away ! 



as 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The bulkr was quick, and the ale he did tap, 
The maidens did make the chamber full gay ; 

The servants did give me a fuddling cup, 
And I did carry't away, away. 

The smith of the town liis liquor so took, 

That he was persuaded that the ground look'd 
blue ; 

And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, 
Sucli smiths as he there's but a few. 

A posset was made, and the women did sip. 
And simpering said, they could eat no more ; 

Full man^ a maiden was laid on the Up, — 
I'll say no more, but give o'er (give o'er). 

Appendix to the General Preface. 



(2.)— WAVERLEY. 

" On receiving intellijirence of his commission as 
captain of a troop of horse in Colonel Gardiner's 
regiment, liis tutor, Mr. Pembroke, picked up about 
Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse, 
which he appeared to have composed under the 
|ufl..ence of the agitating feelings occasioned by 
thir sudden page being turned up to him in the 
book of Ufe." 

Late, when the autimin evening fell 
On Mu-kwood-Mere's romantic dell. 
The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam, 
The purple cloud, the golden beam : 
Reflected in the crystal pool. 
Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; 
The weather-tinted rock and tower, 
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, 
So true, so soft, the mirror gave. 
As if there lay beneath the wave, 
Secme from trouble, toil, and care, 
A world than earthly world more fair. 

But distant winds began to wake, 
An<l roused the Genius of the Lake 1 
He lieard the groaning of the oak, 
And donn'd at once his sable cloak, 
As wxrrior, at the battle cry, 
Invests him with his panoply : 
fThen, as the whirlwind nearer press'd, 
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest 
O'ei furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek, 
AuQ bade his surge in thunder speak. 
In wild and broken eddies whirl'd, 
Flitt 3d that fond ideal world ; 
Ani. to the shore in tumult tost. 
The realms of fsiiry bliss were lost. 



Yet, with a stern delight and strange, 
I saw the s])irit-8tirring change. 
Aa warr'd the wind with wave and wood. 
Upon the ruin'd tower I stood. 
And felt my heart more strongly bound. 
Responsive to the lofty sound, 
Wliile, joying in the mighty roar, 
I mourn'd that tranquil scene no m.yT*>. 

So, on the idle dreams of youth 
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth. 
Bids each fair vision pass away, 
Like landscape on the lake that lay 
As fiiir, as flitting, and as frail, 
As that which fled the autumn gale — 
For ever dead to fancy's eye 
Be each gay form that glided by, 
While dreams of love and lady's charms 
Give place to honor and to aims ! 

Chap, y 



(3.)— DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG. 

" He (Daft Davie Gellatley) sung with grea' 
earnestness, and not without some taste, a fra^r 
ment of an old Scotch ditty :" 

False love, and hast thou play'd me this 

In summer among the flowers ? 
I will repay thee back again 

In winter among the showers. 
Unless again, again, my love. 

Unless you turn again ; 
As you with other maidens rove, 

rU smile on other men. 

" This is a genuine ancient fragment, with 8om« 
alteration in the last two lines." 



" The questioned party replied — ami, Iik« 

the witch of Thalaba, ' still his speech was sot^; * 

The Knight's to the mountain 

His bugle to wind ; 
The Lady's to greenwood 

Her garland to bind. 
The bower of Burd Ellen 

Has moss on the floor, 
Tliat the step of Lord William 

Be silent and sure. 

Chap IX. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



649 



(4.)— SCENE 

IN LUCKIE MAOLKABY's TAVKEM. 

' Tn the middle of this din, tho Baron repnatodly 
tia[)lored,t(Uonce ; and when at hinii;th tho instinct 
of polito discipHno so far prcvailod, that for a nio- 
oiont he obtained it, lie hastenoil to beseech their 
»Uentiou ' unto u military arietto, which was a 
particular favorite of tho Mar6chal Due de Ber- 
wick ;' then, imitating, as well as he could, the 
maiuif r and tone of a French musquetairo, ho un- 
aiediai4>l4' commenced," 

Mon coeur volapje, dit-ollo, 
N'est pas pour vouh, gar^on, 

Est pour un homme de guerre, 
Qui a bar be au menton. 

Lon, Lon, Laridoa 

Qui porta cha[)oau a plume, 

Soulier a rouge talon. 
Qui joue de la flute, 

Aussl de violon. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 

•• Balmawhapplo could hold no longer, but break 
in with what ho called a d — d good song, com- 
posed by Gibby Oaethrowit, the I'iper of Cupar; 
Hnd, without wastirg more time, struck up — " 

It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed. 
And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, 
And mony a weary cast [ made, 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail 

If up a bonny black-cock should spring. 
To whistle liim down wi' a slug in his wing, 
And strap him on to my lunzie string, 



Right seldom would I fail 



Chap. xL 



(6.)— "HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY." 

" The stamping of horses was now heard in the 
lourt, and Davio Gellatley's voice singing to tho 
hpo large deer greyhounds," 

Hie away, hie away, 
Over bank and over brae, 
Wliere the copaewood is the greenest, 
Wh(!re the fountains glisten iiheenest, 
Where tho lady-fern grows strongest, 
Where tho morning dew lies longest, 
Where the black-cock sweetest sips it, 
Where th 5 fairy lutest trips it : 



Hie to haunts right seldom seen. 
Lovely, lonesome, cool, and groun, 
Over bank and over brae. 
Hie away, liie away. 

Chap. xii. 



(6.)— ST. swrmiN's chair. 

"The view of the old tower, or fortalioe, intro 
duced Some family anecdotes and tiilcs of Scottish 
chivahy, wliich the Baron told with great enthu- 
Biawm. Tho ])rojecting peak of an impending crag, 
which rose near it, had acquired the name of St 
Swithin's Chair. It was the scene of a peculiar 
superstition, of which Mr. Kubrick mcfitioned some 
curious particulars, which reminded Waverley of n 
rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear ; and Rose 
was called upon to sing a little legend, in which 
they had been interwoven by some villagt; poet, 

Who, iiotL-I(-iiH UH tho rituu from which hn nprung, 
Saveil otliora' namoa, but left hia own unfiuiig. 

"The sweetness of her voice, and the simple 
beiiuty of her music, gave all the ad vuntiii^-e which 
the minstnd could have desired, and which hm 
poetry so nmch wanted." 

On Ilallow-Mass Eie, ere you boune ye to rest 
Ever beware that y< iir couch be bhjss'd ; 
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead. 
Sing tho Ave, and say the Creed. 

For on Hallow-Mass Eve tho Night-Hag wil' 

ride. 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her aide. 
Whether the wind sing h>wly or loud. 
Sailing through moonshine or swath'd in the 

cloud. 

Hie Lady she sate in St. Swithin's Chair, 
Tlie dew of the night has damj)'d her hair : 
Her cheek was pale — but resolved and high 
Was the word of her lip and tho glimce of h« 
eye. 

She mutter'd the spell of Switliin bold, 
When liis naked fo(jt traced the midniglit w Id, 
When he siopp'd tlie Hag as she rode the night 
And bade her descend, and her promise uliylit 

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, 
Wlien the Night-Hag wings the troubled air, 
Questions three, when he h[)eaks tho spell. 
He may ask, and she must toil 



\5U 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tlie Baron has been wi^h K"ing Robert his 

lieafe, 
These three long years in battle and siege ; 
News are there none of liis weal or hia woe, 
And fain the Lady Ma fate would know. 

She sliudders and stops as the charm she 

speaks ; — 
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? 
Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, 
The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? 

The moan of the wind sunk sUent and low, 
And the roaring torrent hud ceased to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadful than raging 

storm, 
Wb<Mi the cold gray mist brought the ghastly 

form 1 

• *••«« 

C/iap. xiii 



(7.)— DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG. 

" The next day Edward arose betimes, and in a 
morning walk around the house and its vicinity, 
came suddenly upon a small court in front of the 
ilog-kemiel, where his friend Davie was employed 
about his foiu'-footed charge. One quick glance 
of his eye recognized Waverley, when, instantly 
tmiiing his back, as if he had not observed him, 
he began to sing part of an old ballad." 

Young men will love thee more fair and more 
fast ; 

Heard ye so merry tlie little bird sing ? 
Old men's love the longest will last. 

And the throstle-cock' t liead is under his wing. 

The young man's wrath is like light straw on 
fire; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing f 
But Uke red-hot steel is the old man's ire, 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

T\» young man will brawl at the evening board ; 

Htard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
but the old man will draw at the dawning the 
swcrd, 

And tfie throstle-ooci^s head is under his wing. 

[This song haa allusion to the Baron of Braid- 
wardine's personal encounter with Balmawhapple 
early next morning, after the evening quarrel be- 
twixt the latter and Waverley.] 

Chap. xiv. 



(8.)— JANET GELLATLEY'S ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

" This anecdote led into a long discussion o^" 

All those idle thoughts and phantasies, 

Devices, dreams, opinions unsound. 
Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies. 
And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lie* 

Chap. xiii. 



(9.)— FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG. 

" Flora had exchanged the measured and mo 
notonous recitative of the bard for a lofty and 
uncommon Highland air, which had been a battle 
song in former ages. A few irregular strains in 
troduced a prelude of wild and peculiar tone, 
which harmonized well with the distant water- 
fall, and the soft eigh of the evening breeze io 
the rustling leaves of an aspen which overhung 
the seat of the fair harpress. The following verses 
convey but little idea of the feelings with which, 
so sung and accompanied, they were heard 1 / 
Waverley :" 

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the 

vale. 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael, 
A stranger commanded — it sunk on the land. 
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every 

hand t 

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, 
The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust ; 
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear. 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires if our bards should re- 
hearse. 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! 
Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone. 
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are 

past. 
The mom on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays. 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright vx th« 

blaze. 

high-mmded Moray I — the exiled • Ihe dear \— 
In the blush of the dawning the Stasdaed uprear 
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly, 
Like the sun's latest flash when the ten:i>e9t w 
nigh I 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



651 



Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall 

break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? 
That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye, 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or 

die. 

8j)riii%- from the Kings who in Italy kept state, 
f*roud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengaiy, and Sleat 1 
OciDibine like thjf:e streams from one mountain, of 

snow, 
AjmI reaistless in union rush down on the foe I 

Frue son of Sir Evan ndaunted Locliiel, 

Place thy targe on th^ shouldei and burnish thy 

steel ! 
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold 

swell. 
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell 1 

Stem son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the 

gale ! 
May the race of Clan-GUlian, the fearless and free. 
Remember Glenhvat, Haiiaw, and Dundee 1 

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose oflfspring has 

given 
Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven. 
Unite with the race of renown'd Rorri More, 
To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar I 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall 

display 
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of gray ! 
How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd 

Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe 1 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild 

boar. 
Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More 1 
Mac-Mel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, 
For honor fi.: freedom, for vengeance awake 1 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake. 
Grave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the 

lake 1 
Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 
Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the 

halL 

Tis the simimons of heroes for conquest or death. 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and 

heath ; 
Fhey caU to the dirk, tlie claymore, and the targe, 
Fo the march and the muster, the line and the 

charge. 



Be the brand of each chieftain like Fm's in hii 

ire ! 
May the blood through his veins flow like current! 

of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did a'. 

yore 1 
Or die, Ime your sires, and endiu-e it no morn I 

" As Flora concluded her song, Fergms stood bt 
fore them, and immediately commenced with , 
theatrical aii," 

Lady of the desert, hail ! 
That lovest the harping of the 3ael, 
Through fair and fertile regions borne. 
Where never yet grew grass or corr., 

"But English poetry will never succeed imdei 
the influence of a Highland Helicon — Allons. 
courage" — * 

vous, qui buvez h. tasse pleine, 

A cette heureuse fontaine, 
Oil on ne voit sur le rivage 

Que quelques vilains troupeaux, 
Suivis de nymphes de vUlage, 

Qui les escortent sans sabots 



C"mm» xxu. 



(10.>— LINES ON CAPTADf WOGAN. 

"The letter from the Chief contained Flora's 
lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose enter- 
prising character is so well drawn by Clarendon 
He had originally engaged in the service of thf 
Parliament, but had abjured that pai-ty upon th« 
execution of Charles I.; and upon hearing that 
the royal standard was set up by the Earl ot 
Glencairn and General Middleton in the High- 
lands of Scotland, took leave of Charles II., who 
was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled 
a body of cavaUers in the neighborhood of Lon- 
don, and traversed the kingdom, which had oeeo 
so long under domination of the '."isxn"per \^ 
marches conducted with such skiU, dexterity, and 
spirit, that he safely united his handful of horse- 
men with the body of Highlanders then in arms. 
After several months of desultory warfare, in 
which Wogan's skill and courage gained him the 
highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be 
wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical 
assistance being within reach, he terminated hii 
short but glorious career." 

The Verses were inscribed. 



362 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



TO AN OAK TREE, 



If THE CHUECHTAED OF 



, IN THE HIGHLANDS 

Cr SCOTLAND, BAID TO MABK THE GRAVE OF CAP- 
TAIN WOQAN, KILLED IN 1649. 

Emblem of England's ancient faith, 
Full proudly may thy branches wave, 

Where loyalty lies low in death, 
And valor fills a timeless grave. 

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb I 

Repine not if our clime deny. 
Above thine honor'd sod to bloom, 

The flowrets of a milder sky. 

These owe theii birth to genial May ; 

Beneath a fiercer sim they pine. 
Before the winter storm decay — 

And can their worth be type of thine ! 

No ! for, 'mid.storms of Fate opposing, 
StiU higher swell'd thy dauntless heart. 

And, while Despair the scene was closing, 
Conmienced thy brief but brilliant part. 

'Twas then thou sought'st on Albyn's hiU 
(When England's sons the strife resign'd), 

A rugged race resisting still, 

And unsubdued though unrefined. 

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail. 

No holy knell thy requiem rung ; 
Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, 

Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. 

Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine 
To waste life's longest term away. 

Would change that glorious dawn of tliine, 
Though darken'd ere its noontide day ? 

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs 
Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom I 

Rome bound with oak her patriots' brows. 
As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb. 

Chap, yyiy 



(11.)— "FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME." 

• * Who are dead V said Waverley, forgetting 
the incapacity of Davie to hold any connected dis- 
•ourse. 

"Baron — and Baillie — and Sanders Sanderson 
—and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet — A' dead 
Ad gane— dead and gane (said Davie) — 



But follow, follow me. 

While glow-worms Ught the lea, 

I'll show ye where the dead should be — 

Each in his shroud, 

While vmids pipe loud. 

And the red moon peeps dim through the dou<i 

Follow, follow me ; 
Brave should he be 

That treads by the night the dead man's lea." 

Chap. W\\\, 



2r!)e ^utlior of TOaberUj. 

[" I AM not able to give the exact date of th« 
following reply to one of John Ballantyne's expos- 
tulations on the subject of the secret." — Life, vol 
iv. p. 179.] 

" No, John, I will not own the book-^ 
I won't, you Piccaroon. 
When next I try St. Grubby's brook, 
The A. of Wa — shall bait the hook— 

And flat-fish bite as soon. 
As if before them they had got 
The worn-out wriggler 

Walter Scmr." 



JFaretDcIl to i^lacftenffe. 

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. 

FROM THE GAELIC. 



1815.— ^T. 44. 



The original verses are arranged to a beautiful 
Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the 
double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which 
is therefore distinct from the orui7iary jorratns, 
or boat-songs. They were composed by the Fam- 
ily Bard upon the departure of t,he Earl of Sea- 
forth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, 
after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in 
favor of tfie Stuart family, i;i the year 1718. 



Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the Noi tb 
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth , 
To the Chieftain this morning liis course who begaa 
Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan 
For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail. 
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail t 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS FIECES. 



05C 



swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, 
May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, 
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil, 
Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean 

should boil : 
On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his bonail,* 
And farewt U to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail 1 

\ wake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale ! 
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his sail ; 
Be prolong'd as regret, that liis vassals must know. 
Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their woe : 
Be 90 soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale, 
Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chiei of Kintail I 

Be Ills pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, 
To measure the seas and to study the skies : 
May he hoist all his canvas from streamer to deck, 
But 1 crowd it higher when wafting him back — 
TiU the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale, 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail I 



IMITATION OF THE PRECEDING SONG* 

So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart. 
When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. 
Now mute on thy mountains, Albyn, are heard 
Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter 

gale, 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

From the far Soutaland Border a Minstrel came 

forth. 
And he waited the hour t! i, some Bard of the north 
His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast, 
And bid its wild nmnbers mix liigh with the blast ; 
But no bard was there left in the land of the Gael, 
To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim, 
Like the s m of the lowly, unnoticed by fame ? 
No, son of Fitzgerald 1 in accents of woe. 
The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin shall flow, 
And teach thy wild movmtains to join in the wail 
That laments for Mackenzie, last Cliief of KintaiL 

In vain, the bright coxirse of thy talents to wrong, 
Fate deaden'd thine ear and imprison'd thy tongue ; 
For brighter o'er aU her obstructions arose^ 

1 Bonail, or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at 
parting with a friend. 

'' These verses were written shortly after the death of Lord 
^aforth, the last male representative of his illustrions honse. 
He was a nobleman of extraordinary talents, who must have 
mSfit lOi himself a lasting repatatioo, had not his political ez- 



The glow of the genius they could not oppose , 
And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael, 
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin 
tail? 

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love. 
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve 
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell, — 
In the spring-time of youth and of promise thej 

fell! 
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male. 
To bear the proud name of the Chief of KintaiL 

And thou, gentle Dame,who must bear, to thy grie^ 
For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chie^ 
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left^ 
Of thy husband, and father, and bretliren bereft, 
To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail. 
That salutes thee the Heir of the line of Kintail ' 



€3!Far«Sbong of Hacfilan. 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN 

FEOM THE GAELIC. 



1815. 



This song appears to be imperfect, or, at least, hk« 
many of the early Gaelic poems, makes a rapid 
transition from one subject to another ; from tht 
situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the 
clan, who opens the song by lamenting the ab- 
sence of her lover, to an eulogium over the mili- 
tary glories of the Chieftain. The translatot 
has endeavored to imitate the abrupt style of ih» 
original. 



A WEART month has wander'd o'er. 
Since last we parted on the shore ; 
Heaven 1 that I saw thee. Love, once more. 

Safe on that shore again ! — 
'Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word : 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
He call'd his kindred bands on boaiu. 

And launch'd them on the main. 

Clan-GiUian* is to ocean gone ; 
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ; 

ertions been checked by the painful natural infirmities a.Ai^M 
to in the fourth stanza. — See Life of Scott, vol. v. pp. 18 19. 

3 The Honorable Lady Hood, daughter of the last Lord 8e* 
forth, widow of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, now Mrs. Stewart 
Mackenzie of Seaforth and Glasserton.— 1833. 

* i. e. The clan of Maclean, literally the race ot GiUiaa 



Renoicing in the glory won 

In many a bloody broil : 
For wide is heard the thundering fray, 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay, 
When from the twilight glens away 

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil 

Woe to the hiUs that shall rebound 

Our banner'd bag-pipes' maddening soimd ; 

Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round. 

Shall shake their inmost celL 
Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze, 
Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays ! 
The fools might face the lightning's blaze 

As ■« 'selv and as well ! 



Safnt Cloutr. 
[Paris, 5th September, 1815.] 

Soft spread the southern summer night 

Her veil of darksome blue ; 
Ten thousand stars combined to light 

The terrace of Saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sigh'd, 

Like breath of lover true, 
Bewailing the deserted pride 

And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum's deep roll was heard afar, 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, 

That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 

With broken urns withdrew, 
And silenced was that proud cascade, 

The glory of Saint Cloud. 

We eate upon its steps of stone, 

Not could its silence* rue. 
When waked, to music of om* own, 

The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Sbw Seine might hear each lovely note 

Fall light as suuuner dew, 
While through the moonless' air they float. 

Prolong' d from fair Saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 
His waters never knew, 

MS.—" Absence." MS.—" Midnight." 

' These lines were written after an evening spent at Saint 
Jhs«d with ilie ate Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of 
tfkom was tlie nongstress alluded to id the text. 



Though music's self was wont to meet 
With Princes at Saint Cloud. 



Nor then, with more dehghted ear. 

The circle round her drew. 
Than oiu-s, when gather'd round to hear 

Our songstress' at Saint Cloud. 

Few happy hours poor mortals pass,— 
Then give those hotu-s their due, 

And rank among the foremost class 
Our evenings at 8aiut Cloud. 



Sj)e IBance of TBtsti, 



1815. 



Night and morning' were at meeting 

Over Waterloo; 
Cocks had sung their earliest greeting; 

Faint and low they crew ; 
For no paly beam yet shone 
On the heights of Mount Saint John 
Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway 
Of timeless darkness over day ; 
Whirlwintl, thunder-clap, and shower, 
Mark'd it a predestined horn-. 
Broad and frequent through the night 
Flash'd the sheets of levin-light ; 
Muskets, glancing lightnings back, 
Show'd the dreary bivouac 

WTiere the soldier lay, 
Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain, 
Wishing dawn of morn again. 

Though death should come with day 

II. 
'Tis at such a tide and hour. 
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power. 
And ghastly forms through mist and shower 

Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
And then the affrighted prophet's ear 
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear 
Presaging death and ruin near 

Among the sons of men ; — 
Apart from Albyn's war-array, 
'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay ; 
Gray AUan, who, for many a day. 

Had follow'd stout and stem, 
Where, through battle's rout and reel, 

* Originally published in 1815, in the Edinburgh Anni 
Register, vol. v. 

• MS. — " Dawn and darknea* " 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. flSi 


Storm of shot and hedge of steel. 


Our airy feet. 


Led the grandson of Lochiel, 


So light and fleet. 


Valiant Fassiefern. 


They do not bend the rye 


Through steel and shot he leads no more, 


That sinks its head when whrlwinda 


Low laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore — 


rave, 


Bat long liis native lake's wild shore. 


And swells again in eddying wave. 


And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, 


As each wild gust blows by ; 


And Morv ?n long shall tell, 


But still the corn. 


And proud Bennevis hear with awe. 


At dawn of morn. 


How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 


Our fatal steps that bore. 


BfSTe Cameron heard the wild hurra 


At eve lies waste. 


Of conquest as he fell.' 


A trampled paste 


TTT 


Of blackening mud and gore. 


'Lone on the outskirts of the host, 


V. 


The weary sentinel held post, 


" Wheel the wild dance 


And heard, through darkness far aloof, 


W hile lightnings glance. 


The frequent clang'' of coiu-ser's hoof. 


And thunders rattle loud, 


Whore held the cloak'd patrol their course. 


And caU the brave 


And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving 


To bloody giave. 


horse ; 


To sleep without a shroud. 


But there are sounds in Allan's ear, 




Patrol nor sentinel may hear, 


W heel the wild dance 1 


And sights before liis eye aghast 


Brave sons of France, 


Invisible to them have pass'd. 


For you our ring makes room ; 


Wlien down the destined plain. 


Make space fuU wide 


*Twixt Britain and the bands of France, 


For martial pride. 


Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance, . 


For banner, spear, and plume. 


Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance. 


Approach, draw near, 


And doom'd the future slain. — 


Proud cuirassier 1 


Such forms were seen, such sounds were 


Room for the men of steel I 


heard. 


Through crest and plate 


W hen Scotland's James his march prepared. 


The broadsword's weight 


For Flodden's fatal plain ;* 


Both head and heart shall fe«i 


Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, 




As Choosers of the Slain, adored 


VL 


The yet unchi-isten'd Dane. 


" Wheel the wild dance 


An indistinct and phantom band. 


While lightnings glance, 


They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand, 


And thunders rattle loud. 


With gestures wild and dread ; 


And call the brave 


The Seer, who watch'd them ride the storm, 


lo bloody grave, 


Saw through their faint and shadowy form 


To sleep without a shroud. 


The lightning's flash more red ; 




And still their ghastly roundelay 


Sons of the spear ! 


Was of tl e coming battle-fray, 


You feel us near 


And of the destined dead. 


In many a ghastly dream ; 


IV. 


With fancy's eye 


Our forms you spy. 


Song. 


And hear our fatal scream. 


" W heel the wild dance 


With clearer sight 


Whil-, lightnings glance. 


Ere falls the night. 


And thunders rattle loud. 


Just when to weal or woe 


And call the brave 


Tour disembodied souls take flight 


To bloody grave, 


On trembling wing — each startled sprit* 


To sleep without a shroud. 


Our chou- of death shall know. 


> See note, ante, d. 509. 


' See ante, Marmion, ranto v. etanzai 24, 25, 28, and Ar 


MR — " Oft came the clang " &o. 


penJix, ^ote 4 A, p. 173 



856 bCOTT'S POETICAL TVORKS. 


VII. 


" And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,' was still 


" Wheel the wild dance 


the Soldier's prayer. 


While hglitnings glance, 


" That I may prove the bravest knight, and love 


And tliunders rattle lon: 


the fairest fair." 


And call the braye 




To bloody grave, 


His oath of honor on the shrine he graved it with 


To sleep without a Bhroud. 


his sword, 




And foUow'd to the Holy Land the banner of hif 


Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, 


Lord; 


Redder rain shall soon be ours — 


Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill'<l 


See the east grows wan — 


the air. 


Yield we place to sterner game, 


" Be honor'd aye the bravest knight, beloved the 


Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame 


fairest fair." 


Shall the welkin's thunders shame : 




Elemental rage is tame 


They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his 


To the wrath of man." 


Liege -Lord said, 




" The heart that has for honor beat by bUss must 


VIII. 


be repaid. — 


At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe 


My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded 


Heard of the vision'd sights he saw, 


pair, 


The legend heard him say ; 


For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of 


But the Seer's gifted eye was dim. 


the fair." 


Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb, 




Ere closed that bloody day — 


And then they bound the holy knot before Saint 


He sleeps far from Ms Highland heath, — 


Mary's shi-ine. 


But often of the Dance of Death 


That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands 


His comrades teU the tale. 


combine ; 


On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, 


And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapeJ 


And waning watch-fires glow less bright. 


there. 


And dawn is glinunermg pale. 


Cried, " Honord be the bravest knight, beloved the 




fau-est fair 1" 


3Xomance oC 29ttnofs.' 




FROM THK FRENCH. 


2[f)e STrottbatJout.' 


18^5. 

The original of this little Romance makes part of 
a manuscript collection of French Songs, proba- 


FROM THE SAME COLLECTION 


1815. 




bly compiled by some young officer, which was 


Glowing with love, on fire tor fame. 


found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained 


A Troubadour that hated sorrow, 


with clay and with blood, as sufficiently to indi- 


Beneath his Lady's window can;«. 


tate the fate of its late owner. The song is popu- 


And thus he sung his last good-raorrow : 


lar in France, and is rather a good specimen of 


" My arm it is my country's right. 


the style of coinpositio7i to which it belongs. The 


My heart is in my true-love s bower 


translation is strictly literal.' 


Gayly for love and fanft; to fight 




Befits the gallant Troubadour." 
And while he march'd with helm on he»d 


^T was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound 


for Palestine, 


And harp in hand, the descant rung, 


3a« first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's 


As, faithful to his favorite maid. 


shrine: 


The minstrel-burden still he sxmg : 


> This ballad appeared in 1815, in Panl's Lettere, and in the 


was written, and set to mnsic also, by Hortense Beanharnol», 


Edinburgh Annual Register. It has since been set to music 


Dnchesse de St. Len, Ex-aueen of Holland. 


»y G. F. Graham, Esq., in Mr. Thomson's Select Melodies, &o. 


s The original of this ballad also was written and compoaed 


' The original romance, 


by the Dnchesse de St. Len. The translation has been set t« 


" Partant poor la Syrie, 


music by Mr. Thomson. See his Collection of Scottish Songi. 


Le jeune et brave Dunoii," fee 


leae. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



661 



" My arm it is my country's right, 
My heart Li^ in my lady's bower ; 

Resolved for love and fame to fight, 
I come, a gallant Troubadom'." 

Even -when the oattle-roar was deep, 

With dauntless heart he hew'd his way, 
"Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, 

And still was heard his warrior-lay : 
" My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
for love to die, for fame to fight, 

Bea^mes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas 1 upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, 
But still reclining on his shield, 

Expiring sung the exulting stave : — 
" My Ufe it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 

Becomes the vaLao: Troubadour " 



JFtom ti)c jFrtKt|(.' 



1815. 



It chanced that Cupid on a seison, 
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed. 

But could not settle whether Reason 
Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then ? — Upon my life, 
'Twas bad example for a deity — 

He takes me Reason for a wife. 
And FoUy for his hours of gayety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason, 
He loved them both in equal measure ; 

Fidelity was born of Reason, 
And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 



JN THE LIFTING OF THE BANNFR OF THE 
»K OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOl BALL JIATOH 
ON OAKTEEHAUGH.' 



1815. 



From the brown crest of Newark its summons 
extending. 
Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame ; 

1 This trifle also is from -the French Colleetion, found at 
IVaterloo. — See Paul's Letters. 

a This eons appears with Music in Mr. G. Thomson's Col- 
eotioD — 1826. The foot-ball ma^h on which it was written 



And each forester blithe, from his moimtain de- 
scending. 
Bounds light o'er the heather to join in th» 
game. 

CHOEDS. 

Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and itu>r« , 

In sport vi^ll attend her, i% battle defend her, 

With heart ai«d with hand, like our fathers befor* 

When the Southern invader spread wasto •ui 
disorder. 
At the glance of her crescents he pauseu aiK? 
withdrew. 
For around them were marshaU'd the pride of th* 
Border, 
The Flowers of the Fore-.l, the Bands of Buo 

CLEDCH. 

Then up with the Banner. &c. 

A Stripling's weak hand' to our revel has borne her, 
No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur- 
roimd ; 
Bat ere a bold foeman should scathe or should 
scorn her, 
A thousand true hearts would be cold on th« 
ground. 

Then up with the Banner, <fec. 

We forget each contention of civil dissension 
An d hail, like our brethren, Home, Douglas, ana 
Cae: 
And Elliot and Peingle in pastime shall mingle 
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. 
Then up with the Banner, <fec. 

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be tho 
weather. 
And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, 
There are worse things in life than a tmnhlo ""« 
heather. 
And life is itself but a game at foot-balL 
Then up with the Banner, &c 

And when it is over, we'll ilruik z blithe mensnra 
To each Laird and each Lady that witness'a ov\ 
fun. 
And to every blithe heart that took part m ora 
pleasure, 
To the lads that have lost and the lad« toat 
have won. 

Then up with the Banner, &a. 

took place on December 'o, 1815, and was also celebrated >< 
the Ettrick Shepherd. See Life of Scott, vo'. v. pp 113 
116, 122. 
» The bearer of the standard was the Author's eld««» mm 



668 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and 
T,andward, 


\)tvst5 from (25ttj3 iHanncrinjj 


From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle- 
nook ; 
And liuzza ! my brave hearts, for Buccletjch and 




1815. 




his standard, 


(i-)-SONGS OF MEG MERRILIES. 


For the King and the Couutry, the Clan, and 
the Duke 1 








NATIVITY OF HARRY BERTRAY 


Thy&" lip with the Banner, let forest winds fan 


Canny moment, lucky fit ; 


her, 


Is the lady lighter yet ? 


She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and 


Be it lad, or be it lass. 


more ; 


Sign wi' cross, and sain wi mass. 


In sport we'll aiiend her, in battle defend her, 




^^iih heart and with hand, like our fathers 


Trefoil, vervain, John's-wort, dill, 


^ if ore. 


Hinders witches of their wiU ; 




Weel is them, that weel may 




Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 




ilullabs of a^i Enfant ^\\tl. 


Saint Bride and her brat, 




Saint Colme and her cat, 


AtSi—" Cadul gu to "^ 


Saint Michael and his spear, 




Keep the house frae reif and wear. 

Chap b 


1815. 


L 


"TWIST YE, TWINE VK" 


0, mrsH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, 




riiy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; 


Twist ye, twine ye 1 even so. 


The woods and the glens, from the towers which 


Mingle shades of joy and woe, 


we see, 


Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, 


They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 


In the thread of human life. 


ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo. 




ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 


W hile the mystic twist is spinning, 




And the infant's hfe beginning, 


11. 


Dimly seen through twilight bendinp;, 


0, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows. 


Lo, what varied shapes attending I 


It calls but the warders that guard thy re- 




pose ; 


Passions wild, and follies vain. 


Their bows would be bended, their blades would 


Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; 


be red, 


Doubt, and jealousy, and fear. 


Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. 


In the magic dance appear. 


ho ro, i ri ri, (fee. 






Now they wax and now they dwindle, 


III. 


Whirling with the whirling spindle. 


0, hush thee, my babie, the time soon wiU come, 


Twist ye, twine ye 1 even so, 


When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and 


Mingle human bliss and woe. 


drum ; 


fbU 


Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you 
may, 






for strife comes with manhood, and waking with 


THE DYING GIPSY SMUGGTiER. 


day. 

ho ro, i ri ri, &c 


Wasted, weary, wherefore stay. 
Wrestling thus with earth and clay f 




From the body pass away ; — 


' " Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody 


Hark 1 the mass is singing 


lomewhat diflerent iVom the original, are sung in my l^iend 


O fc» 


Mr. Terry's drama of *' Gay Mannering." [The " Lullaby" 
was first printed in Mr. Terry's drama : it was afterwardi set 


From thee doflf thy mortal weed, 


y> masic in Thooisoa'i CollectioD. 1823.J 


Mary Mother be thy speed. 



Saints to help thee at thy need ; — 

Hark I the knell is ringing. 

Fear not snow-drift driving fast, 
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast ; 
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast, 
And the sleep be on thee c?8t 

That shall ne'er know waking. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone. 
Earth liits fas' and time draws on, — 
Gasp thy gasp,- and groan thy groan, 
Day is near the breaking. 

' The songstress paused, and was answered by 
one or two deep and hollow groans, that seemed 
to proceed from the very agony of the mortal 
strife. ' It will not be,' she muttered to herself 
He cannot pass away with that on his mind ; it 
'ethers him here. 

Heaven cannot abide it ; 
Earth refuses to hide it. 

I must open the door.' 

- She lifted the latch, saying, 

' Open locks, end strife. 
Come death, and pass life.' " 

Chap. xxviL 



THE PROPHE(]T. 

The dark shall be light, 

And the wrong made right. 

When Bertram's right and Bertram's might 

Shall meet on Ellangowan's teight. 

Chap. xlL 



2.)— SONGS OF DIRK HATTERAICK AND 
GLOSSIN. 

" ' And now I have brought you some breakfast,' 
laid Glossin, producing some cold meat and a flask 
.•f spirits. The latter Hatteraick eagerly seized 
upon, and applied to his mouth ; and, after a hearty 
ir"vught, he exclaimed with gi-eat rapture, 'Das 
sclmieckt ! — Tliat is good — that warms the Hver 1' 
—Then broke into the fragment of a High-Dutch 

Saufen bier, und brante-wein, 
Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein ; 
leh ben Uederlich, 

■ First paDl'shed ii Mr. G. Th hsoii'b Collection of Irish 
4tn I8t6. 



Du bist liederlich, 

Sind wir nicht liederlich leute a. 

" ' Well said, my hearty Captain !' cried GlossLij 
endeavoring to catch the tone of revelry ," — 

Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers, 

Dash the window-glass to shivers ! 

For three wild lads were we, brave boya 

And three wild lads were we ; 

Thou on the land, and I on the sand. 

And Jack on the gallows-tree 1 

Chap, xxxiv 



Stie 3cleturn to 23Ister.' 



1816. 



Once again, — but how changed since my wand 

rings began — 
I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and BaiiO 
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar 
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. 
Alas ! my poor bosom, and why should^t thou burn i 
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return \ 
Can I Uve the dear hfe of delusion again, [strain f 
That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with m\ 

It was then that arotmd me, though poor and un- 
known, [thrown ; 
High spells of mysterious enchantment were 
The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew, 
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 
I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire 
At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their 

lyre: 
To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear. 
But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call, [hall ; 

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the 
And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on high. 
Like the burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.' 
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more 
Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore.— ► 
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, should* 

thou burn ? 
They were days of delusion, and cannot return. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by, 
And listed my lay, while she turn'd from mine eye ! 
Was she too, a vision, just glancing to view. 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew ' 

2 In ancient Insn poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fin^l, if 
callel the Sun-burst, an epithet feebly reiiderea by the 5u» 
beat!, of Macpherson. 



660 



eCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Oh ! would it had been so, — Oh ! would that her eye 
fiad becD bu't a star-glance that shot through the 

sky, 
And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill, 
Bad been but a zephyr, that sigh"d and was still 1 

Oh I would it had been so, — not then this poor heart 
Ha 1 leain'd the sad lesson, to love and to part ; 
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care. 
While I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to share. 
PTot then had I said, when life's summer was done, 
A.nd the hours of hur autumn were fast speeding on, 
' Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your 

train, 
^d restore me the dream of my spring-tide again." 



ocft of J^ajclTrean. 

Air — A Border Melody. 



1816. 



The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The 
others tvere written for Mr. Campbeirs Alhyris 
Anthology, 



" Wmr weep ye by the tide, laflie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen" — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

II. 

" Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington, 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen " — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

III. 
" A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you, the foremost o' them a' 

Shall ride our forest queen " — 

The pibroch of Donald the Black." This son» wag 
• riUen lor Caiipbell's Alhyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also 
•e MB M.*. to K oiic, in Thomson's Collection, 183U. 



But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 

IV. 
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide. 

The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride. 

And dame and knight are there. 
They sought her baith by bower and ha'; 

The ladie was not seen 1 
She's o'er the Border, and awa 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 



Pfbtoct) o{ BonalU ^\)Vi 

Al»— " Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh."^ 



1816. 



This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Ota's 
MacDf/nald, and supposed to refer to the txpedi 
tion of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, Icnmchea 
from the Isles with a considerable fortt, invadea 
Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeatea and put to 
flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though 
at the head of an army superior to his oion. The 
words of the set, theme, or melody, to which tlu 
pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic :— 

Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireaohd Dhonoil ; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dliuidh, piobaireaohd Dhonail ; 
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonnil ; 
Piob agus bratach air t'aiche Inverlochi. 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, 
The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place •! 
Inverlpchy.s 



PiBEOCH of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Simimon Clan-Conuil. 
Come away, come away, 

Hark to the simimons 1 
Come in your war-array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlochy. 
Come every hiU-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one, 

* Compare this with the gathering-song in the third oanto «■ 
the Lady of the Lake, ante. 



J.YRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



0«1 



Oome every steel blade, and 
Strong hand that bears one. . 

Leave untended the herd, 

The flock without shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come, 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom. 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather 1 
Wide waves the eagle plume, 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 

Forward each man set 1 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Knell for the onset 1 



Air — " Cha teid mis a chaoidh."i 
WRITTEN FOa ALBYn's ANTHOLeGY.' 



1816. 



?» t <e original Gaelic, the Lady makes protestations 
that she will not go with the Red EarVs son, until 
the swan should build in the cUff, and the eagle 
in the lake — until one mountain should change 
places with another, and so forth. It is but fair 
to add, that there is no authority for supposing 
that she altered her mind — except the vehemence 
of her protestation. 



L 

lljtAB what Highland Nora said,— 
" The Earlie's son I will not wed. 
Should all the race of nature die, 
And none be left but he and L 

> " I wiL never go with him." 
Bot sbe M Thomson's Scottish Collection. 1833. 



For all the gold, for all the gear. 
And all the lands both far and near, 
That ever valor lost or won, 
I would not wed the Earlie's son." — 

IL 
" A maiden's vows," old Galium spoke, 
" Are lightly made and hghtly broke ; 
The heather on the mountain's height 
Begins to bloom in purple light ; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae ; 
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone. 
May blithely wed the Earlie's son." — 

III 
" The swan," she said, " the lake's clear breast 
May barter for the eagle's nest ; 
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turr^ 
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchm-n ; 
Our kilted clans, when blood is high, 
Before their foes may turn and fly ; 
But I, were all these marvels done, 
Would never wed the Earlie's son.'' 

IV. 

Still in the water-lily's shade 

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made ; 

Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever. 

Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river. 

To shun the clash of foeman's steel. 

No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel • 

But Nora's heart is lost and won, 

— She's wedded to the Earlie's son 1 



iWacurcsor's fflatterfna. 

Air—" Thain' a Origalach."^ 
WRITTEN FOR ALBYn's ANTHOLOGY. 



1816. 



These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet Hvelf 
gathering-tune, used by the IlacGhegor.^. 7%4 
severe treatment of this Clan, their oiiHaiffri, , ami 
the proscription of their very name, are alliidei 
to in the Ballad.* 



The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the bra*. 
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day 

Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach I 

Gather, gather, gather, <fec. 

» " The MacGregons come." 

* For the history of the clan see Introdaction to Rob R«a 
WaverUy JVoveli, vol. vii 



862 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Our signal for fight, that from monarchs vre drew, 
Must be heard but by night in oiu- vengeful haloo ! 
Then haloo, Grigalach ! haloo, Grigalach 1 
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, &c. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her 

towers, 
GleiMtrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours ; 

We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach I 
Landless, landless, landless, <fec. 

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, 
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword I 

Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach 1 

Courage, courage, courage, &c 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles. 
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the 
eagles ! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Griga- 
lach! 
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Ac 

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the 

river, 
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever ! 
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach, 
Come then, come then, come then, <fec. 

*Tirough the depths of Loch Katrine the steed 

shall career. 
3'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer, 
4jid the rocks of Craig-Royston' hke icicles melt, 
Eire our wi'ongs be forgot, or our vengeance imfelt 1 

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! 

Gather, gather, gather, <fec. 



Verses, 

COMPOSED FOR THE OCCASION, ADAPTED TO HAYDN's 

AIR, 

" Ood Save the Emperor Francis," 

UTD SUNG BY A SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER GIVEN 
BY THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE 

GRAND DUKE NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, 

AND HIS SUITE, 19fH DECEMBER, 1816. 

God protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar, 
Mighty Russia's high Commander, 

1 " Rob Roy MacGregor's own designation was of tnner- 
maid ; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kind or 
tthir to the property or possession of Craig-Royston, a do- 
main of rock and forest lying on the east side of Loch Lomond, 
where that beautiful late stretches into the dusky mountains 
>< Oleafalloch ' — Introd. to Rob Roy, Wave. J<'ov. vii. 31. 



First in Europe'" ^>aJ^d6d '^Sf ' 
For the realms he did dehver 
From the tyrant overthrown. 
Thou, of every good the Givet 
Grant him long to bless his own 1 
Bless him, 'mid liis land's disaster. 
For her rights who battled brave. 
Of the land of foemen master. 
Bless him who theii' wrongs forgave. 

O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor over Europe's foes. 
Late and long supreme director, 
Grant in peace his reign may close. 
HaU ! then, hail ! illustrious strangers 
Welcome to our mountain strand ; 
Mutual interests, hopes, and danger 
Link us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force, or false beguiling, 
Shall that union ne'er divide. 
Hand in hand while peace is smiling, 
And in battle side by side.'* 



irom tl)E ^Intlquarg. 



1816. 



(1.)— TIME. 

"The window of a turret, which projected a1 
an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very 
near Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from 
that quarter he heard again the same music which 
had probably broken short his dream. With its 
visionary character it had lost much of its charma 
— it was now nothing more than an air on the 
harpsichord, tolerably well performed — such is the 
caprice of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A 
female voice sung, with some taste and great sim- 
plicity, sometliing between a song and a hymn, is 
words to the following effect :" — 

" Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, 
Thou aged carle so stern and gray \ 

Dost thou its former pride recall. 
Or ponder how it pass'd away ?" — 

" Know'st thou not me ?" the Deep Voice cried 
" So long enjoy'd, so oft misused — 

t Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provosi 
of Edinburgh, who had the honor to entertain the Grand-Duka 
now Emperor of Russia, was a personal friend of Sir Walte* 
Scott's ; and these Verses, with their heading, are now givei 
from the newspapers of 1816. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



6d; 



Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 
Desiied, neglected, and accused I 

" Before my breath, like blazing flax, 
Man and his marvels pass away ! 

And changing empires wane and wax. 
Are founded, flourish, and decay. 

Redeem mine hours — the space is brief — 
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, 
And measureless thy joy or grie^ 

When Time and thou shalt part for ever I" 

Chap. X. 



<2.)— EPITAPH ON JON 0' YE GIRNELL. 

" Beneath an old oak-tree, upon a hillock, lay a 
moss-grown stone, and, in memory of the departed 
wrorthy, it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr. 
Oldbuck affirmed (though many doubted), the de- 
parted characters could be distinctly traced to the 
following effect :" — 

Heie lyeth Jon o' ye GiruelL 
Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kirnelL 
In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis clokit, 
Oka gud mannis herth wi' bairnis was stokit, 
He deled a boU o' bear in firlottis fyve. 
Four for ye halie kirke and ane for pure mennis 
wyvis. 

Chap. xL 



(3.)— ELSPETH'S BALLAD. 

•■ As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, 
\e was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice 
)f Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wild 
ind doleful recitative :" — 

The herring loves the merry moon-light, 

The mackerel loves the wind. 
But the oyster loves the dredging sang, 

For they come of a gentle kind. 

Now baud yoiu- tongue, baith wife and carle, 

And Usten great and sma', 
And I wiU sing of Glenallan's Earl 

That fought on the red Harlaw. 

The cronach's cried on Bennachie, 

And doun the Don and a', 
Aod hieland and lawland may mournfu' be 

For the sair field of Harlaw. 

rhey saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, 
They hae bridled a hundred black, 



With a chafron of steel on each horse's head. 
And a good knight upon his back 

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 

A mile, but barely ten. 
When Donald came branking down the htjuo 

Wi' twenty thousand men. 

Their tartans they were waving wide, 
Their glaives were glancing clear, 

The pibrochs rung frae side to side, 
Would deafen ye to hear. 

The great Earl in his stirrups stood. 

That Highland host to see : 
"Now here a knight that's stout and good 

May prove a jeopardie : 

" What would'st thou do, my sqiure so ga/ 

That rides beside my reyne, — 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, 

And I were Roland Cheyne J 

"To turn the rein were sin and shame. 
To fight were wond'rous peril, — 

What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl ?"— 

" Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide. 

And ye were Roland Cheyne, 
The spear should be in my horse's side, 

And the bridle upon his mane. 

" If they hae twenty thousand blades. 

And we twice ten times ten, 
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, 

And we are mail-clad men. 

" My horse shall ride through ranks sae rurir, 
As through the moorland fern, — 

Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude 
Grow cauld for Highland kerne." 



He tum'd hun right and round again. 

Said, Scorn na at my mither ; 
Light loves I may get mony a ane, 

But minnie ne'er anither. 

Chap. XI 



MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY. 

"The scraps of poetry which have been in nirf?' 
cases tacked to the beginiiing of chapters ui tlii'>" 



Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading 
or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure 
invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to 
the oollection of the British Poets to discover ap- 
posite mottoes, and, in the situation of the theatri- 
cal mechardst, who, when the white paper which 
represented liis shower of snow was exhausted, 
coutinued the shower oy snowing brown, I drew 
Qk> uij memory as long as I could, and when that 
failed, pked it out with invention. I believe that, 
in some cases, where actual names ai'e affixed to 
the supposed quotations, it would be to httle pur- 
pose to seek them in the works of the authors re- 
ferred to. In some cases, I have been entertained 
when Dr. Watts and other graver authors have 
been ransacked in vain for stanzas for which the 
novelist alone was responsible." — Introduction to 
Chronicles of the Canongate, 



I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, 

Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, 

And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; 

As — book of fables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, 

Or the rare melody of some old ditty. 

That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. 

(2.) — Chap. ix. 
" Be brave," she cried, " you yet may be our guest. 
Our haunted room was ever held the best : 
If, then, your valor can the fight sustain 
Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain ; 
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk. 
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; 
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 
I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room." 

True Story. 

(3.) — Chap. xi. 
Sometimes he tliinks that Heaven this vision sent, 
Am 1 orler'd all the pageants as they went ; 
Bomt times that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, — 
The loose and scatter'd relics of the day, 

(4.) — Chap. xn. 

Beggar ! — the only fi-eemen of your Common- 
wealth ; 
Fr«e above Scot-free, that observe no laws, 
Obev no governor, use no religion [toms, 

But what they draw from their own ancient cus- 
Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. 

Brome. 

(5.) — Chap. xix. 
Here has been such a stormy encounter. 
Betwixt my co.isin Captain, and this soldier. 



About I know not what ! — notlung, indeed ; 
Competitions, degrees, and compaiatives 

Of soldiership I 

A Faire Quarrel. 

(6.)— Chap, xx, 
If you fail honor here. 



Never presume to serve her any more , 
Bid farewell to the integrity of ai-ms. 
And the honorable name of soldier 
Fall from you, hke a shiver'd wreath of laurel 
By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. 

A Faire Quarrel. 

(7.) — Chap, xxl 
The Lord Abbot had a soul 



Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire : 
By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, 
And if in devils' possession gold be kept. 
He brought some sure from thence — 'tis hid il 
caves, 

Known, save to me, to none 

The Wonder of a Kingdoms, 

(8.) — Chap. xxvn. 
Many great ones 



Would part with half their states, to have the plal 
And credit to beg in the first style. — 

Beggar's Bush. 

(9.) — Chap. xxx. 
Who is he ? — One that for the lack of land 
Shall fight upon the water — he hath challenged 
Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles 
Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. 
He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, 
Th' aquatic had the best — the argument 
Still galls our champion's breech. 

Old Play. 

(10.) — Chap xxxi. 
Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep, 
Their tears axe lukewarm brine ; — from our old 

eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, 
Chilling the furrows of our wither'd cheeks. 
Cold as oiu- hopes, and harden'd as our feeling- 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — oiu-s recoil, 
Heap the fair plain, and bleaken aU before as. 

OldPla^ 

(11.) — Chap. xxxijL 
Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us ! — 
A bloodhound stanch — she tracks our rapid step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful pnrensy 
Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us 
Then in our lair, when Time hath chill'd our joints 
And maim'd our hope of combat, oi of flight 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



661 



We hear her deep-mouth'd bay, announcing all 
Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. 

Old Play. 

(12.) — Chap, xxxrv. 
BtUl in his dead hand clench'd remain the strings 
That thrill his father's heart — e'en as the limb, 
Lopp'd off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us. 
Strange commerce with the mutilated stump. 
Whose nerve* are twinging still in maim'd exist- 
ence. Old Play. 

(13.) — Chap. xxxv. 

Life, with you. 



Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; 
Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quatf 'd, 
That glads the heart and elevates the fancy : — 
Mine is the poor residuum of the cup. 
Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling 
With i+8 base dregs the vessel that contains it. 

Old Play 

(14.) — Chap, xxxvn. 
Tes ! I love Justice well — as well as you do- 
But, since the good dame's blind, she shall excuse 

me. 
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ; — 
The breath I utter now shall be no means 
To take away from me my breath in future. 

Old Play. 

(15.) — Chap, xxxvni. 
i^ell, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage, 
Granting I knew aU that you charge me with. 
What, tho' the tomb hath born a second birth, 
And given the wealth to one that knew not on't, 
Yet fair exchange was never robbery. 
Far less pure bounty Old Play. 

(16.) — Chap. xl. 
Life ebbs from such old age, unmark'd and silent, 
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. 
Late she rock'd merrily at the least impulse 
That wind or wave could give ; but now her keel 
Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
Ar angle with the sky. from which it shifts not. 
Each wave receding shakes her less and less, 
TUl, bedded on the strand, she shall remain 
Ueele'« as motionless. Old Plau 

(17.) — Chap. xli. 

Bo, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, 

Locumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold, 

With hand outstretch'd, impatient to destroy, 

Btole (» her secret nest the cruel Boy, 

Whoee gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, 

For ndngs vain fluttering, and for dying scream. 

The Loves of the Sea- Wefidx. 
84 



(18.)— Chap. xlii. 

Let those go see who wlR — I hke it not — 

For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp. 

And aU the nothings he is now divorced frcm 

By the hard doom of stern necessity ; 

Yet is it sad to mark bis alter'd brow. 

Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 

O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish. 

Old Plav 
• * 

(19.) — Chap, xliii. 
Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but circles, 
Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff,— 
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the white sail with her wliiter wing. 
As if to court the aim. — Experience watches. 
And has her on the wheel. Old Play. 

(20.) — Chap, xliv 
Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her . 
Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms ? 
Or sigh because she smUes — and smiles on others 
Not I, by Heaven ! — I hold my peace too dear, 
To let it, hke the plume upon her cap. 
Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. 

Old Play. 

« 

[" It may be worth noting, that it was in cor- 
recting the proof-sheets of The Antiquary thai 
Scott first took to equipping his chapters with 
mottoes of his own fabrication. On one occasion 
he happened to ask John BaUantyne, who was sit- 
ting by him, to hunt for a particular passage in 
Beaumont and Fletcher. John did as he was bid, 
but did not succeed in discovering the lines. 
' Hang it, Johnnie,' cried Scott, ' I believe I can 
make a motto sooner than you will find one.' He 
did so accordingly ; and from that hour, whenever 
memory failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph 
he had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of ' old 
play' or ' old ballad,' to which we owe some of the 
most exquisite verses that ever flowed from hu 
pen." — Life, voL v. p. 145.1 



Jrom t\}t Black Wwax( 



1816. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. v. 
The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath 
Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring 
And, in the April dew, or ><eam of Mav. 



666 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Its moss and lichen freshen and revive ; 

And thus the heart, most sear'd to human pleasure, 

Me.'ta at the tear, joys in the smile of woman. 

Beaumont. 

(2.) — Chap. xvi. 

'Twas time and griefs 

rbat framed him thus : Tkne, with his fairer hand, 
Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
Tlje former man may make him — Bring us to him. 
And chance it as it may. Old Play. 



from ODlb iHortalitj). 



1816. 



(1.)— MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. 

And wl'at though winter will pinch severe 
Through locks of gray and a cloak that's old. 

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, 
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

For time will rust the brightest blade, 
And years will break the strongest bow ; 

Was never wight so starkly made. 
But time and years would overthrow ? 

Chap. xis. 



(2)— VERSES FOUND IN" BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK 

" With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped 
in a copy of verses, written obviously with a feel- 
ing which atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the 
roughness of the poetry, and the conceits with 
which it aboxmded, according to the taste of the 
period :" — 

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright. 
As in that well-remember'd night, 
^Tien lirst thy mystic braid was wove, 
And first my Agnes whisper'd love. 

Since then hov often hast thou press'd 
The torrid zone of this wild breast. 
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin which peopled hell, 
A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean. 
Each throb the earthquake's wild conamotion ! — 
0, if such clime thou caust endure, 
Tet keep thy hue imstain'd and pure, 



What conquest o'er each erring thought 

Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought 1 

I had not wander'd wild and wide, 

With such an angel for my guide ; 

Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me^ 

If she had lived, and hved to love me 

Not then this world's wild joys bad been 
To me one savage hunting scene. 
My sole delight the headlong race, 
And frantic hurry of the chase ; 
To start, pursue, and bring to bay. 
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, 
Then — from the carcass turn away ! 
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed. 
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed 
Yes, God and man might now approve me, 
If thou hadst hved, and hved to love me. 

Chap. xxiiL 



(3.)— EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY 

•♦ Gentle reader, I did request of mine honesi 
friend Peter Proudfoot, travelling merchant, known 
to many of this land for his faithful and just deal- 
ings, as well in muslins and cambrics as in smaL 
wares, to procure me, on his next peregrinations to 
that vicinage, a copy of the Epitaphion alluded to 
And, according to his report, which I see no ground 
to discredit, it runneth thus :" — 

Heee lyes ane saint to prelates surly. 
Being John Balfour, sometime of Burley 
Who, stirred up to vengeance take. 
For Solemn League and Cov'nant's sake, 
Upon the Magus-Moor, in Fife, 
Did tak* James Sharpe the apostate's hfe ; 
By Dutchman's hands was hacked and shot, 
Then drowned in Clyde near thic eaam spot. 

Chap, xli? 



MOTTOES. 



(1.)— Chap. v. 
Abocse thee, youth ! — it is no common call, — 
God's Church is leaguer'd — haste to man the waH 
Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on high 
Signals of honor'd death or victory. 

James Buff 

(2.) — Chap. xtv. 
My hounds may a' rin masterless, 
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



Off! 



My lord may grip my vassal lands, 
For there again maim I never be I 

Old Ballad. 

(3.) — Chap, xxxiv, 
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife 1 
To all the sensual world proclaim, 
One £j>irded hour of glorious Ufe 
I3 worth an age without a name. 

Anonymous. 



EJte Scarct) after J^appineaa;' 

oa, 

rilE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAtTK 



1817. 



Oh for a glance of that gay Muse's eye. 
That lighten'd on BandeUo's laughing tale. 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly. 
When Griam Battista bade her vision hail 1 — " 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail 
Given by the natives of that land canorous ; 
Italian license loves to leap the pale, 
We Britons have the fear of shame before us, 
A.nd, if not wise in mirth, at least must be de- 
corous. 

II. 

to the far eastern clime, no great while since, 
Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, 
Whose eyes, as oft as they perform'd their Bound, 
Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground ; 
Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase, 
" Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys !" 
A-11 have their tastes — this may the fancy strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like ; 
For me, I love the honest heart and warm 
Of Monarch who can amble round liis farm, 
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, 
Ja chimney corner seek domestic joys — 
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass, 
Exchtinging with his subjects glance and glass ; 
Ie fitting time, can, gayest of the gay. 
Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay — 
Bach Monarchs best our free-born humors suit. 
But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. 



» First pablished in " The Sale Room, No. V.," February 
1, 1817. 

« The hint of the ollowing tale is taken from La Camiscia 
tf^gua, a novel 0/ Giam Battista Casti. 



IIL 
This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway — 
And where's Serendib ? may some critic say. — 
Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, 
Scare not my Pegasus before I start 1 
If RenneU has it not, you'll find, mayhap. 
The isle laid down in Captain Siudbad's map,- - 
Famec'. mariner 1 whose merciless narrations 
Drove every friend and kinsman out of patienr e. 
Tin, fain to find a guest who thought them shoi-t^ei 
Ho deign'd to tell them over to a porter—-* 
Thii last edition see, by Long, and Co., 
Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers m the Row 

IV. 

Serendib foimd, deem not my tale a fiction— 
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction — 
(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses. 
To raise the spirits and reform the juices. 
— Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures 
In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours). 
The Sultaun lacking tliis same wholesome bittet 
Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter — 
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams 
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wUd themes 
Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, 
I wot not — but the Sultaun never laugh' d, 
Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy 
That scorn'd aU remedy — profane or holy ; 
In his long list of melanchoUes, mad, 
Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bai* 

V. 

Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried. 
As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room ; 
With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue thej 

eyed, 
Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside 

And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, 
" His majesty is very far from well." 
Then each to work with his specific fell : 
The Hakim Ibrahim instanfer brought 
His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, 
While Roompot, a practitioner more wily. 
Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily. ' 
More and yet more in deep array appear, 
And some the front assail, and some the rear 
Their remedies to reinforce and vary. 
Came svu-geon eke, and eke apothecary; 
Tin the tired Monarch, though of words grew* 

chary. 
Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labor. 
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. 

' See the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. 
* See Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. 
B For these hard words see D'HerbelrK. > Oie learned edHa 
of the Recipes of Avicenna. , 



S68 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rhere lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches 
To rid the palace of those learned leeches. 

VL 

Then was the council call'd — ^by their advice 
(They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, 

And sought to shift it oflf from their own shoul- 
ders), 
Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent, 
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament 

Of feudatory cliieftains and freeholders- 
Such have the Persians at tliis very day, 
My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai ; — ' 
Tm not prepared to show in this slight song 
That to Serendib the same forms belong, — 
E'en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if Fm 
wrong. 

VIL 

The Omrahs," each with hand on scymitar, 
Gave, Hke Sempronius, stUl their voice for war — 
" The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath 
Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death ; 
Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle. 
Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of bat- 
tle I 
This dreary cloud that dims oiu* sovereign's day, 
Shall from his kindled bosom flit away. 
When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round, 
And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. 
Each noble pants to own the glorious summons — 
And for the charges — Lo ! your faithful Com- 
mons !" 
The Riots who attended in their places 

(Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) 
Look'd ruefully in one another's faces. 

From this oration auguring much disquiet, 
Double assessment, forage, and free quarters ; 
And fearing these as Cliina-men the Tartars, 
Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers, 
Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers. 

VIIL 
And next came forth the reverend Convocation, 
Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban 
green, 
Dnaum and Mollah there of every station, 
Santon, Faldr, and Calendar were seen, 
riieir votes were various — some advised a Mosque 

With fitting revenues should be erected. 
With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, 

To recreate a band of priests selected ; 
Others opined that through the realms a dole 
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might 
profit 
Fhe Sultaun's weal in body and in souL 

> Bee f?» John Malralm'i admirable History of Persia. 



But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, 
More closely touch'd the point : — " Thy studioui 

mood," 
Quoth he, "0 Prince 1 hath thicken'd all thy 

blood. 
And dull'd thy brain with labor beyond measure 
Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasm-e. 
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure ; 
From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlargr* 

thee. 
And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." 

IX. 

These counsels sage availed not a whit, 

And so the patient (as is not uncommon 
Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) 

Resolved to take advice of an old woman ; 
His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, 
And stiU was called so by each subject duteous. 
Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest. 

Or only made beUeve, I cannot say — 
But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest. 

By dint of magic amulet or lay ; 
And, when all other skill in vain was shown. 
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own. 

X. 

" Sympathia magica hath wonders done" 

(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son), 

" It works upon the fibres and the pores. 

And thus, insensibly, our health restores, 

And it must help us here. — Thou must endure 

The Ul, my son, or travel for the cure. 

Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can, 

The inmost vesture of a happy man, 

I mean his shirt, my son ; which, taken warm 

And fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm 

Bid every current of your veins rejoice. 

And yom- dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's. 

Such was the coimsel from liis mother came ; — 

I know not if she had some under-game. 

As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam 

And live abroad, when sure to die at home ; 

Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, 

Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mo 

ther ; 
But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it), 
That such was her advice — the Sultaim tock it. 

XL 

All are on board — the Sultaun and his train. 
In gilded galley prompt to plough the main. 
The old Rais* was the first who questioned, 
« Whither ?" 
They paused — " Arabia," thought the penaiv* 
Prince, 



s Nobility. 



> Matter of the vesML 



i^YRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



361 



' Was call'd The Happy many ages since — 
For Mokha, Rais." — And they came safely 
thither. 
But not in Araby, with all her balm, 
N'ot where Judea weeps beneath her palm, 
Not in rich Egypt, not in Ifubian waste, 
Could there the step of happiness be traced. 
One Copt alone profess'd to have seen her smile, 
When Bruce his goblet fill'd at infant Nile : 
■>he bless'd the dauntless traveller as he quaflPd, 
But vanish'd from him with the ended draught. 

XII. 
'Enough of turbans," said the weary King, 
" These dolimans of ours are not the thing ; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I 
Inchne to think some of them must be happy ; 
At least, they have as fair a cause as any can, 
rhey drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. 
Then northward, ho !" — The vessel cuts the sea, 
And fair Italia Ues upon her lee. — 
But fail- It«iha, she who once unfurl'd 
Her eagle banners o'er a conquer'd world, 
Long from her throne of domination tumbled. 
Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled ; 
The Pope himself look'd pensive, pale, and lean. 
And was not half the man he once had been. 
" While these the priest and those the noble 

fleeces. 
Our poor old boot,"* they said, " is torn to pieces. 
Its tops' the vengeful claws of Austria feel, 
And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel.' 
If happiness you seek, to teU you truly. 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli ; 
A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, 
PofFaredio 1 still has all the luck ; 
By land oi' ocean never strikes his flag — 
And then — a perfect walking mo»ey-bag." 
Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode. 
But first took France — it lay upon the road. 

XIIL 

Monsieur Baboon, after much lato conamotion, 

Was agitated Kke a settling ocean, 

Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ail'd 

him. 
Only the gloiy of his house had fail'd him ; 
Besides, some tumors on his noddle biding. 
Gave indication of a recent hiding.'* 
Our ^rince, though Sultauns of such tilings are 

heedless. 
Thought it a thing indelicate and needless 
To ask, if at that moment he was happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme ilfaut^ a 

The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map. 
' Florence, Venice, &c. 

' The Calabrias, infested by bands of assassins. One of the 
•Alien was called I Dia\olo, i. e. Brother Devil. 



Loud voice mustered up, for " Vive le Roi T 

Then whisper'd, " Ave you any news cf Nappy ^ 
The Sultaun answer'd him -with a cross question,- 
" Pray, can you tell me aught of one John BuU, 
That dwells somewhere beyond ycur herring 
pool ?" 
The query seem'd of diflScult digestion, 
The party shrugg'd, and grinn'd, and took ms snnfl 
And found his whole good-breeding scarce enough 

XIV. 

Twitching his visage into as many puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their tuckers 
(Ere Hberal Fashion damn'd both lace and la'wil. 
And bade the veil of Modesty be drawn), 
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, 
" Jean Boo' ' — I vas not know him — Yes, I vas^ 
I vas rem«»mber dat, von year or two, 
I saw him at von place caU'd Vaterloo— 
Ma foi I il s'est tres joliment battu, 
Dat is for Englishman, — m'entendez-vous T 
But den ).e had wit him one damn son-gim. 
Rogue I ►^o like — dey call him Vellington." 
Monsieur's pohteness could not hide his fret, 
So SoliuKiun took leave, and cross'd the strait. 

XV. 

John Bu^i was in his very worst of moods, 
Raving of sterile farms and imsold goods ; 
His suga'-loaves and bales about he threw. 
And on his covmter beat the devil's tattoo. 
His war? were ended, and the victory won, 
But theii 'twas reckoning-day with honest John , 
And authors vouch, 'twas stiU this Worthy's way 
" Never to frumble tLU he came to pay ; 
And then he always thinks, his temper's such, 
The work tor^ little, and the pay too much."* 

Yet, grumt'er as he is, so kind and hearty. 
That when his mortal foe was on the floor, 
And past the pcver to harm his quiet more. 

Poor John had 'V^Jlnigh wept for Bonaparte ! 
Such was the vrifhi whom Solimaim salam'd, — 
"And who are yc%" John answer'd, "and bi 
d— d?" 

TVL 

" A stranger, come to »o< the happiest man,- - 
So, signior, all avouch, — m Frangistan." — * 
" Happy ? my tenants bre^ng on my hand ; 
Unstock'd my pastures, and urtill'd my land 
Sugar and rum a drug, and nuo<» and moths 
The sole consumers of my good broadcloths — 
Happy ? — Why, cursed war and racking tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to otjr backs. '- 

* Or drnbbing ; so called in the Slang Dictionafr. 

5 See the True-Bom Englishman, by Daniel De For 

• Europe. 



670 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



• In that case, signior, I may take my leave ; 

I came to ask a favor — but I grieve" 

" Favor ?" said Jolm, and eyed the Sultaun hard, 
" It's my belief you come to break the yard ! — 
But, stay, you look hke some poor foreign sinner, — 
Fake that to buy yourself a sliirt and dinner." — 
With that he chuck'd a guinea at his head; 
But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, 
" Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline ; 
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. 
Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well." — 
■'Kiss and be d — d," quoth John, "and go to 
heL 1" 

XVII. 
Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg 
When the blithe bagpipe blew — but, soberer now. 
She doucely span her flax and milk'd her cow. 
And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, 
Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, 
Yet once a-month her house was partly swept, 
And once a-week a plenteous board she kept. 
And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claw8 

And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, 
She now was grown amenable to laws, 

A quiet soul as any in the nation ; 
The sole remembrance of her warlike joys 
Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. 
John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife. 
She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, 
Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbor. 
Who look'd to the main chance, declined no labor. 
Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon, 
And was d — d close in making of a bargain. 

XVIII. 

The Sultaun enter'd, and he made his leg, 
And with decorum curtsy'd sister Peg ; 
(She loved a book, and knew a thing or two, 
Ajid guess'd at once with whom she had to do). 
She bade him " Sit into the tire," and took 
Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck from the nook ; 
Ask'd him " about the news from Eastern parts ; 
And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts ! 
If peace brought down the price of tea and pep- 
per, 
And if the nitmugs were grown ony cheaper ; — 
Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park — 
Ye'll be the gentleman that wants the sark ? 
If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinnin', 
rU waiTant ye it's a weel-wearing linen." 

XIX. 
rhen up got Peg, and round the house 'gan scuttle 

In search of goods her customer to lail. 
Until the Sultaun strain'd his princely tlirottle. 

And hollo'd, — " Ma'^ui, that is not what I ail. 



Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen i"— 
"Happy?" said Peg: "What for d'ye want U 

ken? 
Besides, just think upon this by-gane year. 

Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh." — 
" What say you to the present ?" — " Meal's sm 

dear. 
To mak' their brose my bairns have scan* 

aneugh." — 
" The devil take the shirt," said Solimaun, 
•' I think my quest will end as it began. — 
Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no ceremony, 1 beg"-^— 
" Ye'll no be for the linen, then ?" said Peg. 

XX. 

N«w, for the land of verdant Eiin, 

The Sultaun's royal bark is steering. 

The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells, 

The cousin of John BuU, as story tells. 

For a long Space had John, with words of thundei 

Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under 

Till the poor lad, like boy that's iiogg'd unduly, 

Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. 

Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow 

A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow; 

His landlord, and of middle-men two brace. 

Had screw'd his rent up to the starving- place ; 

His garment was a top-coat, and an old one, 

His meal was a potato, and a cold one ; 

But still for fun or frohc, and all that. 

In the round world was not the match of Pat 

XXI. 

The Sultatm saw him on a holiday. 

Which is with Paddy still a jolly day : 

When mass is ended, and his load of sins 

Confess'd, and Mother Church hath from her binns 

Deak forth a bonus of imputed merit. 

Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit 1 

To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free, 

And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. 

"By Mahomet," said Sultaun Solimaun, 

" That ragged fellow is our very man ! 

Rush in and seize him — do lot do him t'jjt. 

But, will he nill he, let me nave liis shirt." — 

XXII. 
Shilela their plan was wellnigh after baulking 
(Much less provocation wiU set it a-walking), 
But the odds that foil'd Hercules foil'd Paddy 

Whack; 
They seized, and they floor'd, and they stripp'd 

him — Alack ! 
Up-bubboo 1 Paddy had not a shirt to hif 

back 1 1 1 
And thd King, disappointed, with 8orK)nr anH 

shame. 
Went bvk to Serendib as sad as he came. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



671 



iWt. Utcraftle's iFarctoell ^Ulrrcss,' 

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGK 



1817. 



A-"! the ■worn •war-horse, at the trumpet a sound, 
Eirects his mane, and neighs, and paws the 

ground — 
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, 
A od longs to rush on the embattled lines, 
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear, 
C'an scarce sustain to think our parting near ; 
To think my scenic hour for ever past. 
And that these valued plaudits are my last. 
Why should we part, while stUl some powers 

remain. 
That m your service strive not yet in vain ? 
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply, 
And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; 
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? 
Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close, 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; 
But all too soon the transient gleam is past, 
It cannot be renew'd, and will not last ; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. 
Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was, 
To Uve a pensioner on your applause. 
To drain the dregs of your endurance dry, 
And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; 
Till every sneering youth around inquires, 
" Is ihis the man who once could please our 

su-es ?" 
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien, 
To -varn me off from the encimiber'd scene. 
This must not be ; — and higher duties crave, 
S'.me space between the theatre and the grave, 
That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall: 

1 These lines first appeared, April 5, 1817, in a weekly sheet, 
e«Hed the " Sale Room," conducted and published by Messrs. 
Eallartyoe and Co. at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. 
Jiimej Ballantyne says, " The cliaracter fixed upon, with 
kappy propriety, for Kerable's closing scene, was Macbeth, in 
which he took his final leave of Scotland on the evening of 
^aMttxy, the 29th March, 1817. He had labored under a 
levere cold for a few days before, but on this memorable night 
(he physical annoyance yielded to the energy of his mind. — 
' He was,' he said, in the green-room, immediately before the 
curtain rose, ' determined to leave behind him the most per- 
fect specimen of his art which he had ever shown,' and his 
inccess was complete. At the moment of the tyrant's death 
the cnrtam fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. 
Tne applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased — 
tvere resumed — rose again -were reiterated — and again were 
dnslied. In a few minutes the curtain ascended, and Mr. 
itomNe came forward in the dress of Macbeth (the audience 
>T II wruentstieoas movement rising to receive him), to deliver 



The last, the closing scene, must be my owa 
My life's brief act in public service flown. 

Here, then, adieu 1 while yet some well graced 

parts 
May fix an ancient favorite in your hearts, 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men : 
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget— 
O, how forget ! — how oft I hither came 
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame ! 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic \9^and, 
TUl the fuU burst of inspiration came. 
And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame 1 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures. 
Those hours must five — and all then* charms ar« 

yours. 

favor'd Land ! renown'd for arts and arms, 
For manly talent, and for female charms, 
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line. 
What fervent benedictions now were thine 1 
But my last part is play'd, my kneU is rung. 
When e'en your praise falls faltering from my 

tongue ; 
And aU that you can hear, or I can teU, 
Is — Friends and Patrons, hail, and r aee you wm. 



Ufncs,' 

WEITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. 



1817. 



When the lone pilgi'im views afar 
The shrine that is his guiding star, 
With awe his footsteps print the road 
Which the loved saint of yore has trod. 

his farewell." .... " Mr. Kembla delivered these linw 
with exquisite beauty, and with an effect that was evidenced 
by the tears and sobs of many of the audience. His own emouoiu 
were very conspicuous. When his farewell was closed, h« xtt- 
gered long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The hovse sgafx 
stood up, and cheered him with the waving of halt tnd loitg 
shouts of applause. At length, he finally retired. Mid, n m 
far as regards Scotland, the curtain dropped upon his profe*- 
sional life for ever." 

» These lines were first printed in " The Forget-Me-Not, fw 
1834." They were written foi recitation by the distinguisnea 
actress, Miss Smith, now Mrs. Hartley, on the night of her ben- 
efit at the Edinburgh Theatre, in 1817 ; but reached her too lata 
for her purpose. In a letter which inclosed them, the poet 
intimated that they were written on the morning of the day OB 
which they were sent — that he thought the idea bettei than th« 
execution, and forwarded them with the hope of then ikddirif 
perhaps " a little salt to tl.9 bill." 



872 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



As near he draws, and yet more near, 
His dim eye sparkles with a tear ; 
The Gothic faiie's unwonted show, 
The choral hymn, the tapers' glow, 
Oppress his soul ; while they delight 
And chasten rapture with afiEright. 
No longer dare he think his toil 
Can merit aught his patron's smile ; 
Too hght appears the distant way, 
The chilly eve, the sultry day — 
All these endured no favor claim. 
But murmuring forth the sainted name, 
He lays his little ofFermg down, 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We too, who ply the Thespian art, 
Oft feel buch bodings of the heart. 
And, when our utmost powers are strain'd, 
Dare hardly hope your favor gain'd. 
She, who from sister climes has sought 
The ancient land where Wallace fought ; — 
Land long renown'd for arms and arts. 
And conquering eyes and dauntless hearts ; — ' 
She, as the flutterings Jiere avow. 
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors mow ; 
Yet sure on Caledonian plain 
The stranger never sued in vain. 
'Tis yours the hospitable task 
To give the applause she dare not ask ; 
And they who bid the pilgrim speed. 
The pilgrim's blessing be their meed. 



Ctic Sun upon t{)e E^efrTJlato ®fll. 



1817. 



["bcoTT's enjoyment of his new territories was, 
however, inteiTupied by various returns of his 
cramp, and the depression of spirit which always 
attended, in his case, the use of opium, the only 
raodicma that seemed to have power over the dis- 
ease. It was whUe struggling with such languor, 
on one lovely evening of this autumn, that he com- 
[)O80d the following beautiful verses. They mark 
the very spot of their birth, — namely, the then 
naked height overhanging the northern side of the 
Cauldshiels Locli, from which Melrose Abbey to 
the eastward, and the hiUs of Ettrick and Yarrow 
to the west, are now visible over a wide range of 
rich woodland, — aU the work of the poet's hand." 
—Life, vol. V. p. 237.] 

' " O favor'd land ! renown'd for arts and arms, 
I'or manly talent, and for female charms." 

Lines written for Mr. J. Kemble. 
■ *' Natbarj* G«w told me that he got tlic air from an old 



Air — " Rimhtn aluin 'gtu mo run. 



The air, composed by the Editor of Albyn's Anthology.' Ti» 
words written for Mr. George Tliomson's Scottish MelodlM 
[1822.1 



The Sim upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 

In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; 
The westland wind is hush and still, 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; 
Though evening, with her richest dye. 

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 

With listless look along the plain, 

I see Tweed's silver current glide 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rbe in ruin'd pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air. 

The hiU, the stream, the tower, the t«e,~ 
Are they still such as once they were ? 

Or is the -ireary change in me ? 

Alas, the warp'd and broken board, 

How can it bear the painter's dye I 
Th'f harp of strain'd and timeless chord. 

How to the minstrel's skill reply 1 
To Hching eyes each landscape lowers. 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill • 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland hiU 



S])' i^onfts of 3San0or's $lH9xei. 

Air — " Ymdaith Mionge." 
WEnTBM FOE ME. GEO. THOMSON'S WELSH Min,ODIB» 



1817. 



Ethe JRiD or Olfrid, ICing of Northumberland, 
having besieged Chester iM613, and BrockmaeL, 
a British Prince, advancing to relieve it, the re- 
ligious of the neighboring MonuDoerij of Bai^gor 
marched in procession, to pray for the success oj 
their countrymen. But the British being totally 
defeated, tlie heathen victor put the monks to the 
sword, and destroyed their monastery. !Z7t« tun« 
to which these verses are adapted is called ths 
Monks' March, and is .supposed to hav* been 
played at their ill-omened procession. 



When the heathen trumpet's clan^ 
Round beleaguer'd Chester rang, 

gentleman, a Mr. Dalrymple of Orangefield (he tMnlu), wh« 
had it from a friend in the Western Isles, as an vld Ui(lil«i» 
air "- GsoReE TaoMsoM. 



Veiled nun and friar gray 
March'd from Bangor's fair Abbaye ; 
Sigh their holy antbem sounds, 
Cestria's vale the hji^on rebounds, 
Woating do-wn the silvan Dee, 

miserere, Domine I 

On the long procession goes, 
•■rlory round their crosses glows, 
And the Virgin-mother mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
Who could think such saintly band 
Doom'd to feel unhallow'd hand ? 
Such was the Divine decree, 

miserere, Domine I 

Bands that masses only sung. 
Hands that censers only swung. 
Met the northern bow and bill, 
Heard the war-cry wild and shriU : 
Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand, 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand, 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

mimirere, Domine I 

Weltering amid warriors slain, 
Spum'd by steeds with bloody mane, 
Slaughter'd down by heathen blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : 
Word of parting rest unspoke. 
Mass unsung, and bread unbroke ; 
For their souls for charity. 

Sing, miserere, Domine I 

Bangor ! o'er the murder wail ! 
Long thy ruins told the tale, 
Shatter'd towers and broken arch 
Long recall'd the woeful march :' 
On thy shrine no tapers burn, 
Never shall thy priests return ; 
The pUgrim sighs and sings for thee, 

miserere, Domine I 



Hettev 



From Largs, where the Scotch gave the Nort^'men 
a drilling — 

From Ardrossan, whose harbor coat many a shil- 
ling— 

From Old Cumnock, where beds are as hard as « 
plank, sir — 

From a chop and green pease, and a chickeL in 
Sanquhar, 

This eve. please the Fates, at Dnimlan-l^ we ao 
chor. W. *: 

[Sir Walter's companion on this excuTason wa« 
Captain, now Sir Adam Ferguson. — See ^ /«, vol 
V, p. 234.] 



rO HIS GKACE THE DUKE OF BtJOCLEUOH, 
DEUMLANEIG CASTLE, 

Sanquhar, 2 o'clock, Jnly 30. 1817. 
!''rom Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are 

Bleeping — 
From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is 

sweeping — 

I William of Malmsbnry say8, that in his tima the extent of 
the ruins of the monastery bore ample witness to the desolation 
Mcanioned h» the massacre: — " tot semiruti parietes ecclaai*- 

S5 



irom Kob Kog. 



1817. 



(1.)— TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD TF* 
BLACK PRINCE. 

" A BLOTTED piece of paper dropped out of the 
book, and, being taken up by my father, he inter 
rupted a hint from Owen, on the propriety of se 
curing loose memoranda with a httle paste, bj 
exclaiming, ' To the memory of Edward the Black 
Prince— What's all this ?— verses !— By Heaven, 
Frank, you are a greater blockhead than I sup 
posed you !' " 

O for the voice of that wild horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

The dying hero's call. 
That told imperial Charlemagne, 
How Paynim sons of swai'thy Spain 

Had wrought his champion's faQ. 

« ' Fontarabian echoes P continued my father, 
interrupting himself; ' the Fontarabian Fai'- would 
have been more to the purpose. — Paynin. f — 
What's Paynim ? — Could you not eay Pagan w 
well, and write English, at least, if you mu«» 
needs write nonsense f " — 

Sad over earth and ocean sotmding, 
And England's distant cliffs astounding, 

Such are the notes siiould say 
How Britam's hope, and France's fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 

In Bourdeaux dying lay. 

mm, tot anfractus portionm, tanta tnrba mderuaa quBiitaa f». 
alibi cemas." 



6U- 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



" ' Poitiers, by the way, is always spelled with 
m 8, and I know no reason why orthography should 
giye place to rhyme.' " 

" Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, 
" And let the casement be display'd, 
That I may see once more 
The splendor of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirror'd wave, Garonne, 
And Blaye's empurpled shore." 

'• Garonne and sun is a bad rhyme. Why, 
Frank, you do not even imderstand the beggarly 
trade you have chosen.' " 

* Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep. 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear, 
When England's maids and matrons hear 

Of their Black Edward dead. 

" And though my sun of glory set. 
Nor France nor England shaU forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise. 
New planets in these southern skies. 

Through clouds of blood and flame." 

"'A cloud of flame is something new — Good- 
morrow, my masters all, and a merry Christmas 
to you 1 — Why, the beUman writes better lines 1' " 

Chap. iL 



(2.)— TRANSLATION FROM ARIOSTO. 



1817. 



" Miss Vernon proceeded to read the first stanza, 
which was nearly to the following pmpose :" — 

LADrKs, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame, 

beeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing ; 
Wliat time the Moors from sultry Africk came, 

Led on by Agramant, their youthful king — 
He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring 

O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war ; 
Buch illx from old Trojano's death did spring, 

^\Tiicb to avenge he came from realms afar. 
And menaced Chriatian Charles, the Roman Em- 
peror. 

Of d.\nntles8 Roland, too, my strain shall sound. 
In miport never known in prose or 'hyme, 



How He, the chief of judgment deem'd profound 
For luckless love was crazed upon a tin.e — 

" ' There is a great deal of it,' said she, glancing 
along the paper, and interrupting the sweetest 
sounds which mortal ears can drink in ; those of a 
youthful poet's verses, namely, read by the lip* 
which are dearest to them." 

Chap. Xr\. 



(3.>— M T T E S . 

(1.) — Chap. x. 
In the wide pile, by others heeded not. 
Hers was one sacred solitary spot. 
Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain 
For moral hunger food, and crires for moral pain. 

Anonymous. 

" The library at Osbaldistone Hall was a gloomj 
room," <fec 

(2.) — Chap. xni. 
Dire was his thought, who first in poison steep'd 
The weapon form'd for slaughter — direr his, 
And worthier of damnation, who instill'd 
The mortal venom in the social cup. 
To fill the veins with death instead of life. 

Anonymoui, 

(3.) — Chap. xxh. 

Look round thee, young Astolpho : Here's tb« 

place 
Which men (for being poor) are sent to starvfc in,— 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. 
Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench. 
Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and at the snuff. 
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and waywarc^ 
The desporate revelries of wild despair, 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds 
That the poor captive would have died ere prac 

tised. 
Till bondage simk his soul to his condition. 

The Prison, Scene iil Act L 

(4.) — Chap. xxvn. 
Far as the eye could i each no tree was se^n, 
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green 
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew • 
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; 
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear 
Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here. 

Prophecy of Pamina 

(5.) — Chap. xxxi. 
" Woe to the vanquish'd !" was stern Brenno's wori% 
When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword-' 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



67a 



Woe to the vanquish'd T' when his massive blade 
Bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd, 
And on the field of foughten battle still, 
VVho knows no limit save the victor's will. 

The Gavlliad. 

(6.) — Chap. xxxn. 
And b« he safe restored 6re evening 8»t, 
Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, 
And power to wreak it in an arm'd hand, 
Toui land shall ache for't. 

Old Play. 

(7.) — Chap, xxxvi. 
FarewtU to the land where the clouds love to rest. 
Like the shroud of the dead on the mountain's 

cold breast ; 
To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, 
ind the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. 



npdogue to tl)e Appeal.' 

spoken by mes. henry 8iddon8, 
Feb. 16, 1818. 

A CAT of yore (or else old .^sop lied) 
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride, 
But spied a mouse upon her marriage day, 
Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey ; 
Even thus my bridegi'oom lawyer, as you saw. 
Threw oif poor me, and pounced upon papa. 
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose. 
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labor 
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbor. 

Yes, times are changed ; for, in your fathers' age, 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; 
However high advanced by future fate, 
There stands the bench {points to tlie Fit) that first 

received their weight. 
The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see. 
Doom though vmwigg'd, and plead without a fee. 

But now, astounding each poor mimic elf. 
Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; 
Tremendous neighbor, on our right she dwells, 
Builds her high towers and excavates her cells ; 
WliUe on the left she agitates the town, 

1 " The Appeal," a Tragedy, by John Gait, the celebrated 
Mthorof the " Annals of the Parish," and other Novels, wa» 
played for four nights at this time in Edinburgh. 

3 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece 
ire all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience, 
the new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from 
Ibe theaje 



With the tempestuous question, Up or djwn'* 
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, 
Law's final end, and law's uncertainty. 
But, soft I who lives at Rome the Pope must flattei 
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. 
Then — just farewell 1 We wait with serious aw* 
Till your applause or censure gives the law. 
Trusting oiu* humble efforts may assure ye. 
We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and Jarj 



ittacfttdnmon's 3lament.* 



1818. 



Air—" Cha till mi tuille."» 

Mackrhnmon, hereditary piper to the Laird oj 
Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament 
when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant 
and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel waf 
impressed with a belief, which the event verified, 
that he was to be slain in the approaching feud , 
and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tuille ; 
ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon," "J 
shall never return ; although Macleod returns, 
yet Mackrimmon shall never return !" The picCt 
is but too well known, from its being the strain 
with which the emigrants from the West High- 
lands and Isles usually take leave of their native 
shore. 



MacLeod's wizard flag fi-om the gray castle sallies, 
The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys ; 
Gleam wixr-axe and broadsword, clang target and 

quiver. 
As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan 

for ever ! 
Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are 

foaming ; 
Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer aia 

roaming ; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river 
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall nevef 

" Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan »s* 

sleeping ; 
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dim that are 

weeping ; 

' At this time the public of Edinburgh was h.uch agitated bj 
a lawsuit betwixt the Magistrates and many of the Inhabitanti 
of the City, concerning a range of new buildings on the westen 
side of the North Bridge ; which the latter insisted should S 
removed as a deformity. 

* Written for Albyn's Anthology. 

6 " We retuB* V) more." 



876 SCOIT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and for ever ; 


Water-b lUiffs, rangers, keepers. 


Mackriimnon departs, to return to you never ! 


He can wauk when they are 


rhe Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge 


sleepers ; 


before me,' 


Not for boimtith or reward 


The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; 


Dare ye meU wi' Donald Caird. 


But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall 




not shiver. 


Donald Caird's come again I 


rhiiugh devoted 1 go — to return again never 1 


Donald Caird's come again J 




Gar the bagpipes hum amain, 


' Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's be- 


Donald Caird's come again. 


wailing 




Be heard wlien the Gael on their exile are sailing ; 


Donald Caird can drink a giU 


Dea. land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we 


Fast as hostler-wife can nil ; 


sever. 


Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 


Return — return — return shall we never ! 


Kens how Donald bends a bicker , 


Cha till, cha tUl, cha till sin tuille 1 


When he's fou he's stout and saucy 


Cha till, cha till, cha tiU sin tuille, 


Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 


Cha till, cha tUl, cha till sin tuUle, 


Hieland chief and Lawland laird 


Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Macki-immon 1" 


Maim gie room to Donald Caird 1 




Donald Caird's come again ! 
Donald Caird's come again ! 




IBonalU ffiaCrti's ffiomc ^ijafn.* 


Tell the news in brugh and glen^ 




Donald Caird's come again. 


Air — " Malcolm Caird's come again."* 






Steek the amrie, lock the kist. 




1818. 


Else some gear may weel be mis't ; 
Donald Caird finds orra things 




CHORDS. 


"Where Allan Gregor fand the tings ; 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo. 


Donald Caird's come again I 


Wliiles a hen and whiles a sow. 


Tell the news in brugh and glen, 


Webs or duds frae hedge or yard— 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird 1 


Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 


Donald Caird's come again ! 


Blithely dance the Hieland fling, 


Donald Caird's come again / 


Drink tiU the gudeman be blind, 


Dinna let the Shirra ken 


Fleech tiU the gudewife be kind ; 


Donald Caird's come again. 


Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, 




Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 


On Donald Caird the doom was stern, 


TeU the news in brugh and glen, 


Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 


Donald Caird's come again. 


But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study 




Caught the gift to cheat the wuddi» 


Donald Caird's come again I 


Rings of airn, and bolts of steel. 


Donald Caird's come again t 


FeU like ice frae hand and heel I 


Tell the news in brugh and glen, 


Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, 


Donald Caird's come again. 


Donald Caird's come again 1 


Donald Caird can wire a maukin. 


Donald Caird's come again ' 


Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin', 


Donald Caird's cotne again 1 


Leisters kipper, makes a shift 


Dinna let the Justice ken. 


To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; 


Donald Caird's come again.* 


S Pee n note on Bnvshee, Lady of the Lake, ante, p. 250. 


Sit Walter Scott usually attended ; and the Poet wwfilffcj 


« Written for Albyn's Anthology, vol. ii., 1818, and set to 


amused with a sly allusion to his two-fold chajarter * 


BDsic in Mr. Thomson's Collection, in 1822. 


Sheriff of Selkirkshire, and author-suspect of *' Rob R«y," i* 


' Caird signifies Tinker. 


the chorus, — 


•• Mr. T). Thomson, of Galashiels, produced a parody on thii 


" Think ye, does the Shirra ken 


toni at an annual dinner of the raanulacturers there, which 


Rob M'Cfregor's come again V* 




irom ti)£ Utavi of iIllb-£otl)ian. 



1818. 



(1.)— MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS. 

When the gledd's in the blue cloud, 

The lavrock lies still ; 
When the hound's in the green-wood. 

The hind keeps the hiU. 



I) sleep ye soimd, Sir James, she said. 
When ye suld rise and ride ? 

There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 
Are seeking where ye hide. 

Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers. 

Dub a dub, dub a dub ; 

Have at old Beelzebub, — 
Oliver's running for fear. — 



[ glance like the wildfire through country and 

town ; 
Tax seen on the causeway — I'm seen on the down ; 
The lightning that flashes so bright and so free, 
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. 



And merry whips, ding-dong. 
And prayer and fasting plenty. 



What did ye wi' the bridal ring — bridal ring — 

bridal ring ? 
What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty 

quean, ? 
I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, 
I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, O. 

Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee ; 
I prithee, dear moon, now show to me 
The form and the featm-es, the speech and de- 
gree. 
Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. 

It is the benny butcher lad. 
That wears the sleeves of blue, 

He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
On Friday that he slew. 

There's a bloodhoimd rangmg Tinwald Wood, 

Thwe's harness glancing sheen ; 
Tl:ere's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae. 

And she sings loud between. 

Up in the air, 

On my bonnie gray mare. 

And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. 

In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, 
Ere I was ane and twenty, 
I had hempen bracelets strong, 



My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard 

Sae far ayoat the sea. 
And it is but my blithsome gbii«t 

That's speaking now to thee 



I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town 
And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own— 
The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine, 
But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. 

I am Queen of the Wake, and Fm Lady of May, 
And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to 

day; 
The wild-fii'e that flashes so far and so free 
Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me. 



He that is down need fear no fall, 

He that is low no pride ; 
He that is humble ever shall 

Have God to be his guide. 

Fulness to such a burthen is 

That go on pilgrimage ; 
Here httle, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age. 

" As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, ana 
then a part of the chorus and words of what had 
been, perhaps, the song of a joUy harvest-home." 

Our work is over — over now. 
The goodman wipes his weary brow. 
The last long wain wends slow away, 
And we are free to sport and play. 

The night comes on when sets the sun. 
And labor ends when day is done. 
When Autumn's gone, and Winter's oome. 
We hold our jovial harvest-home. 

" The attendant on the hospital arranged her m 
her bed as she desired, with her face to the waU, 
and her back to the light. So soon as she wai 
quiet in this new position, she began again to sintj 
in the same low and modulated strains, as if she 
was recovering the state of abstraction which the 
interruption of her visitants had disturbed. The 
strain, however, was different, and rather resem- 
bled the music of the methodist hymns, though 
the measiu-e of the song was similar to that of tb« 
former :"— 

When the fight of grace is fought, — 
When the marriage vest is wrought,^ 
When 7aith has chases' :old Doubt away ♦ 



878 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And Hope but sickens at delay, — 
When Cliarity, imprisoned here, 
Longs for a more expanded sphere ; 
Doif thy robe of sin and clay ; 
Christian, rise, and come away. 

" Her next seemed to be the fragment of some 
-H ballad :"— 

Cauld e my bed. Lord Archibald, 

And sad my sleep of sorrow : 
But thine sail be as sad and cauld. 

My fause true-love 1 to-morrow. 

And weep ye not, my maidens free, 
Though death your mistress borrow ; 

For he for whom I die to-day. 
Shall die for me to-morrow. 

* Again slie changed the tune to one wilder, less 
monotonous, and less regular. But of the v/ords 
only a fragment or two could be collected by those 
who listened to this singular scene :" — 

Proud Maisie is in the wood. 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

" Tell me, thou bonny bird, 

When shall I marry me ?" — 
" When six brae gentlemen 

Kirkwai'd shall carry ye." 

" Who makes the bridal bed, 

Bu-die, say truly ?" — 
" Tlie gray -headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

" Tlie glow-worm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 

' Welcome, proud lady.' " 

' Her voice died away with the last notes, and 
she fell into a slumber, from which the experienced 
attendant assured them, that she would never 
awake at all, or only in the death-agony. 

" Her first prophecy was true. The poor maniac 
parted with existence, without again uttering a 
lound of any kind." 

Chaps. xv.-xxxviiL passim. 



.2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. xix. 
To man, in this liis trial state, 
Tbo privilftgT IS given, 



When lost by tides of human fate 
To anchor fast in Heaven. 

Watt^ llymnt 

(2.) — Chap. xxm. 
Law, take thy victim ! — May she find the mercy 
In yon mild heaven which this hard world denies hav 

(3.) — Chap. xxvn. 
And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bmd 
In sad alliance, each degraded mind. 

(4.) — Chap. xxxv. 

I beseech you — 



These tears beseech you, and these chaste handi 

woo you, 
Tliat never yet were heaved but to things holy- 
Things like yourself — You are a God above us 
Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy ! 

The Bloody Brothe* 

(5.) — Chap. xlvi. 
Happy thou art ! then happy be, 

Nor envy me my lot ; 
Thy happy state I envy thee. 
And peaceful cot. 

Lady C G 1. 



Jrom tl)£ Brik of Cammermoor 



1819. 



(1.)— LUCY ASHTOFS SOI^G. 

" The silver tones of Lucy Ashtop's voice min 
gled with the accompaniment in an ancient air, to 
which some one had adapted the foUoving wv^ds:— 

Look not thou on beauty's ch&rmiDg, — 
Sit thou still when kings arc arming, — 
Taste not when the wiiie-«-up glistens,— 
Speak not when the pe'-plo listens, — • 
Stop thine ear agains', the singer, — 
From the red gold keep thy finger, — 
Vacant nea^t, and hfjid, and eye, 
Easy 'iv* ai.d '^uiet die. 

Chap. liL 



(l.>- NORMAN THE FORESTER'S SONO. 

"Ayo 'lumming his rustic roundelay, the yeo 
nvn went on his road, the soiuid of his >^ug^ 



LYRICAL r^ND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



679 



fo'.ce gradually dying away as the distance be- 
twixt them increased." 

The monk must arise when the matins ring, 
The abbot may sleep to their chime ; 

But the -v eomau must start when the bugles sing, 
'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time. 

ITiere's bucks and raes on BiUhope braes, 
There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; 

But a lily wliite doe in the garden goes, 
She's fairly worth them a'. 

Chap. iiL 



(3.)— THE PROPHECY. 

" WirH a quivering voice, and a cheek pale with 
»pprehension, Caleb faltered out the following 
ines :" — 

When the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravens- 
wood shall ride, 
And wooe a dead maiu'en to be his bride. 
He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow. 
And his name shall be lost for evermoe I 

Chap. zviiL 



(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. vin. 
The hearth in hall was black and dead. 
No board was dight in bower within. 
Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; 

■* Hcrti's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne. 
Old Ballad, 
{^Altered from " The Heir of Idnne."^ 

(2.) — Chap. xrv. 
As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-sound. 
Various and vague the dry leaves dance their 

round ; 
Or, from the garner-door, on sether borne. 
The chaff flies devious from the winnow'd com ; 
S vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, 
From their fix'd aim are mortal coimsels driven. 

Anony7no^^«. 

(8.) — Chap. xvn. 

Here is a father now. 

Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, 
Make her the stop-gap to some canker'd feud, 
Ot fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes, 
Ti appease the sea at highest. 

Anonymmis. 



(4.) — Chap. xvui. 
Sir, stay at home and take an old man's coimsel 
Seek not to bask you by a stranger's heartn ; 
Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fiie. 
Domestic food ia wholesome, though 'tis homelj 
And foreign dainties poisonous, though taitefuL 
2Tie French Courtezo.%. 

(5.) — Chap. xxv. 
True-love, an' thou be true. 

Thou has ane kittle part to play, 
For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou 

Maun strive for many a day. 

I've kend by mony friend's tale, 
Far better by this heart of mine. 

What time and change of fancy avail, 
A true love-knote to untwine. 

HendersouH 

(6.) — Chap, xxvil 

Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the forelock, 
And if she 'scapes my grasp, the fault is mine ; 
He that hath buffeted with stern adversity. 
Best knows to shape his course to favormg breeze* 

Old Plav. 



Jrom tl)c Cegmlr of iHontrose. 

(1.)— ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY. 

" So saying, Annot Lyle sate down at a littlo 
distance upon the bench on which Allan M'Aulay 
was placed, and tuning her cl.airshach, a small 
harp, about thirty inches in height, she accompa- 
nied it with her voice. The air was an ancient 
Gaelic melody, and the words, which were sup- 
posed to be very old, were in the same language ; 
but we subjoin a translation of them, by Secundus 
M'Pherson, Esq., of Glenforgen ; which, although 
submitted to the fetters of English rhythm, w« 
trust will be found nearly as genuine as the vi- 
sion of Ossian by his Celebrated namesako " 

1. 
BiBDS of omen dark and foul. 
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl. 
Leave the sick man to his dream — 
All night long he heard you scream. 
Haste to cave and ruin'd tower, 
Ivy tod, or dingled-bower, 
There to wink and mop, for. 1 ai k ! 
In the mid air sings the lark. 



«80 SCOTT'S POETICjlL WORKrf. 


2. 


The lady said, " Ai orphan's state 


Hie to moorish gills and rocks, 


Ik nard i,ad sad lo bear ; 


Prowling wolf and wily fox, — 


Yet worse the widow'd i lother's fate, 


Hie ye fast, nor turn your view, 


Who mourns both lord and heir. 


Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. 




Couch your trains, and speed your flight, 


'' Twelve times the roUing year has gped. 


Safety parts with parting night ; 


Since, wliile from vengeance wild 


Ajd on distant echo borne, 


C fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 


Conies the hunter's early hora 


Forth's eddies whelm'd my child.' — ■ 


8. 


" Twelve times the year its course has boni*, 


The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams, 


The wandermg maid replied. 


Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; 


" Since fishers on St. Bridget's mom 


Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay 


Di ew nets on Campsie side. 


Tliat scare the pilgrim on Iiis way. — 




Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and fe* 


" St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; 


Thy torch, that cheats benighted me^^ 


An mfant, well nigh dead, 


Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done, 


They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, 


For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 


To beg from you her bread." 


4. 


That orphan maid the lady Mss'd, — 


Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, aurj deep, 


" My husband's looks you bear ; 


O'erpower the passive mind iii sleep. 


Saint Bridget and h^r morn be bless'd I 


Pass from the shimberer's soul away. 


You are his widow's heir." 


Like night-mists from the blow of day : 




Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim 


They've robed that maid, so poor and pale, 


Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb. 


In sUk and sandals rare ; 


Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone 1 


And pearls, for drops of froasen hail, 


Thou darest not face the godlike sua 


Are glistening in her halt'. 


Chap. vL 

♦ 


Chap. \x 




(3.)— MOTTOES. 


(2.)— THE ORPHAN MAID. 


(1.)— Chap. x. 




Dark on their journey lour'd the gloomy day. 


"Tuning her instrument, and receiving an as- 


Wild were the hiUs, and doubtful grew the way ; 


lenting look from Lord Monteith and Allan, Annot 


More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful. 


Ljle executed the following ballad, which our 


show'd 


friend, Mr. Secundus M'Pherson, whose goodness 


The mansion which received them «ctn the road. 


Wi; had before to acknowledge, has thus translated 


The Travellers, a Romaiust 


toto the English tongue :" — 






(2.)— Chap. xi. 


November's hail-cloud drifts away. 


Is this thy castle, Baldwin ? Melancholy 


November's sunbeam wan 


Displays her sable banner f-om the donjon, 


Looks coldly on the castle gray, 


Dark'ning the foam of *h' w'aolf surge bene.tth. 


When forth comes Lady Anne. 


Were I a habitant, to 'ee cb'.<5 gloom 




Pollute the face of natur", aud to hear 


The orphan by the oak was set, 


The ceaseless sound of iv».«re a,nd sea-bird's sctcafa 


Her arms, her feet, were bare ; 


I'd wish me in the kut €,t)*t poorest peasant 


iTie hail-drops had not melted yet. 


Ere framed to give 'air* temporary shelter. 


Amid her raven hair. 


Browne. 


* And dame," she said, " by all the tiee 


(3.) — Chap. xtv. 


That child and mother know. 


This was the entry, then, these stairs — but wltithei 


Aid one who never knew these joys,— 


after ? 


Relievf an orphan's woe." 


Yet he that's sure to fiish on the land 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



681 



May quit the nicety of card and compass, 
Ajid trust the open sea ■without a pUot. 

Tragedy of Brennovalt, 



Jrom loanljoc. 

(1.1— THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 

1. 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 
From Palestine the champion came ; 
The cross upon his shoulders borne, 
Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn. 
Each dint upon his batter'd shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 
And thus, beneath his lady's bower, 
He sung, as fell the twilight hour : 



« Joy to the fitir ! — thy knight behold, 

Retm-n'd from yonder land of gold ; 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need. 

Save his good arms and battle-steed ; 

His spurs to dash agamst a foe. 

His lance and sword to lay him low ; 

Such aU the trophies of his toil, 

?luch — and the hope of Tekla's smile 1 

3. 
Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 
Her favor fired to feats of might 1 
Unnoted shall she not remain 
Where meet the bright and noble train ; 
Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell — 
' Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 
'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field of Ascalon 1 



" Note well her smile ! — it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 
When, vain liis strength and Mahoimd's spell, 
Iconium's turban'd Soldan fell. 
See'st thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades her neck of snow ? 
Twines not of them one golden thread. 
But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 



'* Joy to the fair ! — my name unknown. 
Each deed, and all its praise, thine own ; 
Then, oh 1 unbar this churlish gate. 
The night-dew falls, the hour is late. 
Inured to Syria's glowing breath, 
I feel the nortli breeze ch'il as death; 



Let grateful love queU maiden shame, 
And grant him bliss who brings thee fame." 

Chap. xriiL 



(2.)— THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

I 

Fll give thee, good feUow, a twelvemonth or twain, 
To search Europe through from Byzantium to 

Spain ; 
But ne'er shall you find, should you search tiU you 

tire. 
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 



Tour knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 
And is brought home at even-song prick'd through 

with a spear ; 
I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. 

8. 

Your monarch I — Pshaw 1 many a prince has been 

known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a Friar J 



The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone, 
The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own ; 
He can roam where he lists, he can stop where h* 

tires. 
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's. 

5. 

He's expected at noon, and no wight, till he comes, 
May profane the gieat chair, or the porridjgfe ol 

plums 
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, 
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 



He's expected at night, and the pasty's made bo^ 
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black 

pot; 
And the good-wife would wish the good-man in tba 

mire, 
Ere he lack'd a soft pUlow, the Barefooted Friar 



Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope. 
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope I 
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briet 
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

Chap, xviii 



682 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(3.)— SAXON WAR-SONG. 

"The fire was spreading rapidly through all 
parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first 
Kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of 
ne of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, 
such as was of yore chanted on the field of battle 
"iv the yet heathen Saxons. He long dishevelled 
gray hair flew back from her uncovered head , the 
inebriating delight of gratified vengeance contend- 
ed in her eyes with the fire of insanity ; and she 
jrandished the distaff which she held in her hand, 
OS if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who 
spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tra- 
dition has preserved some wild strophes of the 
oarbaaous hymn which she chanted wildly amid 
that scene of fire and slaughter :" — 



Whet the bright steel. 

Sons of the White Dragon 1 

Kindle the torch. 

Daughter of Hengist 1 [banquet, 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber. 

It steams and ghtters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling 1 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon 1 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist \ 



The black clouds are low over the thane's castle : 

The eagle screams — he rides on their bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared 1 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth, 

rhe race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla 1 

And strike yoiu- loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 

3. 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle, 
The black clouds gather round ; 
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant 1 
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest 

against them ; 
He, the bright consumer of palaces, 
Broad waves he his blazing banner, 
Red, wide, and dusky. 
Over the strife of the valiant ; 
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken 

bucklers ; 
Be loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts 

warm from the wound 1 



All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helme *• ; 

The strong armor is pierced by the lauce: 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes. 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

AU must perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Horsa is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of thi 

sword 1 
Let your blades drink ])lood like wine : 
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 
By the light of the blazing halls ! 
Strong be your swords while your blood is wana 
And spare neither for pity nor fear, 
For vengeance hath but an hour ; 
Strong hate itself shall expire 1 
I also must perish. 



Note. — " It will readily occur to the antiquary, 
that these verses are intended to imitate the an- 
tique poetry of the Scalds — the minstrels of the 
old Scandinavians — the race, as the Laureate so 
happily terms them, 

' Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endore, 
Who smiled in death.' 

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civili- 
zation and conversion, was of a different and softer 
character ; but, in the circimistances of Ulrica, she 
may be not unnaturally supposed to return to the 
wild strains which animated her forefathers diu-ing 
the times of Paganism and untamed ferocity." 

Chap, xxxil 



(4.)— REBEOCA'S HYMN. 

" It was in the twiUght of the day when het 
trial, if it could be called such, had taken place 
that a low knock was heard at the door of Re- 
becca's prisor. chamber. It disturbed not the in- 
mate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer 
recommended by her religion, and which concludea 
with a hymn, which we have ventured thus ta 
translate into English :"— 

When Israel, of tlie Lord beloved. 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her fathers' God before her moved. 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonish'd lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands 

Return'd the fiery column's glow. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



683 



There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, 
And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
So portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen I 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judab's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light 1 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round om* altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou hast said. The blood of goat, 

ITie flesh of rams I wiU not prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 

kie mine accepted sacrifice. 

Chap. zL 



(6.)— THE BLACK KNIGHT'S SONG. 

" At the point of their joum<«y at which we take 
them up, this joyous pair were engaged in singing 
a virelai, as it was called, in which the clown bore 
a stiff and mellow burden to the better instructed 
Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus ran the ditty :" 

Aima-Marie, love, up is the sim, 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun. 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

Tie time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 

WAMBA. 

O Tybalt, lore, Tybalt, awake me not yet, 
Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; 
For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 
Compared with these visions, O Tybalt ! my love ? 
Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, 
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. 
Softer sovmds, softer, pleasures, in slumber I 

prove. 
But think not I dream'd of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

Chap, zli 



(6.)— SONG. 

THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

"Thb Jester next struck into another carol, t 
sort of comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching 
up the tune, rephed in the like manner." 

KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

There came three merry men from south, west 
and north. 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth. 

And where was the widow might say them nay 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he cama 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were men of greil 
fame. 

And where was the widow might say him nay * 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire. 
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire, 
For she was the widow would say him toy. 

WAMBA, 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and hi 
nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 
Hut's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage ww 
of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay 

Sir David ap Morgan ap GriflSth ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roimdelay , 

She said that one widow for so many was too few 
And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Eent^ 

Jollily singing his roundelay ; 
He spoke to the widow of living and rent. 

And where was the widow coidd say him nay t 

BOTH. 

So the knight and the sqmre were both left in tht 
mire. 
There for to sing their roundelay ; 
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 
There ne'er was a widow could say him nay. 

Chat. zU 



(7.)_FUNERAL HYMN. 

" Four maidens, Rowena leaaiuj, the choir, 
raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which 
we have only been able to decipher two or threa 
stanzas f— 



684 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Duet unto dust, 
To this all must ; 

The tenant hath resign'd 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

'Through paths imknown 
Thy soul hath flown. 

To seek the realms of woe, 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 
By Mary's grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be I 
Till prayers and alms, 
And holy psalms. 

Shall set the captive free. 

Chap. zliiL 



(8.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)^Chap. xdc 

A-WAT 1 our jom-ney lies through dell and dingle. 
Where the bhthe fawn trips by its timid mother, 
VVTiere the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, 
Checkers the sunbeam in the green sward al- 
ley— 
Up and away I — for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne : 
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's 

lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 

(2.) — Chap, xxl 
When autumn nights were long and drear. 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 
How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn I 

i)evotion borrows Music's tone, 
And Music took Devotion's wing. 

And, like the bird that hails the sim, 
They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Clemenfa Well. 

(8.) — Chap. xxvn. 
The hottest horse will oft be cool. 

The dullest will show fire ; 
The friar will often play the fool. 
The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song. 



(4.) — Chap. xxtx. 
This wandermg race, sever'd from other men. 
Boast yet their intercom-se with human arts ; 
The seas, the woods, the deserts which thej 

haunt. 
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures 
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms 
Display undream'd-of powers when gather'd bj 

them. 

The Je». 

(5.)— Chap. -xTrxi. 
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. 
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost. 
Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 
'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew, 
Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and tean 
Anselm parts othei-wise. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xxxm. 

Trust me, each state must have its poUcies: 
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk, 
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. 
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron. 
Hath man and man in social union dwelt. 
But laws were made to draw that imion closer. 

Old Flay. 

(7.) — Chap, xxxvi. 

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcaiiian deserts. 
Strive with the half-starved Uon for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 

AnonyTntnu 

(8.) — Chap, xxxvn. 

Say not my art is fraud — all live by seeming. 
The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by leeming: 
The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. — All admit it. 
All practise it ; and he who is content 
With showing what he is, shall have small credit 
In church, or camp, or state. — So wags the world 

Old Flay. 

(9.) — Chap, xxxvm. 

Stem was the law which bade its vofries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 
Stern was the law, wluch at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mhth forbade to smile ; 
But sterner still, when high the kon-rod 
Of tyrant power she shook, and call'd that powei 
of Qod. 

The Middle Age*. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



685 



Hpltap}) on iHrs. SrsftCne. 



1819. 



Plain, as her native dignity of mind, 
Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd ; 
Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll. 
Emblem of lovely form and candid soul. — 
But, oh I what symbol may avail, to teU 
The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well 1 
What sculptm'e show the broken ties of life, 
Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife 1 
Or on the tablet stamp each title dear. 
By which thine urn, Euphemia, claims the tear 1 
Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, 
llesign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow. 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 



ifrom i\)t iHonastcrg. 



1820. 



" v-soNGS OP THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. 



ON TWEED RIVER. 

1. 

Mkeeilt swim we, the moon shines bright, 
Both cmTent and ripple are dancing in light. 
We have roused the night raven, I heard Him 

croak. 
As we plash'd along beneath the oak 
That flings its broad branches so far and so wide, 
Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. 
" Who wakens my nestlings ?" the raven he said, 
" My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red 1 
For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, 
And I'll have my share with the pike and the ecV 

2. 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 
There's a golden gleam on the distant height : 
There's a silver shower on the alders dank. 
And the drooping willows that wave on the bank. 
1 see the Abbey, both turret and tower, 
It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 
The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, 
Brt Where's Father Philip should toll the bell ? 

Mfb. Enpheraia Robinson, wife of William Erskine, Esq. 
ftorwnrda Lord Kinedder), died September, 1819, aad waa 



Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. 
Downward we drift through shadow and lighi 
Under yon rock the eddies sleep. 
Calm and silent, dark and deep. 
The Kelpy has risan from the fathomless pool. 
He has hghted his candle of death and of dool : 
Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee 



Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to 

night? 
A man of mean or a man of might ? 
Is it layman or priest that must float in your oo7a, 
Or lover who crosses to visit his love ? 
Hark 1 heard ye the Kelpy reply as we pass'd,— 
"God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd the 

bridge fasti 
All that come to my cove are sunk, 
Priest or layman, lover or monk." 

Landed — landed I the black book hath won. 
Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun > 
Sain ye, and save ye, and bUthe mot ye be. 
For seldom they land that go swimming with me 

Chap. T. 



TO THE SUB-PRIOR. 

Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, 
With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide • 
But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er hill. 
There is one that has warrant to wait on you still. 

Back, back, 

The volume black I 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho! Sub-Prior, and came you but here. 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier I 
Sain you, and save you, be wary and wise, 
Ride back with the book, or you'U pay for yoor 
prize 

Back, back, 

There's death in the track I 
In the name of my master, I bid tbpe bear bacL 

" In the name of my Master " said '.he aslorilshed 
Moak, " that name before which all things created 
tremble, 1 conjure thee to say what thou 3>rt that 
hauntest me thus ?" 

The same voice replied, — 

That which is neither iU nor well. 

That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, 

baried at Saline, in the county of Fife, where these lines tn 
inscribed on the tombstone. 



686 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 
TVixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ; 
A form that men spy 
With the half-shut eye 
In the beams of the setting sun, am L 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right ! 

Like the star when it shoots, I can dart through 
the night ; 

I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air, 

And travel the world with the bonny night-mare. 
Again, again, 
At the crook of the glen, 

Where bickers the burnie. Til meet thee again. 

Men of good are bold as sackless,' 

Men of rude are wild and reckless. 
Lie thou still 
In the nook of the hill. 

For those be before thee that wish thee ilL 

Chap. iz. 



HALBERT'S ESTCANTATION. 

Theioe to the hoUy brake — 
Thrice to the well : — 

I bid thee awake. 

White Maid of Avenel I 

Noon gleams on the Lake — 
Noon glows on the Fell- 
Wake thee, wake, 
White Maid \.i AveneL 



TO HALBERT. 



FotiTH of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call 

me ? 
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee ? 
Ue that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear, 

nor failing; 
To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts 

are unavailing, 
rhe breeze that brought me hither now must 

sweep Egyptian ground, 
fhe ^eecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is 

bound ; 
riie fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for 

my stay, 
For I must sail a thoaeand miles before the close 

of day. 

What I am I must not show — 
What I am thou couldst not know^ 

I Saekleta — InnoMnt 



Something betwixt heaven and hell — 
Something that neither stood nor fell — 
Something that through thy wit or will 
May work thee good — may work thee ill 
Neither substance quite, nor shadow 
Haunting lonely moor and meadow, 
Dancing by the haunted spring. 
Riding on the whirlwind's wing; 
Aping in fantastic fashion 
Every change of human passion. 
While o'er our frozen minds they pass 
Like shadows from the mirror'd glass 
Wayward, fickle, is our mood, 
Hovering betwixt bad and good, 
Happier than brief-dated man, 
Living ten times o'er his span ; 
Far less happy, for we have 
Help nor hope beyond the grave I 
Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; 
Ours the sleep that knows no monrrw. 
This is all that I can show — 
This is all that thou may'st know. 

Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the epeD 
To waken me here by the Fairies' Well. 
But thou hast loved the heron and hawk, 
More than to seek my haunted walk ; 
And thou hast loved the lance and the sword, 
More than good text and holy word ; 
And thou hast loved the deer to track. 
More than the lines and the letters black; 
And thou art a ranger of moss and wood, 
And scomest the nm-ture of gentle blood. 

Thy craven fear my truth accused. 

Thine idlehood my trust abused ; 

He that draws to harbor late. 

Must sleep without, or burst the gate. 

There is a star for thee which burn'd. 

Its influence wanes, its course is turn'd 

Valor and constancy alone 

Can bring thee back the chance that's flova 



Within that awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries 1 
Happiest they of human race, 
To whom God has granted grace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray. 
To lift the latch, and force the way ; 
And better had they ne'er lieen bom. 
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. 

Many a fathom dark and deep 
I have laid the book to sleep ; 
Ethereal fires around it glowing- 
Ethereal music ever flowmg — 
The sacred pledge of Heavn 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



68'. 



All thiogs revere, 
Each in hi^ sphere, 

Save man for whom 'twas giv'n ; 
Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy 
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 

Fearest thou to go with me ? 
Still it is free to thee 

A peasant to dwell ; 
TTiou may'st drive the dull steer, 
And chase the king's deer, 
But never more come near 

This haimted well. 



riere lies the volume thou boldly hast sought ; 
ToJich it, and take it, 'twill dearly be bought. 

Rash thy deed, 
Mortal weed 
To inmiortal flames applying ; 
Rasher trust 
Has thing of dust, 
On his own weak worth relying : 
Strip thee of such fences vain. 
Strip, and prove thy luck again. 

Mortal warp and mortal woof 
Cannot brook this charmed roof; 
All that mortal art hath wrought 
In our cell returns to naught. 
The molten gold returns to clay, 
The polish'd diamond melts away ; 
All is altered, all is flown. 
Naught stands fast but truth alone. 
Not for that thy quest give o'er : 
Coiu"age I prove thy chance once more. 



Alas 1 alas 1 

Not ours the grace 

These holy characters to trace : 

Idle forms of painted air, 

Not to us is given to share 
The boon bestow'd on Adam's race. 

With patience bide. 

Heaven will provide 
The fitting time, the fitting guide. 

Chap. 



Til. 



HaLBERT'S second INTERVIEW WITH 
THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. 

" She spoke, aai her speech was still song, or 
rather measured chivnt ; but if, as now, more famil- 
far, it flowed occasionally in modulated blank- verse, 
wid, at other times, in the lyrical measure which 
» Hi had used ut their former meeting " 



This is the day when the fairy kind 

Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, 

And the wood-maiden sighs to the Bighin| 

wind, ' 

And the mermaiden weeps in her crystal grot 
For this is a day that the deed was wrought, 
In which we have neither part nor share. 
For the children of clay was salvation bought 
But not for the forms of sea or air I 
And ever the mortal is most forlorn. 
Who meeteth our race on the Friday mom, 

Dariag youth 1 for thee it is well, 

Here calling me in haunted dell, 

That thy heart has not quail' d, 

Nor thy courage fail'd, 

And that thou couldst brook 

The angry look 

Of Her of Avenel. 

Did one hmb shiver 

Or an eyelid quiver. 

Thou wert lost for ever. 

Though I am form'd from the ether blue 

And my blood is of the unfaUen dew, 

And thou art framed of mud and dust, 

'Tis thine to speak, reply I must 

A mightier wizard far than T 
Wields o'er the universe his power ; 
Him owns the eagle in the sky, 
The turtle in the bower. 
Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still. 
He wields the heart of man at will, 
From iU to good, from good to ill, 
In cot and castle- tower. 

Ask thy heart, whose secret cell 
Is fill'd with Mary Avenel I 
Ask thy pride, why scornful look 
In Mary's view it will not brook ? 
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise 
Among the mighty and the wise — 
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot, — 
Why thy pastimes are forgot, — 
Why thou wouldst in bloody strde 
Mend thy luck or lose thy life ! 
Ask thy heart, and it shall tell 
Sighing from its secret cell, 
'Tis for Mary AveneL 

Do not ask me ; 

On doubts like these thou canst not tas& m» 

We only see the passing show 

Of human passions' ebo and flow ; 

And view the pageant's idle glance 

As mortals eye the northern dance, 

When thousand streamers, flashing bright 

Career it o'er the urow of night 



688 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


And gazers mark their changeful gleams, 


Maiden, attend 1 Beneath my foot lies hid 


But feel no influence from their beams. 


The Word, the Law, the Path which then d Ml 
strive 
To find, and canst not find. — Could Spirits shed 


By tics mysterious link'd, our fated race 


Holds strange coimection with the sons of men. 


Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep. 


The star that ""ose upon the House of Avenel, 


Showing the road which 1 shall never tread. 


When Norman Ulric first assumed the name, 


Though my foot points it. — Sleep, eternal sleep 


That star, when culminating in its orbit, 


Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my lot 1— 


Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew, 


But do not thou at human ills repine ; 


And this bright font received it — and a Spirit 


Secure there hes full guerdon in this spot 


Rose from the fomitain, and her date of life 


For all the woes that wait frail Adam's line — 


Hath coexistence with the House of Avenel, 


Stoop then and make it yours, — I may not mak 


And with tJv», star that rules it. 


it mine 1 




Chap. x\Tc. 


Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold — 
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer, 






And, but there is a spell on't, would not bmd. 




Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe. 


THE WHITE LADY TO EDWARD 


But when twas dnnn d, it was a massive chain, 


GLENDEf^NING. 


Such as might bin 1 the champion of the Jews, 


Even when his locks were longest — it hath 


Thou who seek'st my fountain lone. 


dwindled, 


With tt «ghts and hopes thou dar'st not own • 


Hath 'minish'd in its substance and its strength. 


W hose heart witliin leap'd wildly glad. 


As sunk the greatness of the House of AveneL 


When most his brow seem'd dark and sad ; 


When this frail thread gives way, I to the ele- 


Hie thee back, thou find'st not here 


ments 


Corpse or cofiin, grave or bier ; 


Resign the prmciples of life they lent me. 


The Dead Ahve is gone and fled — 


Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. 


Go thou, and join the Living Dead ! 


Dim bums the once bright star of Avenel, 


The Living Dead, whose sober brow 


Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh. 


Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now, 


And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the light- 


Whose hearts within are seldom cured 


house ; 


Of passions by then- vows abjured ; 


There is an influence sorrowful and fearful. 


Where, under sad and solenm show, 


That dogs its downward course. Disastrous 


Vain hopes are nursed, wUd wishes glow. 


passion, 


Seek the convent's vaulted room. 


Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect 


Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; 


That lowers upon its fortimes. 


Doff" the green, and don the gray. 


, ,.._ 


To the cloister hence away 1 


Complain not on me, child of clay, 


Chap, xsxa 


If to thy harm I yield the way. 
We, who soar thy sphere above. 






Know not aught of hate or love ; 




As win or wisdom rules thy mood. 


THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL 


My gifts to evil turn or good. 






Fare thee weli, thou Hclly green I 


W hen Piercie Shafton boasteth high, 


Thou shalt seldom now be seen. 


Let this token meet his eye, 


With aU thy glittering garlands bending, 


'Il.e sun is westering from the dell. 


As to greet my slow descending, 


Thy wish is granted — fare thee well I 


Startling the bewilder'd hind. 


Chap. xviL 


Who sees thee wave without a wind. 
Farewell, Fountain 1 now not long 






Shalt thou murmur to my song. 


THE WHITE LADY TO MARY AVENEL. 


W hile thy crystal bubbles glancing. 




Keep the time in mystic dancing. 


ILoDEN, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, 


Rise and swell, are burst and lost. 


Whop*, tyes shall commune with the Dead Ali>o, 


Tiike mortal schemes by fortune ctom'I 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



656 



The knot of fate at length is tied, 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride I 
Yaioly did my magic sleight 
Send the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
FalJ'n 18 lofty Avenel 1 

Chap. xxxviL 



(2.V-B0RDER BALLAD. 



Mahch. march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil dimia ye march forward in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 
Many a banner spread, 
Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in story. 
Mount and make ready then. 
Sons of the mountain glen, 
J*'ight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory. 



Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, 

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, 
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding. 
War-steeds are bounding, 
CJtand to your arms, and march in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
Whea the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 

Chap. XXV. 



(8.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. i. 

AT ! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mia- 

chief ! 
Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition 
Of a most gi-oss and superstitious age. — 
May He be praised that sent the healthful tem- 
pest. 
And scatter'd all these pestilential vapors ; 
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot 
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, 

1 will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, 

That old Moll White took wing with cat and broom- 
stick, 
And raised the last night's thunder. 

Old Play 

97 



(2.)— Chap. n. 

In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. 
Not solitary then — the bugle-horn 
Of fell Alecto often waked its windmgs, 
From where the brook joins the majestic river. 
To the wild northern bog, the curheu's haunt, 
Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet 

OldFl^ 

(3.)— Chap. v. 
A priest, ye cry, a priest ! — lame shepherds they 
How shall they gather in the stragghng flock i 
Dumb dogs which bark not — how shall they compei 
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? 
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire. 
And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses. 
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. 

Heformation. 

(4.) — Chap. vi. 
Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds 
Be rooted from the vineyard of the Church, 
That these foul tares be sever'd from the wheai. 
We are, I trust, agreed. — Yet how to do tliis, 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine 

plants, 
Craves good advisement. 

The Reformaticm. 

(5.) — Chap. viu. 
Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasuiw 
Though fools are lavish on't — the fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls, while we waste moments. 

Old Play. 

(6.)— Chap. xi. 
You call this education, do you not ? 
Why, 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks 
Before a shouting drover. The glad van 
Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy green-sA\'ard, 
While all the blows, the oaths, the indignatiou, 
Fall on the croupe of the ill-fat^d laggard 
That cripples in the rear. 

Old /'/a I 

(1.) — Chap. xn. 
There's something m that ancient superstition, 
Wbich, erring as it is, our fancy loves. 
The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbie«\, 
Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock 
In secret sohtude, may well be deem'd 
The haunt of something purer, more refined. 
And mightier than ourselves. Old I ky. 

(8.) — Chap. xiv. 
Nay, let me have the friends who eat my victual^ 
As various as my dishes. The feast's naught. 



690 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Where oue huge plate pTftdominates. — John Plain- 


(14.) — Chap. xxin. 


text, 


'Tis when the wound is sttffeimig with the cold, 


H^ iball be mighty beef, out English staple ; 


The warrior first feels pain — 'tis when the heat 


The V o-thy Alderman, a butter'd dumpling ; 


And fiery fever of his soul is past, 


Yon pair of whisker'd Comets, riifFs and reea ; 


The sinner feels remorse. 


Their friecJ the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. 


Old Play. 


And so the board is spread at once and fill'd 




On the same prmciple — Variety. 


(15.) — Chap xxiv 


JV^CM Play. 


ril walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution, 




My heart with courage, and my liand with weapon 


(9.)— Chap xv. 


Like him who ventures on a Uon's den 


He strikes no coin, 'tL'' true, but coins new phrases. 


Old Pia^ 


And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded 




counters, 


(16.)— Chap, xscvn. 


Which wise men scorn, and fbols accept in pay- 


Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 'tis hard reckoning, 


ment. 


That I, with every odds of birth and barony, 


Old Play. 


Should be detain'd here for the casual death 




Of a wild forester, whose utmost having 


(10.) — Chap. xvi. 


Is but the brazen buckle of the belt 


A courtier extraordinary, who by diet 


In which he sticks his hedge-knife. 


Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, 


Old Play. 


Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts 




Of sliirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize 


(17.) — Chap. xxx. 


Mortality itself, and makes the essence 


You call it an iU angel — it may be so ; 


Of his whole bappLaess the trim of court. 


But sure I am, among the ranks wliich fell. 


Magnetic Lady. 


'Tis the first fiend e'er •ounsell'd man to rise. 




And win the bliss the sprite himself had forfeited 


(11.)— Chap. xix. 


Old Play. 


Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and 




honor ; 


(18.) — Chap, xxxt. 


There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through 


At school I knew him — a sharp-witted youth. 


Tlie dance of youth, and the turmoil of manhood, 


Grave, thouglrtful, and reserved amongst his mate^ 


Yet leave enough for age's cliimney-corner ; 


Turning the hours of sport and food to labor, 


But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! 


Starving his body to inform his mind. 


Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition, 


Old Play 


And raising thy low rank above the churls 




That till the earth for bread 1 


(19.) — Chap. xxxm. 


Old Play. 


Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, 




T-ike to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter. 


(12.) — Chap. xxi. 


Dragg'd by the frolic kitten through the cabin. 


Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw! he doth it 


■^liile the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire- 


not 


Masters, attend ; 'twiU crave some skill to clear it 


Like one who is his craft's master — ne'ertheless 


Old Play. 


I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb 




On one who was a master of defence. 


(20.) — Chap, xxxrv. 


Old Play 


It is not texts will do it — Chm A\ artUlery 




Are silenced soon by real ordnance, 


(13.) — Chap. xxn. 


And canons are but vain opposed to cannoa 


Yes, life hath left him — every busy thought, 


Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plat« 


Each fiery passion, every strong affection, 


down, 


The sense of outward ill and mward sorrow. 


Bid the starved soldier banquet in yoiir halls, 


Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; 


And quafi"yourlong-sa\ed hogsheads — Turn theui 


And I Iiave given that which spoke and moved, 


out 


riiouglit, acted, sufFer'd, as a hving man, 


Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard yom 


To be a ghastly form of bloody clay, 


waU, 


Soon the foul food for reptiles. 


And they will venture for 't. 


Old Play 


Old Play. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



691 



irom t!)£ ^bbot. 



1820. 



I.)— THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 

" At length the pardoner pulled from his scrip 
t Bmal' phial of clear water, of which he vaunted 
an (Quality in the following verses :" — 

Listric*h, gode people, everiche one, 
For in the londe of Babylone, 
Far eastward I wot it lyeth, 
And is the first londe the sonne espieth, 
Ther, as he cometh fro out the «6 ; 
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me, 
Right as holie legendes tell, 
Snottreth from a roke a well, 
And falleth into ane bath of ston, 
Wher chast Susanne in times long gon, 
Was wont to wash h»r bodie and lim — 
Mickle vertue hath that streme. 
As ye shall se er that ye pas, 
Ensample by this Uttle glas — 
Through night^^d cold and dayes bote, 
Hiderward I have it brought ; 
Hath a wife made slip or slide. 
Or a maiden stepp'd aside ; 
Putteth this water under her nese, 
Wold she nold she, she shall snese. 

Chap. xxviL 



(2).— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. v. 
In the wild storm. 



The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant 
Heaves to the bUlows wares he once deem'd pre- 
cious : 
So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions, 
Cast off their favorites. 

Old Flay. 

(2.) — Chap. vi. 
ThoTi hast each secret of the houseliold, Francis. 
1 dard be sworn thou hast been in the buttery 
Steeping thy curious hiunor in fat ale. 
And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting 
With the gUb waiting-woman o'er her comfits^ 
These bear the key to each domestic mystery. 

Old Flay. 

(S.) — Chap. vni. 
The sacred tapers' lights are gone. 
Gray moss has clad the altar stone, 
The holy itiage ia o'erthrown. 



The bell has ceased to toll. 
The long-ribb'd aisles are burst and shrunk, 
The holy shrines to ruin sunk, 
Departed is the pious monk, 

God's blessing on his soul I 

Jiediuiva 

(4.) — Chap. xi. 
Life hath its May, and all is mirthful tlieu : 
The woods are vocal, and the flowers all ouor , 
Its very blast has mirth in 't, — and the maidens. 
The while they don their cloaks to skreen then 

kirtles, 
Laugh at the rain that wets them. 

Old Flay. 

(5.) — Chap. xn. 
Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser. 
And hoUer than thou ; and age, and wisdom. 
And hohness, have peremptory claims. 
And will be listen'd to. OldFlajj. 

(6.) — Chap. xrv. 
Not the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier — 
Not the wild wind, escaping from its cavern — 
Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together, 
And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest. 
Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful mee» 

ing— 
Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet destructive. 

The Conspiracy 

(7.) — Chap. xvi. 
Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood no^ 
Darker hp and darker brow, 
Statelier step, more pensive mien. 
In thy face and gait are seen : 
Thou must now brook midnight watches, 
Take thy food and sport by snatches I 
For the gambol and the jest, 
Thou wert wont to love the best, 
Graver follies must thou foUow, 
But as senseless, false, and hollow. 

Life, a Foem. 

(8.) — Chap. xix. 
It is and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for, 
Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame mq 

Ufe for. 
And yet it is not — no more than the shadow 
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and pohsb'd mirror, 
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, Uving substanae 
Which it presents in form and lineament. 

Old FImi 

(9.) — Chap, xxm. 
Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, 
Coarse as you will the cooking — Let the fiefc/ 
spring 



6n 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Biibhle beside my napkin — and the free birds, 
Twittering and cliirping, hop from bough to 

bough. 
To claim the cruras I leave for perquisites — 
Vour prison-feasts I like not. 

The Woodman, a Drama. 

(10.) — Chap. xxrv. 

Ti* a cveary life this — ' 

Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me, 
A.nd my sad hours spent with as sad companions, 
WHiose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mis- 
chances. 
Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. 

The Woodsman. 

(11.) — Chap. xxv. 
Ana when Love's torch hath set the heart in flame, 
Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cautions, 
Giving such aid as the old gray-beard Sexton, 
Who from the church-vault drags his crazy engine, 
To ply its dribbling ineffectual streamlet 
A-gainst a conflagration. 

Old Flay. 

(12.) — Chap, xxvin. 
Yes, it is she whose eyes look'd on thy childhood, 
.\nd watch'd with trembling hope thy dawn of 

youth. 
That now, with these same eye-balls, dimm'd with 

age, 
A.nd dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. 

Old Flay. 

(13.) — Chap. xxx. 
In some breasts passion lies conceal'd and silent. 
Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, 
dntil occasion, hke the linstock, lights it ; 
Then comes at once the lightning and the thun- 
der, 
.?Lnd distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. 

Old Flay. 

(14.) — Chap. xxxm. 

Death distant ? — No, alas ! he's ever with us. 
And shakes the dart at us in all our actings: 
H e lurks within our cup, while we're in health ; 
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 
We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel. 
But djath is by to seize us when he lists. 

T7ie Spanish Father. 

(15.) — Chap, xxxrv. 
Ay, Pedro, — Come you here with mask and lan- 
tern, 
Ladder of ropes, and other moon.shine tools — 
Why, yoimgster, thou may'st cheat the old 
Duenna. 



Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet ; 
But know, that I her father play the Giyphoa 
Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe 
And guard the hidden treasure :f her beauty. 

2'he Spa7iish Father 

(16.) — Chap. xxxv. 
It is a time of danger, not of revel, 
When chmxhmen turn to masquers 

77ie Spanish Father 

(17.) — Chap, xxxvir. 
Ay, sir — our ancient crown, in these wild times, 
Oft stood upon a cast — the gamester's ducat, 
So often staked, and lost, and then regain'd, 
Scarce knew so many hazards. 

Tfie Spanish Father 



.from KeniltDortl). 



1821. 



(1.)— GOLDTHRED'S SONG. 



" After some brief interval. Master GoldtLred, 
at the earnest instigation of mine host, and th« 
joyous concurrence of his guests, indulged the com 
pany with the following morsel of melody :" — 

Of all the birds on bush or tree, 

Commend me to the owl. 
Since he may best ensample be 
To those the cup that trowl. 
For when the sun hath left the west, 
He chooses the tree that he loves the best. 
And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at hu 

jest. 
Then, though hours be late, and weather foul. 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny 
owL 

The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, 

He sleeps in his nest till morn ; 
But my blessing upon the jolly owl. 
That all night blows his horn. 
Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech, 
And match me this catch, till you swagger and 

screech. 
And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; 
For, though hoiu-s be kite, and weather be foul, 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny 
owL 

Chap, il 




THE OWL. GOLDTHREDS' SONG. — Page 693, 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



69i^ 



(2.)— SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"At the approach of the Queen, upon eight 
of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the 
gigantic warder dropped his club, resigned his 
keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the 
night, and all her magnificent train." 

f^at stu', what turmoil, have we for the nones? 
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones 1 
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; 
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 

Yet soft — nay stay — what vision have we here ? 
What dainty darling's this — what peerless peer i 
What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold, 
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? 
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, 
My club; my key, my knee, my homage take. 
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ; — 
B^shrew the gate that opes not wide at such a 
sight as this 1' 

Ohap. XXX. 



(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. rv. 

Not serve two masters ? — Here 's a youth will 

try it- 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; 
Bays grace before he doth a deed of villany, 
And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted. 

Old Flay. 

(2.)— Chap. v. 

He was a man 

Versed in the world as pilot in his compasa 
The needle pointed ever to that interest 
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gale of others' passion. 

The Deceiver — a Tragedy. 

(3.)— Chap. vn. 

This is He 

Wlio rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides ; 
Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. 
He shines Uke any rainbow — and, perchance, 
His colors are as transient. 

Old Play. 

1 "This id an imitation of Gascoigne's verees, spoken by the 
Serculean porter, as mentioned in the text [of the Novel]. 
""he original may be found in the republication of the Princely 
pleasures of Kenilworth by the same •uthor, in the History of 

eoilwonh. Chiswiclj 1821, 



(4.) — Chap. xiv. 
This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow 
There are two bulls fierce battling on the green 
For one fair heifer — if the one goes down, 
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, 
Which have small interest in their brulzieineut, 
May pasture there in peace. 

Old Play 

(5.) — Chap. xvii. 
Well, then, our course is chosen ; spread the sail,— « 
Heave oft the lead, and mark the soandings well 
Look to the helm, good master; many a shoal 
Marks tliis stem coast, and rocks where sits the 

siren. 
Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. 

The Shipwreck, 

(6.) — Chap, xxni, 
N"ow God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage I 
All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 
Oh, who would be a woman ? who thdt fool, 
A weeping, pining, faithful, lo\'ing woman ? 
She hath hard measure still where she hop** 

kindest, 
And all her bounties only make ingrates. 

Love's Pilgrimage. 

(*7.) — Chap. xxv. 
Hark ! the bells summon, and the bugle catla. 
But she the fairest answers not ; the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls. 
But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 
What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in tb« 

gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense. 
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteeiu, 
And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence f 

The Glass Slipper. 

(8.) — Chap, xxvni. 

What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full 

can 
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying; i- 
Nay, fear not me, for I have no dehght 
To watch men's vices, since I have myself 
Of virtue naught to boast of. — I'm a striker. 
Would have the world strike with me, pell-meB, 

alL 

Pandcmiioni^im 

(9.) — Chap. xxix. 
Now fare thee well, my master 1 if true service 
Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow 

line. 
And let our barks across the pathless flood 
Hold different courses. 

Shxpnmtk. 



894 



SCOTT'S POETICAL W0RK5. 



(10.) — Chap. xxx. 
Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she comes ! 
Speak for us, bells ! speak for us, shrill-tongued 

tuckets ! 
Stand to the linstock, gumier ; let thy cannon 
Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe 
Cunie stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the 

ramparts. 
We will have pageants too ; but that craves wit, 
And I'm a rough-hewn soldier. 

2'he Virgin- Queen, a Tragi- Comedy. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxii. 
The wisest sovereigns err like private men, 
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Uf cliivalry upon a worthless shoulder, 
Wliich better had been branded by the hangman. 
Wluit then ? Kuigs do their best, — and they and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 

Old Play. 

(12.) — Chap, xxxiil 
Here stands the victim — there the proud betrayc , 
E'en as the hind pull'd down by strangling doga 
Lies at the hunter's feet, who com"teou8 profft.»4 
To some liigh dame, the Dian of the chase. 
To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade. 
To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodsman. 

(13.)— Chap. xl. 
High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 
And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows ; 
Bo truth prevails o'er falsehood. 

Old Flay. 



Ivom tl)£ Jpiratc. 



1821. 



(1 1— THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. 

** A Jnoewegian invocation, still presei^ved in the 
wiland cf Unst, under the name of the Song of the 
Reim-kennaj, though some call it the Song of the 
Tempest. The following is a free translation, it 
being impossible to render literally many of the 
elliptical and metaphorical terms of expression pe- 
ruliar to the ancient Northern poetry :" — 

1. 
Stern eagle of the far north-west, 
Tliou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt. 
Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, 



Thou the dvitroyer of herds, thou the scatwrei' oi 

na^ ves. 
Amidst iUe scream of thy rage. 
Amidst the rushing of thy onward winga,. 
Though thy scream be loud as the ciy o/ i perish 

uig nation. 
Though the rushing of thy wings be lik» ihig roai 

of ten thousand waves. 
Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste. 
Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar 



Thou hast met thp pine-trees of Dronthe' tn. 
Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beiide th«i( 

uprooted stems ; 
Thou hast mpt the lider of t/ie ocean, 
The tall, the btrong bark of the fearless rove*", 
And s'je has struck to thee the topsail 
Ta'„i ine nad not veii'd to a royal armada: 
Tb ju nasi met the tower that bears its crest among 

the clouds, [days, 

11.3 battled massive tower of the Jarl of former 
And the cope-stone of the turret 
Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; 
But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouda. 
When thou hearest the voice of the Reim-kennar. 

3. 

There are verses that can stop the stag in the 

forest, 
Ay, and when the dark-color'd dog is opening on 

his track ; 
There are verses can make the wild hawk pause 

on the wing. 
Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jessea, 
And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler. 
Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drown- 
ing mariner. 
And the crash of the ravaged forest. 
And the groan of the overwhekn'd crowds. 
When the church hath fallen in the moment ol 

prayer ; 
ITiere are sounds which thou also must list. 
When they are chanted by the voice of the Reon 
kennar. 

4. 
Enough of woe hast thou wi ought on the ocean, 
The widows wring thek hands on the beach ; 
Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land, 
The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; 
Cease thou the waving of thy pinions. 
Let the ocean repose in her dark strength ; 
Cease thou the flashing of thine eye. 
Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of 0dm v 
Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of th« 

north-western heaven, — 
Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim-kenna» 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



69 



Eagle of the far north-western waters, 

Thou hast heard the voice of the Reun-kennar, 

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, 

And folded them in peace by thy side. 

My blessing be on thy retiring path ; 

Wlien thou stoopest from thy place on high, 

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the imknown 

ocean, 
Rett till destiny shall again awaken thee ; 
Cagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice 

of the Reim-kennar. 

Chap, vi 



(2.)— CLAUD HALCRO'S SONG. 

MAKT. 

Farewell to Northmaven, 

Gray Hillswicke, farewell I 
To the calms of thy haven, 

The storms on thy fell — 
To each breeze that can vary 

The mood of thy main, 
And to thee, bonny Mary I 

We meet not again I 

Farewell the wild ferry, 
Which Hacon could brave, 

When the peaks of the Skerry 
Were white in the wave. 

There's a maid may look over 
These wild waves in vaiii, — 

For the skitf of her lover- 
He comes not again 1 

ITie vows thou hast broke, 

On the wild currents fling them ; 
On the quicksand and rock 

Let the mermaidens sing them. 
New sweetness they'll give her 

Bewildering strain ; 
But there's one who will never 

Believe them again. 

wert ther^ an island. 
Though ever so wild. 
Where woman could smile, and 

No man be beguiled — 
''oo tempting a snare 

To poor mortals were given ; 
ijad the hope would fix there, 
That should anchor in heaven. 

Chap, xii 



(S).— THE SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER 

The sun is rising dimly red. 
The wind is wailing low and dread ; 
From his cliff the eagle sallies, 
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleya ; 
In the mist the ravens hover. 
Peep the wild dogs from the cover. 
Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling. 
Each in his wild accents telling, 
" Soon we feast on dead and dying, 
Fair-hair'd Harold's flag is flying." 

Many a crest on air is streaming, 
Many a helmet darkly gleaming, 
Many an arm the axe uprears, 
Doom'd to hew the wood of speara. 
All along the crowded ranks 
Horses neigh and armor clanks ; 
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing. 
Louder stiU the bard is singing, 
" Gather footmen, gather horsemen. 
To the field, ye valiant Norsemen I 

" Halt ye not for food or slumber. 
View not vantage, count not number ; 
Jolly reapers, forward still. 
Grow the crop on vale or hill. 
Thick or scatter'd, stiff or hthe, 
It shall down before the scythe. 
Forward with your sickles bright, 
Reap the harvest of the fight. — 
Onward footmen, onward horsemen. 
To the charge, ye gaUant Norsemen I 

" Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 
O'er you hovers Odin's daughtei ; 
Hear the choice she spreads before ye,— 
Victory, and wealth, and glory ; 
Or old Valhalla's roaring haU, 
Her ever-circling mead and ale. 
Where for eternity unite 
The joys of wassail and of fight. 
Headlong forward, foot and horsemen. 
Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen ^- 

Chap. xr 



(4.)— SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND 
MERMEN. 

MEKMAID. V 

Fathoms deep beneath the wave. 
Stringing beads of gUstering pearl, 

Singing the achievements brave 
Of many an old Norwegian earl : 



696 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Dwelling where the tempest'" raving, 


Daughters of northern Magnus, hail 1 


Falls as light upon our eau 


The lamp is lit, the flame is clear, — 


As the sigh of lover, craving 


To you I come to tell my tale. 


Pity from his lady dear, 


Awake, ariae, my tale to hear I 


Children of wild Thule, we, 


CAj/nrix 


From the deep caves of the sea, 




As the lark springs from the lea, 




HitLer come, to share your glee. 






(6.)— CLAUD HALvIRO AND NORNA 


MESMAX. 




From reining of the water-horse. 


CLAUD HALOED. 


That bounded till the waves were foam- 


Mother darksome, Mother dread, 


ing, 


Dweller on the Fitful-head, 


Watching the infant tempest's course, 


Thou canst see what deeds are done 


Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; 


Under the never-settuig sun. 


From winding charge-notes on the shell, 


Look through sleet, and look through frost, 


When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, 


Look to Greenland's caves and coast,— 


Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell. 


By the ice-berg is a sail 


WTien the winds and waves are cruel ; 


Chasing of the swarthy whale ; 


Children of wild Thule, we 


Mother doubtful, Mother dread. 


Have plough'd such furrows on the sea, 


Tell us, has the good ship sped ? 


As the steer draws on the lea. 




And hither we come to share your glee. 


NOENA. 




The thought of the aged is ever on gear, — 


MERMAIDS AND MEBMEN. 


On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer ; 


We heard you in om- twihght caves, 


But thrive may his fishing, flock, fiu-row, and herd 


A hundred fathom deep below. 


While the aged for anguish shall tear his graj 


For notes of joy can pierce the waves. 


beard. 


That drown each sound of war and woe. 


The sliip, well-laden as bark need be. 


Those who dwell beneath the sea 


Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; — 


Love the sons of Thule well ; 


The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, 


Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 


And gayly the garland is fluttering aloft : 


• Dance, and song, and sounding shell 


Seven good fishes have spouted their last. 


Children of dark Thule, know. 


And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and masi 


Those who dweU by haaf and voe, 


Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall, — 


Where your daring shallops row, 


Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of all. 


Come to share the festal show. 




Chap. xvL 


CLAUD HALCEO. 




Mother doubtful, Mother dread. 




Dweller of the Fitful-head, 




Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme. 


(5.)— NORNA'S SONG. 


That lives upon the surge of time : 




Tell me, shall my lays be sung. 


Foe leagues along the watery way, 


Like Hacon's of the golden tongue. 


Through gulf and stream my course has been ; 


Long after Halcro's dead and gone 1 


The billows know my Runic lay, 


Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own 


And smooth their crests to silent greea 


One note to rival glorious John ? 


The billows know my Runic lay, — 


NOENA. 


The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; 


The infant loves the rattle's noise ; 



But human hearts, more wild than they, 
Know but the rule of wayward will 

One hour is mine, in all the year. 
To tell my woes, — and one alone ; 

When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here,— 
Wheu dies Ujc mystic light, 'tis gone. 



Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; 
But dilFerent far the descant rings. 
As strikes a different hand the strings. 
The eagle mounts the polar sky — 
The Imber-goose, unskill'd to fly, 
Must be content to glide along. 
Where seal and sea-dog list his rtong. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIErES. 



60< 



CLAUD HALOEO. 

Be mine the Imber-goose to play, 
And haunt lone cave and silent bay ; 
The archer's aim so shall I shun — 
So shall I 'scape the levell'd gun — 
Cori*;ent my verses' tuneless jingle, 
With Thiile's sounding tides to mingle. 
While, to the ear of wondering wight, 
Upon the distant headland's height, 
Soften'd by murmur of the sea, 
The rude sounds seem like harmony ! 
* * * * » 

Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitfol-head, 
A gallant bark from far abroad. 
Saint Magnus hath her in his road. 
With guns and firelocks not a few— 
A sUken and a scarlet crew, 
Deep stored with precious merchandise. 
Of gold, and goods of rare device — 
What interest hath our comrade bold 
In bark and crew, in goods and gold ? 

NOENA. 

Gold is ruddy, fair, and free, 

Blood is crimson, and dark to see :— 

I look'd out on Saint Magnus Bay, 

And I saw a falcon that struck her prey, — 

A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore. 

And talons and singles are dripping with gore ; — 

Let he that asks after them look on his hand, 

^d if there is blood on't, he's one of their band. 

CLAUD HALCEO. 

Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
Well thou knoVst it is thy task 
To tell what Beauty will not ask ; — 
Th(!n steep thy words in wine and milk, 
And weave a doom of gold and silk, — 
For we would know, shall Brenda prove 
In love, and happy in her love J 

NORNA. 

Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest, 
High seated in the middle sky, 
In bright and barren purity ; 
But by the sunbeam gently kiss'd, 
Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss'd, 
Ere, down the lonely valley stealing. 
Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, 
It cheers the flock, revives the flower. 
And decks some happy shepherd's bower. 

MAGNUS TEOIL. 

Mother speak, and do not tarry, 

Bere s a maidm fain would marry, 
tin 



Shall she marry, ay or not ? 
If she marry, what's her lot I 

NOENA. 

Untouch'd by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest ; 
So pure, so free from earthy dye, 
It seems, whilst leaning on the sky. 
Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ; 
But passion, like the wild March rain. 
May soil the wreath with many a stain. 
We gaze — the lovely vision's gone — 
A torrent fills the bed of stone. 
That hurrying to destruction's shock. 
Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. 

Chap. xsL 



(7.)— SONG OF THE ZETLAND FISHERMAN. 

" While they were yet within hearing of tie 
shore, they chanted an ancient Norse ditty, appro- 
priate to the occasion, of which Claud Halcro had 
executed the following Uteral translation :" — 

Faeewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh. 
For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the 

Haaf; 
And we must have labor, and hunger, and pain. 
Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again. 

For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal. 
We must dance on the waves, with the porpois» 

and seal • 
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high, 
And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by, 

Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee, 
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the 

sea; 
And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line, 
Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine. 

We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing while we 

haul. 
For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all: 
There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle 
And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the 

earL 

Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the 

Haaf^ 
We shall sooner come back to the dance and the 

laugh ; 
For light without mirth is a lamp without oil ; 
Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magims Troil 

C'hax). xxii 



098 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



(8.)— CLEVELAND'S SONGS. 

1. 

Love wakes and weeps 

"While Beauty sleeps 1 
iRyf Music's softest numbers, 

To prompt a theme, 

For Beauty's dream, 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers 1 

2. 

Through groves of palm 

Sigh gales of balm, 
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling; 

While through the gloom 

Comes soft perfume, 
The distant beds of flowers revealing. 

3, 

wake and live ! 

No dream can give 
A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling ; 

No longer sleep, 

From lattice peep, 
And list the tale that Love is telling. 

FareweU ! Farewell I the voice you hear, 
Has left its last soft tone with you, — 

Its next must join the seaward cheer. 
And shout among the shouting crew. 

The accents wliich I scarce could form 
Beneath your frown's controlUng check, 

Must give the word, above the storm, 
To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. 

The timid eye I dared not raise, — 

The hand, that shook when press'd to thine. 

Must point the guns upon the chase- 
Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 

To all I love, or hope, or fear,^ 

Honor, or own, a long adieu 1 
To all that hfe has soft and dear, 

FareweU 1 save memory of you I 

Chap. zziiL 



(9.)— CLAUD HALCRO'S VERSES. 

And you shall deal the fimeral dole ; 

Ay, deal it, mother mine. 
To weary body, and to heavy soul. 

The white bread and the wine. 

And yon shall deal my horses of pride; 
Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 



And you shaU deal my lands so wide, 
And deal my castles nine. 

Bu* deal not vengeance for the deed, 

And deal not for the crime ; 
The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven't 
grace, 

And the rest in God's own time. 

Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of tre» 

son ; 
Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme »*ad with 

reason ; 
By the mass of Saint Martin the migh^ of Saint 

Mary, 
Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse U 

thou tarry I 
If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; — 
If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ; — 
If thou'rt of air, let the gray mist fold thee ;— 
If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ;— 
If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; — 
If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; — 
If on middle earth thou'st been 
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, 
Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, 
And dree'd the lot which men call life ; 
Begone to thy stone 1 for thy coffin is scant ot 

thee. 
The worm, thy play -fellow, wails for the want 

of thee; 
Hence, houseless ghost I let the earth hide thee^ 
Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there 

thou bide thee 1 — 
Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross for a token, 
Hence pass till Hallowmass ! — my spell is spokea 

Where corpse-light 

Dances bright. 

Be it by day or night, 

Be it by hght or dark. 

There shall corpse he stiff and stark. 



Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, 
Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 
Silk-fringed eyelids stiU should close, 
Till the sun has kiss'd the rose ; 
Maiden's foot we should not view, 
Mark'd with tiny print on dew , 
Till the opening flowerets spreaa 
Carpet meet for beauty's tread. 

Chap, xxitt 



(10.)_NORNA'S INCAJN TATIONS. 

Champion, famed for warlike toil, 
Art thou silent, Ribolt Troll i 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



691 



Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, 


Old Reim-kennar, to thy art 


Are leaving bare thy giant bones. 


Mother Hertha sends her part j 


Who dared touch the wild bear's skii. 


She, whose gracious bounty gives 


Ye shimber'd on, w]|ile life was in? — 


Needful food for all that lives. 


A. woman now, or ll^he, may come 


From the deep mine of the North 


And cast the covering from thy tomb. 


Came the mystic metal forth. 




Doom'd amidst disjointed stones. 


Yat be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight 


Long to cere a champion's bones. 


Mine eyes or ears with soimd or sight 1 


Disinhumed my charms to aid — 


I come not, with unhallow'd tread, 


Mother Eai'th, my thanks are paid 


To wake the slumbers of the dead. 




Or lay thy giant rehques bare ; 


Girdle of our islands dear, 


But what I seek thou well canst spare. 


Element of Water, hear 1 


Be it to my hand aUow'd 


Thou whose power can overwhelm 


To shear a merk's weight from thy ehroud ; 


Broken mounds and ruin'd realm 


Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough 


On the lowly Belgian strand , 


To shield thy bones from weather rough. 


All thy fiercest rage can never 




Of our soil a furlong sever 


See, I draw my magic knife — 


From our rock-defended land ; 


Never, while thou wert in life, 


Play then gently thou thy pajt. 


Laidst thou still for sloth or fear. 


To assist old Noma's art. 


When point and edge were glittering near ; 




See, the cerements now I se^r, — 


Elements, each other greeting, 


Waken now, or sleep for ever 1 


Gifts and power attend your meeting! 


Thou wilt not wake — the deed is done 1 — 




The prize I sought is fairly won. 


Thou, that over biUows dark 




Safely send'st the fisher's bark, — 


Thanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this the sea 


Giving him a path and motion 


Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee — 


Through the wilderness of ocean ; 


And while afar its billows foam, 


Thou, that when the billows brave yft 


Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. 


O'er the shelves canst drive the navy. 


Thanks, Ribolt, thanks — for this the might 


Didst thou chafe as one neglected. 


Of wild winds ragmg at their height. 


While thy brethren were respected ? 


When to thy place of slumber ni,^. 


To appease thee, see, I tear 


Shall soften t^ a lullaby. 


This full grasp if grizzled hair ; 




Oft thy breath hath through it sung, 


She, the dame of doubt and dread. 


Softening to my magic tongue, — 


Noma of the Fitful-head, 


Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly 


Mighty in her own despite,^ 


Through the wide expixnse of sky. 


Miserable in her might ; 


'Mid the countless swarms to sail 


In despair and phrensy great. 


Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale ; 


Li her greatness desolate ; 


Take thy portion and rejoice, — 


Wisest, wickedest who Uves, — 


Spirit, thou hast heard my voice I 


W Ji can keep the word she gives. 




Chap. XXV. 


She who sits by haunted well. 




Is subject to the Nixies' spell ; 


[at interview with MINNA.] 


She who walks on lonely beach, 


Thou, 80 needful, yet so dread, 


To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; 


With cloudy rr^st, and wing of red^ 


She who walks rourd ring of green. 


Thou, without wnose genial breath 


Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 


The North would sleep the sleep of death, — 


And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's ca«* 


Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, 


A weary weird of woe shall have. 


Yet hurls proud palaces to earth, — 




Brightest, keenest of the Powers, 


By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, 


Which form and rule this world of ours, 


Minna Troil has braved all tliis and more 


With my rhyme of Rmiic, I 


And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill. 


ITiank thee for thy agency. 


A SOTirce that's more deep an^ more mystical 




stilL— 



700 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Thou art ■within a demon's hold, 

More wise than Heims, more strong than Trolld ; 

No siren sings so sweet as he, — 

No fay springs hghter on the lea; 

No elfin power hath half the art 

To soothe, to move, to wring the heart — 

Life-blood from the cheek to drain, 

Drench the eye, and dry the vein. * 

Maiden, ere we farther go, 

Dost thou note me, ay or no ! 

MINNA. 

I *naj-k t>.se, my mother, both word, look, and 

sign ; 
Speak on with thy riddle — to read it be mine. 

NOENA. 

Mark me 1 for the word I speak 

Shall bring the color to thy cheek. 

This leaden heart, so light of cost, 

The symbol of a treasure lost. 

Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace. 

That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may 

cease. 
When crimson foot meets crimson hand 
In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land. — 

Be patient, be patient ; for Patience hath power 

To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; 

A fairy gift you best may hold 

In a chain of fairy gold ! — 

The chain and the gift are each a true token. 

That not without warrant old Noma has spoken ; 

But thy nearest and dearest must never behold 

them, 
riU time shall accomplish the truths I have told 

them. 

Chap. xxviiL 



..)— BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

Poor sinners whom the snake deceives, 
Are fain tc cover them with leaves. 
Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true. 
Because that trees are none, or few ; 
But we have flax and taits of woo', 
For hnen cloth and wadmaal blue ; 
And we have many of foreign knacks 
Of finer waft, than woo' or flax. 
Ye gallanty Lambmaa lads appear. 
And bring yoiu- Lambmas sisters here, 
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care, 
To pleasure every gentle pair. 

Chap, xxxii. 



(12.)— MOTTOES 

(1.)— Chap. n. 
'Tis not alone the scene — the man, Anselmo, 
The man finds sympathies in these wdd wastes, 
And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer viewa 
And smoother waves deny him. 

Aiieient Drama, 

(2.)— Chap. vn. 
She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; 
Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb 
Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on. 
Their death at once, and sepulchre. 

Old Play 

(8.) — Chap. ix. 
This !« a gentle trader, and a prudent — 
He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye. 
With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomeness 
But seasons aU his glittering merchandise 
With wholesome doctrine suited to the use, 
As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. 

Old Play. 

(4.) — Chap. xi. 
All yoiu* ancient customs. 



And long-descended usages, I'll change. 
Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, 
Tliink, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do ; 
Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation ; 
Tlie bride shall have the stock, the groom the wall 
For all old practice will I turn and change. 
And call it reformation — marry, will 1 1 

'Tis Even that we're at Od(h 

(5.) — Chap. xrv. 
We'll keep our customs — what is law itself. 
But old estabhsh'd custom ? What religion 
(I mean, with one-half of the men that use it). 
Save the good use and wont that carries them 
To worship how and where their fathers worshipp'dl 
All things resolve in custom — we'U keep ours. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xxv. 
1 do love these ancient ruins! 



We never tread upon them but we set 
Our foot upon some reverend history. 
And questionless, here in this open court 
(Which now Ties naked to the injuries 
Of stormy weather), some men lie interr'd, 
Loved the Church so weU, and gave so largely to it, 
They thought it should have canopied their booei 
TiU doomsday ; — but all things have their ena — 
Churches, and cities, which have diseases like to met 
Must have like death wbicb we have. 

Duchess of Malfy. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECEjJ, 



70. 



(7.) — Chap. xxix. 
See yonder ■woman, wbim our swains revere, 
And dread in secret, \» Iiile they take her counsel 
When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross 

dame sliall die ; 
Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, 
And how the pestilent murrain may be cured ; — 
riiis isage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend; 
Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning 
To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, 
And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. 

Old Flay. 

(8.) — Chap. xxx. 

What ho, my jovial mates ! come on 1 we'll frolic it 
Like faii-ies frisking in the merry moonshine, 
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some chris- 
tening, 
Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward — 
Se starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger 
To churchman's pace professional, — and, ransacking 
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn. 
Finds but the roimdel of the midnight catch. 

Old Flay. 

(9.) — Chap. xxxn. 
I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, 
Which, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the power 
To stem the powerful current. — Even so. 
Resolving daily to forsake my vices. 
Habit, strong circumstance, renew'd temptation. 
Sweep me to sea again. — heavenly breath, 
Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. 
Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without 
thee I 

'Tis Odds when Evens meet, 

(10.) — Chap. xxxm. 
Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom. 
And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure. 
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spir- 
its. — 
So, when famed Prosper doff'd his magic robe. 
It was Miranda pluck'd it from his shoulders. 

Old Flay. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxtv. 
Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer. 
The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer ; 
Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words 
Clash with each other like conflicting swords. — 

• Written after a week's shooting and fishing, in which the 
■^oet had been engaged with some friends. The reader may see 
these verses set to mnsic in Mr. Thomson's Scottish Melodies 
for 18252. 

« See the famous salmon-spearing scene in Gny Mannering. — 
n'eveiiey J^ovels, vol. >ii. p. 259-ti3. 



The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown. 
And true men have some chance to gain their own 

Captivity, a Poem 

(12.) — Chap, xxxvn. 
Over the mountains anc" under the wavea, 
Over the fountains and mder tbe graves, 
Over floods that are deepest, 

Wliich Neptxme obey, 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love will find out the way. 

OldSon^ 



®n Ettrfcft .forest's ifWcuntafns Bun ' 



1822. 



On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 
'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun, 
And seek the heath-frequenting brood 
Far through the noon-day solitude : 
By many a cairn and trenched mound. 
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound. 
And springs, where gray-hair'd shepherds tell, 
That still the fairies love to dwelL 

Along the silver streams of Tweed, 
'Tis blithe the mimic fly to lead. 
When to the hook the salmon springs. 
And the line whistles tlirough the rings , 
The boiling eddy see him try. 
Then dashing from the current high, 
TUl watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 

'Tis blithe along the midnight tide. 
With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; 
On high the dazzling blaze to rear. 
And heedful plunge the barbed spear ; 
Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, 
' Fling on the stream their ruddy light. 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like Genii, arm'd with fiery spears.' 

'Tis blithe at eve to tell the tale. 
How we succeed, and how we fail. 
Whether at Alwyn's' lordly metd, 
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ;* 

9 Mwyn, the seat of the Lord Somerville ; now, ala* ' ■» 
tenanted, by the lamented death of that kind and kmpitabli 
nobleman, the author's nearest neighbor and intimale fnaaft 
Lord S. died in February, 1819. 

* Ashestiel, the poet's residence at that time. 



702 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 


While the gay tapers cheerly shine, 


2ri)c iWafTr of JJsIa. 


Bickers the tire, and flows the wine — 




Days free from thought, and nights from care, 


Air—" Tlie Maid of Isla.^' 


Jly blessing on the Forest fair 1 


WKITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSOX's SCOntaB 




MELODIES. 


ITaretocll to t!)c ptuse.' 


1822. 






Oh, Maid of Isla, from the cliflf. 

That looks on troubled wave and sky, 




1822. 


Dost thou not see yon little skiff 




Contend with ocean gallantly ? 


Ekchanteess, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me, 


Now beating 'gainst tlie breeze and surge, 


At the close of the evening through woodlands 


And steep'd her leeward deck in foam, 


to roam, 


Why does she war unequal urge ? — 


Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me 


Oh, Isla's maid, she seeks her home. 


Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for 




home. 


Oh, Isla's maid, yon sea-bfrd mark, [apiay 


Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild 


Her white wing gleams through mist and 


speaking 


Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, 


The language alternate of rapture and woe : 


As to the rock she wheels away ; — 


Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are 


Where clouds are dark and billows rave, 


breakuig, 


Why to the shelter should she come 


The pang that I feel at our parting can know. 


Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave ? — 




Oh, maid of Isla, 'tis her home I 


Each joy thou couldst double, and when there 




came sorrow, 


As breeze and tide to yonder skiff. 


Or pale disappointment to darken my way. 


Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring. 


What voice was like thine, that could sing of to- 


And cold as is yon wintry cliiF, 


morrow, 


Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. 


Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to- 


Yet cold as rock, imkind as wave. 


day 1 


Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come ; 


But when friends drop around us in life's weary 


For m thy love, or in his grave, 


waning, 


Must Allan Vom-ich find his home. * 


The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not 




assuage ; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet re- 






maining. 
The languor of pain, and the dullness of age. 


(itarU, note tfjc l^fnu's come.' 




BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRINO. 


Twas thou that once taught me, in accents be- 






wailing. 
To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the 


1822. 




plain, 


The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, 


km] a maiden hun"' o'er him with aid imavailing, 


The North for ance has bang'd the South; 


And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; 


The deil a Scotsman's die o' drouth. 


Km 7ain thy enchantments, Queen of wild Num- 


• Cai'le, now the King's come.'. 


bers, 




T J a bard when the reign of liis fancy ie o'er, 


CHORUS. 


i.nd the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slum- 


Carle, now the King's come 1 


bers — 


Carle, now the King's come I 


Farewell, then, Enchantress 1 I meet thee no 


Thou shalt dance, and I will sing 


more 1 


Carle, now the King's come 1 


> Written, during illness, for Mr. Thomson's Scottish Col- 


' This imitation of an old Jacobite ditty WM writter "» Um 


'ection, and first published in 18^, anited to an air composed 


api>earance, in the Frith of Forth, ot' the fleet which c»f »f »ed 


ty George Kinlnch of Kinloch. Esq. 


his Majesty King George the Fourth to Scotland, in Avj^lC 




1823 ; and was published as a broadsid*. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 



70? 



Auld England held him lang and fast ; 
And Ireland had a joyfu' cast ; 
But Scotland's turn is come at last — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

Auld Reekie, in her rokelay gray, 
Thought never to have seen the day ; 
He'e been a weary time away — 

But, Carle, now the King's come . 

She's skirling frae the Castle-hill ; 
The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill, 
Te'U hear her at the Canon-mill — 

Carle, now the King's come 1 

'Lp bairns!" she cries, "baith grit and sma', 
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw 1 
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come from Newbattle's ancient spires, 
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires, 
And match the mettle of your sires — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" You're welcome hame, my Montagu 1 
Bring in your hand the yoimg Buccleucb 
I'm missing some that I may rue — 
Carle, now the King's cxtme I 

" Come, Haddington, the Mnd and gay, 
You've graced my causeway mony a day ; 
I'll weep the cause if you should stay — 
Carle, now the King's come !* 

" Come, premier Duke,' and carry doun 
Frae yonder craig* his ancient croun ; 
It's had a lang sleep and a soun' — 

But, Carle, now the King's come I 

* Come, Athole, from the hill and wood. 
Bring do-\vn your clansmen like a clud ; 
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, — * 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath , 
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death ; 



1 L»H Mmtagn, nncle and guardian to the yonng Dnke of 
KiocleGch, placed his Grace's residence of Dalkeith at his Ma- 
;««ty'6 disposal during his visit to Scotland. 

« Charles, tlie tenth Earl of Haddington, died in 1828. 

' The hake :( HimiltOD, as Earl of Angus, carried the an- 
ient royal crown of Scotland on horseback in King George's 
rrojession, from Holyrood to the Castle. 

< The Ca-.tle. 

* MS. — " Come, Athole, from yonr hills and woods, 

Biing lown your Hielandmen in cluds, 
Witli bannet, brogue, and tartan duds." 

• Sir George Clerk of Pennycuik, Bart. The Baron of Pen- 
wcEilr is buiind bv his tenure, whenever the King comes to 



Come, Clerk," and give your bugle breath • 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

"Come, Wemyss, wno modest merit aids; 
Come, Rosebery, frcm Dalmeny shades; 
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids ; 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Come, stately Niddrie, amid and true, 
Girt with the sword that Minden knew 
We have o'er few such lairds as you — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" King Arthur's grown a common crier 
He's heard in Fife and far Cantire, — 
' Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire !' ' 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Saint Abb roars out, ' I see him pasa, 
Between TantaUon and the Bass 1' 
Calton, get out your keeking-glass — 

Carle, now the King's come !" 

The Carline stopp'd ; and, sure I am, 
For very glee had ta'en a dwam. 
But Oman^ help'd her to a dram. — 

Cogie, now the King's come I 

Cogie, now the King's come I 
Cogie, now the King's come ! 
Tse be fou' and ye's be toom,* 
Cogie, now the King's come 1 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COMBL 



PART SECOND. 



A Hawick gill of mountain dew, 
Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow, 
It minded her of Waterloo — 

Carle, now the King's come 

Again I heard her summons swell, 
For, sic a dirdum and a yell, 

Edinbnrgh, to receive him at the Harestone (In wfaicn ok 

standard of James IV. was erected when his army encampei 
on the Borouglimnir, before his fatal expedition to England), 
now built into the park-wall at the end of Tipperlin Lone 
near the Boroughmuir-head ; and, standing thereon, It gl\» 
three blasts on a horn. 

' MS. — " Brave Arthur's Seat's a story higher ; 
Saint Abbe is shoutmg to Kintire, — 
' You lion, light up a crest of fire-' " 
As seen from the west, the ridge of Arthur's Seal 
marked resemblance to a lion cnnehant. 

* Mr. Oman, lani^ord rf the tVaierloo Hot^l 

9 Empty. 



704 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



It drown'd St. Giles's jowing bell — 
Carle, now the King's come 

" My trusty Provost, tried and tight, 
Stand forward for the Good Town's right. 
There's waur than you been made a knight — • 
'^arle, now the King's come 1 

'My reverend Clergy, look ye say 
rh« best of thanksgivings ye ha'e, 
Ajid ■warstle for a sunny day — 

Carle, now the King's come I 

" My Doctors, look that you agree, 
Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea — 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, 
That dints on wood or clanks on airn, 
That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Come forward with the Blanket Blue,' 
Your sires were loyal men And true, 
Afl Scotland's foemen oft might rue- 
Carle, now .the King's coma 

" Scots downa loup, and riu, and rave 
"We're steady folks and something gi"av*». 
We'll keep the causeway firm and brave — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" Sir Thomas," thunder from your rock,* 
Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock, 

• The Lord Provost had the agreeable surprise to hear his 
lealth proposed, at the civic banqnet given to George IV. in 
'.he Parliamtnt-Honse, as " Sir William Arbuthnot, Bart." 

2 The Blue Blanket is the standard of the incorporated trades 
jf Edinburgh, and is kept by their convener, " at whose ap- 
pearance therewith," observes Maitland, " 'tis said, that not 
inly the artificers of Edinburgh are obliged to repair to it, but 
ill the artificers or craft-men within Scotland are bound to fol- 
owit, and fight nnde' the convener of Edinburgh as aforesaid." 
Accordnig to an o' I tradition, this standard was used in the 
Holy Wars by a body of crusading citizens of Edinburgh, and 
was the first that was planted on »))<• walls of Jerusalem, when 
n.it oity was stormed by the Christian army under the famous 
iodfrey. Bnt the real history of it seems to be this : — James 
If . % nnnce who had virtues which the rude age in which he 
--*! could not appreciate, having been detained for nine 
iv/nthi li the Castle of Edinburgh by his factious nobles, was 
rr^vfic by the citizens of Edinburgh, who assaulted the castle 
nd took it by surprise ; on which occasion James presented 
lie citizens with this banner, " with a poWer to display the 
lame Hi defence of their king, country, and their own rights." 
-jYote to this stanza in the " Account of the King's Visit," 
fco., 370. 1822. 

Sir Thomas Bradford, then commander of the forces in 

Scotland. 

* Edinburgh Castle. 

» Lord Melville was colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry 
Oaralr? : Sir John Hop« of Pinkie, Bart., Major; and Robert 



And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke- 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Melville, bring out your bands of bluo 
A' Louden lads, baith stout and true. 
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, too— 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise. 
Rank out — rank out — my gallant Grays— > 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Cock o' the North, my Huntly bra'. 
Where are you with the Forty-twa V 
Ah ! wae's my heart that ye're awa'— 
Carle, now the King's coriie I 

" But yonder come my canty Celts, 
With durk and pistols at their belts. 
Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell! 
Macdonnell's' ta'en the field himsell, 
Macleod comes branking o'er the fell- 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" Bend up your bow, each Archer spark, 
For you're to guard him light and dark ; 
Faith, lads, for ance ye've hit the mark — 
Carle, now the King's come I 

" Young Errol,' take the sword of state, 
The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ;"• 

Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains in the sanw 
corps, to which Sir Walter Scott had formerly belonged. 

8 The Scots Grays, headed by their gallant colonel, General 
Sir James Stewart of Coltness, Bart., were on duty at Edin- 
burgh during the King's visit. Bonaparte's exclamation at 
Waterloo is well known: " Ces beaux chevaux gris, comme 
ils travaillent !" 

' Marquis of Huntly, who since became the last Duke of 
Gordon, was colonel of the 42d Regiment, and died m 1836. 

8 Colonel Ronaldson Macdonell of Glengarry — who died in 
January, 1828. 

» The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord High-Constable a\ 
Scotland. 

'0 In more correct Gaelic orthography, Banamhorar-Ckat 
or the Great Lady (literally Female Lord of the Chatte) ; th« 
Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. " Evin unco thii 
day, the countrey of Sutherland is yet called Cattey, the in- 
habitants Catteigh, and the Earl of Sutherland Morweir Cat- 
tey, in old Scottish or Irish ; which tinguage the inhabitant! 
of this countrey doe still use." — Gori>on's Oenealogical His- 
tory of the Eairls of Sutherland, p. 18. It was determined 
by his Majesty, that the right of carrying the sceptre lay with 
this noble family ; and Lord Francis Leveson Gower (now 
Egerton), second son of the Countess (afterwards Duchess) ol 
Sutherland, was permitted to act as deputy for his mother is 
that honorable office. After obtaining his Majesty's -jermi* 
sion to depart for Dunrobin Castle, his place was supplied b_ 
the Honorable John M. Stuart, second son of the Earl of Mo 
ray — Ed. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOTfS PIECES. 



70f 



Knight Mareschal,' see ye clear the gate — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

■ Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, 
But duina be upon the fret — 
Te'se hae the handsel of him yet, 

Carle, now the King's come 1 

* My daughters, come with een sae blue, 
Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew ; 
lie ne'er saw fairer flowers than you— 

Carle, now the King's come ! 

" What shall we do for the propine — 
vVe used to offer something fine. 
But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine — 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

• Deil care — for that I'se never start, 
"We'll welcome him with Highland heart ; 
Whate'er we have he's get a part — 

Carle, now the King's come 1 

" I'U show him mason-work this day — 
Nane of your bricks of Babel clay. 
But towers shall stand till Time's away— 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" I'll show him wit, I'll show hun lair, 
And gallant lads and lasses fair, 
And what wad kind heart wish for mair ?— 
Carle, now the King's come 1 

" Step out, Sir John," of projects rife. 
Come win the the thanks of an auld wife, 
And bring him health and length of hfe — 
Carle, now the King's come !" 



iioiii i\}t loxinnts of Wi%d, 



1822. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap, l 
H )w Scot and English are agreed. 
And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, 
Where, such the splendors that attend him, 
His very mother scarce hao^ken'd him. 

1 The Ar.thor'9 friend and relation, the late Sir Alexander 
^eith, of Dunottar and Ravelstone. 

* MS. — " Rise np. Sir John, of projects rife, 

And WUS3 him health and length of life, 
And win the thanks of an auld wife." 



His metamorphosis behold, 
From Glasgow freeze to cloth of gold ; 
His back-sword with the iron-hilt, 
To rapier, fairly hatch'd and gilt ; 
Was ever seen a gallant braver 1 
His very bonnet's grown a beaver. 

The Refor'^'*4]itt. 

(2.)— Chap. n. 
This, sir, is one among the Seignory, 
Has wealth at will, and wiU to use his wealth. 
And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst foUy 
Lies in a thriftless sort of charity. 
That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects, 
Which wise men will not see when thrust upo6 
them. The Old Coupk 

(8.)— Chap. rv. 
Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft in't, 
As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen, 
In's grogram suit, gold chain, and weU-black'd 

shoes. 
Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brain 
Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather, 
J Or seethes within the statesman's velvet nightcap 

Jiead me my JRiddle. 

(4.)— Chap. v. 
Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; 
There are silks and jewels glistening, 
Prattling fools and wise men Hstening, 
BuUies among brave men justling. 
Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; 
Low-breath'd talkers, minion hspers. 
Cutting honest throats by whispers ; 
Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. 

Skelton Skelfonizetk. 

(5.) — Chap. vi. 

0, I do know him — 'tis the mouldy lemon 
Which our court wits will wet their lips withiu, 
YThen they would sauce their honeyed convwraar 

tion 
With somewhat sharper flavor. — Marry, sir, 
That virtue's wellnigh left him — aU the juice 
That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out , 
While the poor rind, although as sour as ever. 
Must season soon the drafiF we give our gruntera^ 
For two-legg'd things are weary on't. 

The Chamberlain — A Comedy. 

The Right Honorable Sir John Sinclair, Bart., author of " Th« 
Code of Health and l^ongevity," &c. &c.,— the well-known 
patron and projector ot national and patriotic plans and im 
provements innumerable, died 21st December, 1835, in hu 
eighty-second year. — Ed 



T0« 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



(6.) — Chap. vii. 
rhiugs needful we have tliought on ; but the thing 
Of aU most needful — that wliich Scripture terms, 
As if alone it merited regard, 
The ONE tiling needful — that's yet unconsider'd. 

The Chamberlain. 

(7.) — CuAP. VIII. 
Al> 1 mark the 'natron well — and laugh not, Harry, 
At lier old steeple-hat and velvet guard — 
I've oall'd her hke the ear of Dionysius ; 
I mean that eai--form'd vault, built o'er the dun- 
geon. 
To catcli the groans and discontented murmurs 
Of his poor bondsmen. — Even so doth Martha 
Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes, 
Or is supposed to pas.s, in this wide city — 
She can retail it too, if that her profit 
Shall call on her to do so ; and retail it 
For your advantage, so tliat you can make 
Your profit jump with hers. 

The Co7ispirary 

(8.)— Chap. x. 

2id not thy fortune troll upon the wheels 
Of yonder df^nciiig cubs of mottled bone ; 
And drown it not, like Egypt's royal harlot, 
Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimm'd wine-cup. 
These are tlie arts, Lotliario, wliich .shrink acres 
Into brief yards — bring sterling pounds to far- 
things. 
Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull. 
Who might liave lived an honor'd, easy life, 
To ruin, and an unregarded grave. 

The Changes. 

(9.) — Chap. xn. 

This is the very barn-yard. 

Whore mustei daily the prune cocks o' the game, 
(\iiffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse. 
An 1 sjxir about a barleycorn. Here, too, chickens 
I'he callow, unfledged brood of forward folly, 
Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, 
And tune their note like full-plumed Chanticleer. 

7'he Bear Garden. 

(10.) — Chap. xiii. 
Let the proud salmon gorge the feather'd hook, 
Tljcn strike, and then you have him. — He will 

wince ; 
Bpiti out your line that it .shall whistle from you 
borne twenty yards or so, yet you shall have him — 
Marry 1 you must have patience — the stout rock 
Which is his trust, hath edges something sharp ; 
And the deep pool hath oozo and sludge enough 
r« roar your fishing — 'less you are more careful. 
Albion, or the Double Kings. 



(11.) — Chap. xvi. 
Give way — give way — I must and will have joetitq 
And tell me not of privilege and place ; 
Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. 
Look to it, every one who bars my access ; 
I have a heart to feel the injury, 
A liand to right myself, and, by my honor, 
That liand shall grasp what gray -beard Lawdenie* 
me. The Chamberlain, 

(12.) — Chap. xvii. 
Come hither, young one — Mark me ! Thou art nov 
'Mongst men o' the sword, that live by reputation 
More than by constant income — Single-suited 
They are, I grant you ; yet each single suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand follow 

ers — 
And they be men, who, hazarding their all. 
Needful apparel, necessary income. 
And hunuMi body, and immortal soid. 
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — 
So strictly is that all bound in reversion ; 
Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer, — 
And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend , 
Wlio laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladoes. 
Play better than liimself his game on earth. 

The Mohocks. 

(13.) — Chap, xviii. 
Mother. Wliat ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid> 
mirror. 
With which the boy, as mortal urchms wont. 
Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passengera— 
Then laughs to see them stumble 1 

Daughter. Mother 1 no — 
It was a lightning-flash which dazzled mt 
And never shall these eyes see true again. 

Beef and Ptidding — An Old English Comedy 

(14.) — Chap. xix. 
By tliis good light, a wench of matchless mettle ! 
Tills were a leaguer-lassi»to love a soldier, 
To bind liis wounds, and kiss his bloody brow, 
And sing a roundel'as she help'd to arm him. 
Though the rough foeman's drums were beat so nigli 
They seem'd to bear the burden. 

Old Play. 

(15.) — Ch».p XX. 
Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus, 
Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat. 
False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed- 
Repented and reproach'd, an 1 then believed OOM 
more. The New World. 

(16.) — Chap. xxi. 
Rove not from pole to pole — the man lives her« 
Wliose razor's only equall'd by his beer , 



LYRICAL AND MISCELliANEOUS PIECES. -JOV 


A.nd where in either sense, the cockney-put 


But that kind Christian love hath taught the le» 


May, if he pleases, get confounded aU. 


son — 


On the Sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber. 


That they who merit most contempt and hate, 




Do most deserve our pity Old Play, 


(17.) — Chap. xxn. 




Chance will not do the work — Chance sends the 


(23.) — Chap. xxxi. 


breeze ; 


Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood 


But if the pilot slumber at the helm, 


Here's a red stream beneath this coarse bln< 


T)ie v^ery wind that wafts us towards the port 


doublet. 


Ma^ dash us on the shelves. — The steersman's part 


That warms the heart as kindly as if diawu 


u vigUance, 


From the far source of old Assyrian kings, 


Blow it or rough or smooth. 


Who first made mankind subject to their sway 


Old Play. 


Old Pla-^ 


(] 8.)— Chap, xxrv 


(24.)— Chap. xxxv. 


rhis is the time — Heaven's maiden-sentinel 


We are not worse at once — the course of evil 


Hath quitted her high watch — the lesser spangles 


Begins so slowly, and from such slight source, 


Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder 


An infant's hand might stem its breach with clat 


And the short lever — bid Anthony 


But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy- 


Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate ; 


Ay, and religion too, — shall strive in vain 


And do thou bare thy knife and follow me, 


To turn the headlong torrent. 


For we will in aud do it — darkness like this 


Old Plm 


la dawning of our fortunes. 

Old Play. 






(19.)— Chap. xxv. 
Death finds us 'mid our playthings — snatches us, 


irom Pcrcril of tl)c ^taK 


As a cross nurse might do a wayward child, 






From all our toys and baubles. His rough call 
Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth ; 


1823. 




And well if they are such as may be answer'd 


MOTTOES. 


In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. 


1* ' * \^ -M- ^ V^ -■— * ^..J « 


Old Play. 


(1.)— Chap. n. 




Why then, we will have bellowing of beeYe% 


(20.) — Chap. rrvt. 


Broacliing of barrels, brandishing of spigots : 


Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun not 


Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore 


Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; 


Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry. 


Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks 


JoLn'd to the brave heart's-blood of John-a-Barle/ 


"With voice of flute and horn — we do but seek 


corn 1 Old Play, 


On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom 




To glide in silent, safety. 


(2.) — Chap. iv. 


The Double Bridal. 


No, sir, — I will not pledge — I'm one of those 




W ho think good wine needs neither bush nor prefaa 


(21.) — Chap. xxvn. 


To make it welcome. If you doubt my word. 


nds way lie safety and a sure retreat ; 


Fill the quart-cup, and see if I wiU choke on't. 


Tonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. 


Old Plaf. 


Mc^t welcome danger then — Nay, let me say. 




i lough spoke with swelling heart — welcome e'en 


(3.) — Chap. vi. 


shame ; 


You shall have no worse prison than my charaba 


And welcome punishment — for, call me guilty, 


Nor jailer than myself. 


I do but pay the tax that's due to justice ; 


The Captain 


A.nd call me guiltless, then that punishment 




U shiune to those alone who do inflict it. 


(4.) — Chap, xvl 


Tlie Tribunal. 


Aseasio. Can she not speak ? 




Oswald. If speech be only in accented sounds 


(22.)— Chap. xxix. 


Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden's dumt 


How fares the man on whom good men would look 


But if by quick and apprehensive look, 


WXii eyes where scorn and censure combated, 


By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meanms 



■08 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



.■Express as clothed in language, be term'd speech, 
She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, 
f jike the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse, 
I'hough it be mute and soundless. 

Old Play. 

(5.) — Chap. xvn. 
ITiis is a love meeting ? See the maiden mourns, 
\nd the sad suitor bends his looks on earth, 
rhere's more hath pass'd between them than be- 
longs 
To Love's sweet sorrows. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xek. 
N'ow, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails 
Grive their broad bosom to the buxom wind, 
Like lass that woos a lover. 

Anonymcr^j. 

(7.) — Chap. xxn. 
He was a fellow in a peasant's garb ; 
Vet one could censure you a woodcock's carving, 
Like any courtier at the ordinary. 

The Ordinary. 

(8.) — Chap. xxiv. 
We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream. 
Which ghde and sigh, and sign, and move their hps, 
But make no somid ; or, if they utter voice, 
Tis but a low and imdistinguish'd moaning. 
Which has nor word nor sense of utter'd sound. 

The Chieftain. 

(9.) — Chap. xxv. 
rhe course of human hfe is changeful stiU 
As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; 
3r, like the light dance which the wUd-breeze 

weaves 
Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; 
Which now its breath bears down, now tosses high, 
Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. 
Such, and so varied, the precarious play 
Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day I 

Anonymous. 

(10.) — Chap, rrvi, 

^feces8ity — thou best of peacemakers. 

As well as surest prompter of invention — 

Help U3 to composition I 

« Anonymous. 

(11.) — Chap, xxvii. 

This is some creature of the elements 

IVlost like your sea-gull. He can wheel and whistle 
Hl» screammg song, e'en when the storm is loud- 
est — 
Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam 



Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm. 
And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a gtdl. 
An arrant gull, with all this. 

The Chieftain, 

(12.) — Chap. xxxi. 
I fear the devil worst when gown and cassock, 
Or, in tlie lack of them, old Calvin's cloak. 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

Anonytnotu. 

(13.) — Chap, xxxiii. 
'Tis the black ban-dog of our jail — Pray look on hin^ 
But at a wary distance — rouse him not — 
He bays not till he worries. 

The Black Dog of Neiogatt 

(14.) — Chap, xxxvin. 
"Speak not of niceness, when there's chance d 

wreck," 
The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck 
To see the dying dolphin flap the deck : 
" If we go down, on us these gentry sup ; 
We dine upon them, if we haul them up. 
Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters, 
As the devil ]a,ugh8 when keen folks cheat th« 

cheaters." 

The Sea Voyage. 

(15.) — Chap. xl. 

Contentions fierce, 

Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause. 

Albion. 

(16.) — Chap. xLin. 
He came amongst them like a new-raised spirit, 
To speak of dreadfvd judgments that impend. 
And of the wrath to come. 

Tfie Reformer, 

(17.) — Chap. xlfv. 
And some for safety took the dreadful leap; 
Some for the voice of Heaven seem'd calling oa 

them ; 
Some for advancement, or for lucre's sake — 
I leap'd in frolic. 

The Dream. 

(18.) — Chap. xlv. 
High feasting was there there — the gilded roofs 
Rung to the wassail-health — the dancer's step 
Sprung to the chord responsive — the gay gamesVoi 
To fate's disposal flung hie heap of gold. 
And laugh'd alike when it increased or lessen'd • 
Such virtue hath court-air to teach us patience 
Which schoolmen preach in vain. 

Why ccme ye not to Court f 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



70« 



(19.) — Chap. xivi. 
Here stand I tight and trim, 
Quick of eye, though little of limb ; 
He who denieth the word I have spoken, 
Bet^ ix+ him and me shall lances be brokea 

Lay of the Little John de Saintri. 



/rom (Slumtin IDunoar^. 



1823. 



(1.)— SONG— COUNTY GUT. 

Ah 1 Coimty Guy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day. 

Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, 

But where is County Guy ? 

The village maid steals through the shade, 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To beauty shy, by lattice high. 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above. 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
A.nd high and low the influence know — 

But where is County Guy ? 

Chap. iv. 



(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap. xi. 
Painters show Cupid blind — Hath Hymen eyes I 
Or is his sight warp'd by those spectacles 
Which parftnts, guardians, and advisers, lend him, 
rhat he may look through them on lands and man- 
sions, 
On jewels, gold, and all such rich donations. 
And see their value ten times magnified ? — 
Methinks 'twill brook a question. 

The Miseries of Enforced Marriage, 

(2.) — Chap. xn. 
fhif is a lectm-er so skill'd in policy, 
rhat (no disparagement to Satan's cunning) 
He well might read a-Iesson to the devil. 
And toach the old seducer new temptations. 

Old Play. 



(3.) — Chap. xiv. 
I see thee yet, fair France — thou favor'd land 
Of art and nature — thou art still before me ; 
Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport, 
So well thy grateful soil retmns its tribute ; 
Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing ey:* 
And glossy raven-locks. But, favor'd France, 
Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell. 
In ancient times as now. 

Anonymous 

(4.) — Chap. xv. 
He was a son of Egypt, as he told me. 
And one descended fi-om those dread magicians, 
Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt » 

Goshen, 
With Israel and her Prophet — matching rod 
With his the sons of Levi's — and encountering 
Jehovah's miracles with incantations. 
Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, 
And those proud sages wept for their first-born. 
As wept the imletter'd peasant. 

Anonymout 

(5.) — Chap. xxjv. 
Rescue or none. Sir Knight, I am your captive 
Deal with me what your nobleness suggests — 
Thinking the chance of war may one day plac* 

you 
Where I must now be reckon'd — i' the rol' 
Of melancholy prisoners. 

Anonymoui. 

(6.) — Chap. xxv. 
No human quahty is so well wove 
In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it ; 
I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, 
A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy 
Had woU nigh been ashamed on't. For youi 

crafty. 
Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, 
"Weaves his own snares so fine, he's often caugh< 

in them. 

Old Flay. 

(7.) — Chap, xarvi. 
WTien Princes meet, astrologers may mark it 
An ominous conjunction, fuU of boding. 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 

Old Play. 

(8.) — Chap. xxix. 
Thy time is not yet out — the devil thou serree* 
Has not as yet deserted thee. He aids 
The friends who drudge for him, as the blind ma»- 
Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder 
O'er rough and smooth, until he reach'd the brini 
Of the fell precipice — then hurl'd him downward 

OldPUv. 



Ovr counsels waver like the unsteady bark, 

currer 
Old Play. 



That reels amid the strife of meeting cmrents, 



(10.) — Chap. xxxi. 
Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. — Gentle 

maiden, 
K.fiep you your promise plight — leave age its sub- 
tleties, 
And gray-hair'd policy its maze of falsehood ; 
But be you candid as the morning sky, 
Ere the. high sun sucks vapors up to stain it. 

Tlie Trial. 



Jrom St. Honan's tUdl. 



1823. 



MOTTOES. 

(i.) — Chap. ii. — The Guest. 

Quid novus hie hospes ? 

Dido apud Virgilimn. 

Ch m-maid ! — The German in the front parlor ! 
Boots's free Translation of the JiJneid. 

(2.)— Chap. iii. 
There must be government in all society — 
Pees have their Queen, and stag herds have their 

leader ; 
Rome had her Consuls, Athens had her Archons, 
And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. 

The Album of St. Monans. 

(3,)— Chap. x. 
Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; 
Thou art of those, who better help their friends 
With sage advice, than usurers with gold. 
Or brawlers with their swords — I'll trust to thee, 
For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. 

ITie Devil hath met his Match. 

(4.) — Chap, xl 
?feare8t of blood should still be next in love ; 
And when I see these happy children playing;. 
While WiUiam gathers flowers for Ellen's ringlets, 
And Ellen dresses flies for Wilham's angle, 
I scarce can think, that in advancing hfe. 
Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion, 
WUl e'er divide that unity so sacred, 
Wli»?h Nature bound at birth. 

Anonymous. 



(5.) — Chap, xxhl 
Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, I w Arrant, 
The bride of Heaven — Come — we may shake yoffl 

purpose : 
For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor 
Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences 
That ladies love best — He is young and noble. 
Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, and Uberal 

The Nuii, 

(6.; — Chap, xxxil 
It comes — it ■"'n-ings me in my parting hour, 
Tlie l<<ng-hid crime — ^the well-disguised guilt. 
Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre ! 

Old Plan 

(7.) — Chap. xxxv. 
Sedet post equitem aira cura 



StUl though the headlong cavaher, 
O'er rough and smooth, in wild career, 

Seems racing with the wind ; 
His sad companion — ghastly pale, 
And darksome as a widow's veil. 

Care — keeps her seat behind. 

Uo'i act. 

(8.) — Chap, xxxviil 
What sheeted ghost is wandering through th( 

storm ? 
For never did a maid of middle earth 
Choose such a time or spot to vent her son ws. 

Old Play. 

(9.) — Chap, xxxiz. 
Here come we to our close — for that which follow! 
Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. 
Steep crags and headlong lins may com't the penci. 
Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange adven 

tm"es ; 
But who would paint the dull and fog-wrapt moor 
In its long tract of sterile desolatioc 3 

Old Plav. 



Srtje jBannat|)ite €* ut. 



1823. 



Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Win^ 
To sing in the praises of sage Baunatyne, 

> Sir Walter Scott was the first President of the O at ib4 
wrote these verses for the anniversary dinoer ©f March, 1823 
—See Life, vol. vii. p. 137. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



711 



Wljo left such a treasure of old Scottish lore 
&£ euables each age to prmt one voliime more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more. 
Well ransack old Bauny for one volume 
more. 

IL 

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean 
From liaunatyue's Hortus his bright Evergreen ; 
IVo little light volumes (intended for four) 
Still leave us the task to print one volimae more. 
One volume more, <fec. 

III. 

His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin 
How much he left out, or how much he put in ; 
The truth of the reading he thought was a 

bore, 
So thJ-« o*«'<«yate age calls for one volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 

iV. 

Correct Mia sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, 

And weigh'd every letter in critical scales, 

Hut left out some brief words, which the prudish 

abhor. 
And castrated Banny in one volume more. 

One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
VSTe'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume 
more. 



John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd 
. can't call tuat worthy so candid as learn'd ; 
He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the clay- 
more, 
^d set Scots by the ears in his one volume 
more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume 

more, 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one vol- 
ume more. 

> III aocoidanue with his own regimen, Mr. Ritson published 
\ volume piititleil, " An Essay on Abstinence from Animal 
t .>?d as a M .ral Duty. 1802." 

> See an ai count of the Metrical Antiquarian Researches of 
Piilierton. Ritson anil Herd, &e. in the Introductory Remarks 
tn Popular Poetry, tntte, p. 544, et seq, 

3 James Sibbald. editor of Scottish Poetry, &e. "The 
Ifeditur," was the name given him by the late Lord Eldin, 
ihen Mr. John Clerk, advocate. Tlie description of him here 
b very accurate. 

4 David Herd, editor of Songs and Historical Ballads. 2 
rois. He was called Greysteel by iiis intimates, from having 
been long in onsuccesciful quest of the romance of that 
Mine. 

» This club was instituted in the year 1822, for the publication 
■ r»r«int of rare and curi lus works connected with the history 



VI. 

As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a zazor. 
And feeding ou herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar, 
His diet too acid, his temper too sour, 
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. 
But one volume, my friends, one volume more, 
We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volimi* 
more. 

VII. 

The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,* 
With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal 
And honest GreysteeP that was true to the core, 
Lent their hearts and their hands each to one to. 
ume more. 

• One volume more, &c 

VIIL 
Since by these si^igle champions what wonderi 

were done. 
What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One ! 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our corps, 
And the Trade and the Press join for one voluma 
more. 

One volume more, <fec. 

IX. 

Ancient iibels and contraband books, I assure ye, 
We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; 
Then hear yom' Committee and let them count o'ei 
The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more. 
Three volumes more, <fec. 



They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and 

Sext, 
And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops come 

next ; 
One tome miscellaneous they'll add to your store. 
Resolving next year to print four volumes more. 
Four volumes more, my fiiends, four volumei» 

more ; 
Pay down your subscriptions for four voluinea 
more.* 

and antiquities of Scotland. It consisted, at first, of a very ftw 
members,— gradually extended to one hundred, at which num- 
ber it has now made a final pause. They assume the name of 
the Bannalyne Club from George Bannatyne, ol whom little i« 
known beyond that prodigious effort which produced his pres- 
ent honors, and is, perhaps, one of the most singular instance! 
of its kind whicli the literature of any country exhibits. Hii 
labors as an amanuensis were undertaken during the time ol 
pestilence, in 1568. The dread of infection had induced him 
to retire into solitude, and undei such circumstances iie had 
the energy to form and e.\ecule ths plan of saving t'le literatuns 
of the whole nation ; and, undisturbed by the general moura 
ing for the dead, and general fears of the living, to devot* 
himself to the task of collecting and recording the triumphs oi 
hnitmn genius in the poetry of his age and lOuntry; — thus 
amid the wreck of all that was mortal, emplov.ng himself i» 



Eo 3. €5. Eocftjjart, lEsq. 

ON THE COMPOSITION OF MAIDA's EPITAPH. 



1824. 



' ' Maidae Marmorea dorinis sub imagine Maida ! 
Ad ianuam domini sit tibi terra levis." 

See Life of Scott, vol. vii. pp. 275-281. 

'LucAE John, — I some time ago wrote to inform his 

Fat worsliip of jaces, misprinted for dermis ; 

But that several Soutlirons assured me the januam 

Was a twitch to both ears of Ass Priscian's cra- 
nium. 

^oa perhaps, may observe that one Lionel Ber- 
S^ier, • 

In defence of our blunder appears a stout arguer : 

But at length I have settled, I hope, all these 
clatters. 

By a rowt in the papers — fine place for such 
matters. 

I have, therefore, to make it for once my com- 
mand, feU, 

That my gudeson shall leave the whole thing in 
my hand, sir. 

And by no means accomplish what James says 
you threaten. 

Some banter in Blackwood to claim your dog- 
Latin. 

I have various reasons of weight, on my word, sir, 

For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, 
sir. — 

Fu-stly, erudite sir, 'twas against your advising 

I adopted the lines this monstrosity Ues in ; 

For you modestly hinted my English translation 

Would become better far such a dignified station. 

Second — how, in God's name, would my bacon be 
saved, 

preserving the lays by which mortality is at once given to 
others, and obtained for the writer himself. He informs us of 
lonie of the numerous difficulties he had to contend with in 
ihis self-imposed task. The volume containing his labors, 
«eposited in the Library of the Faculty of Advocates at Edin- 
bfgh, is no less than eight hundred pages in length, and very 
Beatly and closely written, containing nearly all the ancient 
poetry of Scotland now known to exist. 

Tins Caledonian association, which boasts several names of 
■•iatinction, both from rank and talent, has assumed rather a 
binaaer tbundatiou than the parent society, the Ro.\burghe 
Pljb in London, which, in \\s plan, being restricted to the 
reprinting of single tracts, each executed at the expense of an 
individual member, it follows as almost a necessary conse- 
quence, that no volume of considerable size has emanated from 
It, and its range has been thus far limited in point of utility. 
The Uannaiyne, holding the same system with respect to the 
»rdina-v species of club reprint*, levies, moreover, a fund 
imong its members of about £500 a year, expressly to be 

plied "or the editing and printing of works of acknowledged 
hnportance. and likely to be attended with expense beyond 
the reasonable bounds of an individual's contribution. In this 
*ay eiher a member of the Club, or a competent person nnder 



By not having writ what I clearly tn^aved ? 
On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it better 
To be whipp'd as the thief, than his lousy r& 

setter. 
Thirdly — don't you perceive that I don't care a 

boddle 
Although fifty false metres were flung at my 

noddle. 
For my back is as broad and as hard as Benlo 

mon's, 
And I treat as I please both the Greeks and the 

Romans ; 
Whereas the said heathens might rather look 

serious 
At a kick on their drmn from the scribe of Va 

lerius. 
And, fourtldy and lastly — it is my good pleasm-e 
To remain the sole source of that murderous 

measure. 
So stet pro ratione voluntas — be tractile, 
Livade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl ; 
If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our inter 

course : 
To-morrow will see me in town for the winter- 
course, 
But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, 
My own pye-house daughter's good prog to de- 
vour, sir. 
Ergo — peace ! — on your duty, your squeamishness 

throttle. 
And we'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny 

third bottle. 
A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, 
A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys ; 
A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, and 

west, sir, 
Speates and raxes' ere five for a famishing guest, 

sir; 



its patronage, superintends a particular volume, or set of vd- 
umes. Ujjon these occasions, a very moderate number of copies 
are thrown off for general sale ; and those belonging to the 
Club are only distinguished from the others by being printed 
on the paper, and ornamented with the decorations, peculiar to 
the Society. In this way several useful and eminently valua- 
ble works liave recently been given to the public for the firs' 
time, or at le.ist with a degree of accuracy and authenticitj 
which they had never before attained. — .ikridged from tht 
Quarterly Review — Art. Pitcairn's Ancient Criminal Tri- 
als. February, 1831. 

1 There is an excellent story (bilt tot long for quotation) in th« 
Memoire of the Somervilles (vol. i. p. 240) about an old Lon. 
of that family, who, when he wished preparations to be made 
for high feasting at his Castle of Cowthally, used to send on a 
billet inscribed with this laconic phrase, " Speates and raxes,'' 
i. e. spits and ranges. Upon one occasion, Lady Somerville 
(being newly married, and not vet skilled in her husband's 
hieroglyphics) read the mandates as {.pears and jacks, and 
sent forth 200 armed horsemen, whnse appearance on the 
moors greatly alarmed Lord Somer^ilie mJ his gnest, who 
hajipcned to be no less a person thii. King James III. — Se* 
Scott's Miscellaneout Proi'e, vol. xxii. d. 312 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 



713 



And as Fatsman' and I have some topics for ha- 
/ ver, he'U 

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Pev- 

eril, 
Upon whom, to say nothing of Oiuy and Anne, 

you a 
^og shall be deem'd if you fasten your Janua. 



2,fnes, 



ASOaESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDEE,' THE OELE- 
BEATEn VENTRILOQUIST. 



1824. 



Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good 

To carry two visages under one hood ; 

What should folk say to you ? who have faces such 

plenty, 
That from under one hood, you last night show'd 

us twenty I 
Btand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, 
Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth J 
Man, woman, or child — a dog or a mouse ? 
Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house ? 
Each live thing, did I ask ? — each dead implement, 

too, 
A work-shop in your person, — saw, chisel, and 

screw 1 
Above all, are you one individual ? I know 
You must be at least Alexandre and Co. 
But I think you're a troop — an assemblage— a 

mob, 
And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the 

job ; 
And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, 
Must read you the Riot-Act. and bid you dis- 
perse. 
Abbotsford, 23i April.^ 

' Fatsmnn wis one of Mr. James Ballantyne's many aliases. 
Another (to which Constable mostly adhered) was Mr. " Bas- 
katfiU" — an al\usion to the celebrated printer Baskerville. 

' " fVhev. Monsieur Jileravdre, the celebrated ventrilo- 
quist, was in Scotland, in 1824, he paid a visit to ^bbots- 
ftra, when he entertained his distinguished host, and the 
tther visiters, with his unrivalled imitations. JVezt morn- 
ing vhen he was aicut to depart. Sir Walter felt a good 
deal embarrassed as to the sort of acknowledgment he should 
offer ; but at length, resolving that it would probably be most 
agreeable to the young foreigner to be paid in professional 
coin, if in any, he stepped aside for a few minutes, and on 
returning, presented him with this epigram. The reader 
need hardly be reminded that Sir Walter Scott held the of- 
f.c£ of Sheriff of the cvunty of Selkirk." — Scotch newspaper, 
IS30. 

The Snes, M'ith this date, appeared in the Edinbargh An- 
al Register of 1824 
BO 



^pdogue 

TO THE DEAMA FOUNDED ON " 6T. EONAN !> WSSS ' 



1824. 



" After the play, tfie following kumorcus atf^^est 
(ascribed to an eminent literary character) wot 
spoken with infinite effect by Mr. Mackay in th. 
character of Meg Dodds." — Edinburgh Weekl% 
Journal, 9th June, 1824. 

Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by a crowd of unrul-^ 
boys, whom a town^s-officer is driving off. 

That's right, friend — drive the gaitliqgs back. 
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; 
Tour Embro' bairns are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saucy, 
They scarce will let au auld wife walk 

Upon your causey. 

I've seen the day they would been scaur'a 
Wi' the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, 
Or maybe wud hae some regard 

For Jamie Laing — * 
The Water-hole* was right weel wared 

On sic a gahg. 

But whar's the gude Tolbooth' gane no> 
Whsfr's the auld Claught,' wi' red and blue f 
Whar's Jamie Laing ? and whar's John Doo f* 

And whar's the Weigh-houso** 
Deil hae't I see but what is new, 

Except the Playhouse I 

Toursells are changed frae head to heel. 
There's some that gar the causeway reel 
With clashing hufe and rattling wlieel. 

And horses canterui', 
Wha's fathers daunder'd hame as weel 

Wi' lass and lantern. 

* James Laing was one of the Depnte-Clerks of the OEty t 
Edinburgh, and in his official connection with the Police am 
the Council-Chamber, his name was a conetant tenor to er.^ 
doers. He died in February, 1806. 

6 The Watch-hole. 

6 The Tolbooth of Edinburgh, The Heart of Mid-Lothiu. 
was pulled down in 1817. 

'' The ancient Town Guard. The reduced remnant of thli 
body of police was finally disbanded in 1817. 

8 John Doo, or Dhu — a terrific-looking and higli-spirited 
member of the Town Guard, and of whom there is a print bj 
Kay, etched in 1784. 

8 Tne Weigh-House, situated at the head of the West Bow 
Lawnmarket, and which had long been looked upon as an en 
cpmbrance to the street, was demolished in order to sake wai 
for the royal procession to the Castle, vlii(;b took piece on ih* 
22d of August, 1822. 



714 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Mysell being in the public line, 

I look for howfs I keim'd lang syne, 

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, 

And eat cheap dinners ; 
biit ti«il a soul gangs there to dine, 

Of saints or sinners 1 

Fortune's' and Hunter's' gane, alas ! 
And Bayle's' is lost in empty space ; 
And now if folk would splice a brace, 

Or crack a bottle, 
They gang t6 a new-fangled place 

They ca' a Hottle. 

The deevil hottle them for Meg 1 
They are sae greedy and sae gleg, 
That if ye're served but wi' an egg 

(And that's puir pickin'), 
In conies a chiel and makes a leg. 

And charges chicken I 

And wha may ye be," gin ye speer, 
* That brings your auld-warld clavers here }" 
Troth, if there's ouybody near 

That kena the roads, 
ril baud ye Burgundy to beer, 

He kens Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece frae west o' Currie ; 
And, since I see you're in a huiTy, 
Your patience I'll nae langer worry, 

But be sae crouse 
Ab speak a word for ane Will Muiray,* 

That keeps this house. 

Plays are auld-fashion'd things, in truth. 
And ye've seen wonders niair unCouth ; 
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth, 

Or want of dramock. 
Although they speak but wi' their mouth, 

Not with their stamock. 

But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry ; 

And surely to hae stooden sentry 

Ower this big house (that's far frae rent-free) 

For a lone sister, 
Is claims as gude's to be a ventri — 

How'st ca'd — loquiste'" 

> Fortune's Tavern — a house on the west side of the Old 
Btam|)-oflfice Close, High Street, and whicli was, in the early 
j)art of the last century, the mansion of the Earl of Bglintonn. 
— The Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of 
Jie day held his levees and dinners in this tavern. 

' Hunter's — another once much-frequented tavern, in Wri- 
jer's Court, Royal Exchange. 

' Bayle's Tavern and Coffeehouse, originally on the North 
Bridge, east side, afterwards in Shakspeare Square, bit re- 
ifioved to admit of the opening of Waterloo Place. Such waa 
he lignifie'l character of this house, that the waiter always 



Weei, sirs, gude'en, and have a care, 
The bairns mak fim o' Meg nae mair ; 
For gin they do, she tells you fair, 

And without faUzie, 
As sure as ever ye sit there. 

She'll tell the Bailie 



15 1) ( 1 fl u e .* 



1824. 



The sages — for authority, pray look 

Seneca's morals, or the copy-book — 

The sages to disparage woman's power, 

Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower ;•— 

I cannot tell — I've small philosophy — 

Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die. 

But, like the violet, when decayed in bloom. 

Survives through many a year in rich perfiune. 

Witness oiu" theme to-night, two ages gone, 

A third wanes fast, since Mary fill'd the vVu"one. 

Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunn^- day 

'TwLxt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 

But when, while Scottish hearts and blood yd 

boast. 
Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost ? 
O'er Mary's mem'ry the learned quarrel. 
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel. 
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name 
The constant burden of his fault'ring theme ; 
In each old hall liis gray-hair'd heralds teU 
Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell. 
And show — my fingers tingle at the thought - 
The loads of tapestry which that poor Quee« 

wrought. 
In vain did fate bestow a double dower 
Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow'r, 
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends — 
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends. 
Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst, 
They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst. 
In spite of errors — I dare not say more. 
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore 
In spite of all, however, humors vary, 
There is a talisman in that word Maiy, 

appeared in full dress, ant oubjdy was admitted who had cat 
a white neckcloth — then cousidered an indispensable insi^iaif 
of a gentleman 

* Mr. William Murray became manager of tn« Udinbvi^ 
Theatre in 1815. 

' " I recovered the above with some difficulty. I believe il 
was never si>oken, but written for some play, afterwards with- 
drawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddons was to have spoken it in thi 
character of Gueen Mary." — Extract from a Lftter of Sti 
Wal't- Scott to Mr. Constable. 93<i October, 1824. 



TL&i oiito Scottish bosoms all and some 
[s found the genuine open sesamum I 
[n history, ballad, poetry, or novel, 
it charms alik<; the castle and the hovel, 
Et.c you — forgive me — who, demure and shy, 
Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly, 
Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign 
Cljj Rose of Scotland has survived in vain. 



from Hebgauntkt. 



1824. 



" It was but three nights ago, that, worn 

out by the uniformity of my confinement, I had 
miinifested more symptoms of des.pondence than I 
had before exliibited, which I conceive may have 
attracted the attention of the domestics, through 
whom the circumstance might transpire. On the 
next morning, the following lines lay on my table ; 
but how conveyed there, I cannot tell. The hand 
in which they are written is a beautiful Italian 
tianuacript." — Dairsie Latimer's Journal, Chap. x. 

As lords their laborers' hire delay. 
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come^ 

Which, if far short of present pay, 
Still owns a debt and names a sum. 

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, 
Although a distant date be given; 

Despair is treason towards man, 
And blasphemy to Heaven, 



Jrom ^\)t Bctrotl)eiJ. 



1825. 



(1.)— SONG— SOLDIER, WAKE, 

I. 
SoiDita, wake — the day is peeping, 
H^ncr neer wm won in sleeping, 
Never when the svmbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the hill : 
'Tis when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and jack, 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 



IL 

Arm and up — the morning beam 
Hath call'd the rustic to his team, 
Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake, 
Hiith call'd the huntsman to tUe brake 
The eaiiy student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war thy game. 
Shield, that would bo foeman's terror, 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror, 

in. 

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; 
More paltry still the sportsman's gain : 
Vainest of all the student's theme 
Ends in some metaphysic dream : 
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd 
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled , 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters fife for fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror 1 
Be thy bright shield the morning's muTor. 

Chap, xix. 



(2.)— SONG— THE TRUTH OF WOMAN 



Woman's faith, and woman's trust — 
Write the characters in dust ; 
Stamp them on the running stream, 
Prmt them on the moon's pale beam. 
And each evanescent letter 
SliaU be clearer, firmer, better, 
And more permanent, I ween. 
Than the thing those letters mean. 

IL 

I have strain'd the spider's thread 

'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 

I have weigh'd a grain of sand 

'Gainst her pUght of heart and hand , 

I told my true-loTe of the token. 

How her faith proved hght, iind her w^rrci ir«| 

broken : 
Again her word and truth she pligb'. 
And I believed them again ere night. 

Chao. XX 



(3.)— SONG— I ASKED OF MT? HARP. 

"The minstrel tjok from his side a nta^ 

and striking, from time to time, a Welsh descant 



rie SCOTT'S poetical works. 


lung at otliera a lay, of which we can offer oilj a 


Dull Peace 1 the valley yields to thoe. 


few fragmenta, literally translated from the an- 


And owns thy melancholy sway. 


cient language in which they were chanted, pre- 


Welxh Poem, 


siising that they are in that excursive symboUcal 




style of poetry, which Taliessm, Llewarch, Hen, 


(2.)— Chap. vn. 


tod other bards, had derived perhaps from the 


0, sadly shines the morning sim 


time of the Druids." 


On leaguer'd castle wall, 




When bastion, tower, and battlement^ 


I ask'd of my harp, " W ho hath injured thy chords ?" 


Seem nodding to their faU, 


And she repUed, "The crooked finger, which I 


Old Ballad. 


mocked in my tune." 




A blade of sUver may be bended — a blade of steel 


(3.)— Chap. xu. 


abideth — 


Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance enduretL 


And ladies of England that happy would 




prove. 


The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips, 


Marry never for houses, nor marry for land. 


B'lt they are long corroded by the juice of worm- 


Nor marry for nothing but only love. 


wood; 


Family Quarrels, 


Tne lainb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf 




rangeth the mountain ; 


(4.) — Chap. xm. . 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


Too much rest is rust, 




There's ever cheer in changing ; 


I ask'd the red-hot iron, when it glimmer'd on the 


We tyne by too much trust, 


anvil. 


So we'll be up and ranging. 


'Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire- 


Old Song. 


brand ?" 




" I was born in the dark mine, and the brand in 


(5.) — Chap. xvii. 


the pleasant greenwood." 


Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endiu-etL 


The blush upon her cheek has shamed the morning 




For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, 


I ask'd the green oak of the assembly, wherefore 


These clouds betoken naught of evil omen ! 


its boughs were dry and sear'd like the 


Old Flay. 


horns of the stag ; 




• nd it show'd me that a smaU worm had gnaw'd 


(6.) — Chap, xxvu 


its roots. 


Julia. Gentle sir. 


The boy who remembered the scourge, undid the 


You are our captive — but we'U use you so, 


wicket of the castle at midnight. 


That you shaU think yom- prison joys may match 


Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 


Whate'er your Uberty hath known of pleasure. 




Roderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here tot 


Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires 


long; 


pierce the clouds; 


And, lingering to see your roses blossom. 


Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intter- 


Tve let vay laurels wither 


cept the gale. 


Old Play. 


He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a con- 




temptible enemy. 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 






Chap. xxxi. 


, 




Jrom ^\)t talisman. 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 
(1.)— Chap, a 


1825. 


(l.V- AHRIMAN. 


In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 


\ / 


With rapid clangor hurried far ; 


" So sayimf, the Saracen proceeded to ctiani 


Each hiU and dale the note reboimds, 


verses, very ancient in the langua^je and structure 


But when return the sons of war 1 


which some have thought derive their source from 


Thou, born of stem Necessity, 


the worshippers of Arimanes, the Evil Principle.' 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Il 


» 
Dabe Ahriman, whom Irak still 


Thou rul'st the fate of men ; 


Holds origin of woe and iU 1 


Thine are the pangs of Ufe's last hour. 


When, bending at thy shrine, 


And — who dare answer ? — is thy power. 


"We view the worll with troubled eye, 


Dark Spirit 1 ended Then ? 


Where see we 'neath the extended sky, 


Cftap. iU. 


An empire matching thine ! 
If tl i Benigner Power can yield 






A fountain in the desert field, 




Where weary pilgrims drink ; 


(2.)— SONG OF BLONDEL.— THE 3L00D\ 


Thine are the waves that lash the rock, 


VEST. 


Thine the tornado's deadly shock, 




Where countless navies sink 1 


" The song of Blondel was, of course, in the No» 




man language ; b«it the verses which foUo v ex 


Or if He bid the soil dispense 


press its meaning and its manner." 


Balsams to cheer the sinking sense. 




How few can they deUver 


'TwAS near the fair city of Benevent, 


From Hngering pains, or pang intense. 


When the sun was setting on bough and bent, 


Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, 


And knights were preparing in bower and teljt^ 


The arrows of thy quiver 1 


On the eve of the Baptist's tournament , 




W hen in Lincoln-green a stripling gent. 


Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway, 


Well seeming a page by a princess sent. 


And frequent, while in words we pray 


Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went. 


Before another throne. 


Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. 


Whate'er of specious form be there, 




The secret meaning of the prayer 


Far hath he fared, and farther must fare. 


Is, Ahriman, thine own. 


Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,— 




Little save u-on and steel was there ; 


Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, 


And, as lacking the coin to pay armorer's care, 


Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm, 


With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare, 


As Eastern Magi say ; 


The good knight with hammer and file did repair 


With sentient soul of hate and wrath, 


The mail that to-morrow must see him wear. 


And wings to sweep thy deadly path, 


For the honor of Saint John and his lady fair. 


And fangs to tear thy prey ? 






" Thus speaks my lady," the page said he. 


Or art thou mix'd in Nature's source, 


And the knight bent lowly both head and knee. 


An ever-operating force, 


" She is Benevent's Princess so liigh in degree, 


Converting good to ill ; 


And thou art as lowly as knight may well be — 


An evil principle innate, 


He that would climb so lofty a tree, 


Contendmg with our better fate. 


Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, 


And oh ! victorious stiU ? 


Must dare some high deed, by which all men may 


Howe'er it be, dispute is vain. 


see 
TTia ambition is back'd by his high chivalrie. 


On all without thou hold'st thy reign. 




Nor less on all within ; 


" Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page bg 


Each mortal passion's fierce career. 


said, 


Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear. 


And the knight lowly louted with hand and >ritii 


Thou goadest into sin. 


head, 




" Fling aside the good armor in which thou art clad, 


Whene'er a simny gleam appears. 


And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead, 


To brighten up our vale of tears, 


For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread ; 


Thou art not distant far ; 


And charge, thus attired, in the tournament dread, 


'Mid such brief solace of our lives. 


And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed, 


T)*ou whett'st our very banquet-knives 


And bring honor away, or remain with the dead." 


To tools of death and war. 




~ 


Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his Ireast, 


Thus, from the moment of our birth, 


The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently 


Long as we linger on the earth, 


hath kias'd : 



118 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



* Now bless'd hm the moment, the messenger be 

blest 1 
Much honor'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest I 
And say unto my lady, in this dear night weed 

dress'd, 
To the best arm'd champion I will not veil my 

crest ; 
But if I live and bear me well, 'tis her turn to take 

the test." 
Here gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay 

of the Bloody Vest, 



THE BLOODY VEST. 



FTTTE SECOND, 



The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats — 
There was winning of honor, and losing of seats — 
There was hewing with falchions, and splintering 

of staves. 
The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves, 
0, many a knight there fought bravely and well. 
Yet one was accounted his peers to excel. 
And 'twas he wliose sole armor on body and breast, 
Seem'd the weed of a damsel when boune for her 

rest. 

There were some dealt him wounds that were 

bloody and sore, 
But others respected his plight, and forbore. 
" It is some oath of honor," they said, " and I trow, 
'1 were unknightly to slay him achieving his vow," 
Tlien the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament 

cease. 
He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung 

peace ; 
And the judges declare, and competitors yield, 
That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the 

field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher, 
When before the fair Princess low louted a squire, 
And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view. 
With bword-cut and spcar-thrust, all hack'd and 

pierced through ; 
Ah rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood. 
With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud. 
Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween, 
Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean. 

" Tliis token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent, 
Restores to the, Princess of fair Benevent ; 
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the 
fi"uit, [suit ; 

He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his 
ITjrouch life's utmost peril the prize I have won, 



And now must the faith of my mistress be showp. 
For she who prompts knights on such danger to run 
Must avouch his true service in front of the sun, 

" ' I restore,' says my master, ' the garment Fn 

worn, 
And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn ; 
For its stains and its rents she should prize it tbs 

more, 
Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimsiyu'd 

with gore.' " [press'd 

Then deep blush'd the Princess — yet kiss'd she an 1 
The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast 
" Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall 

show 
K I value the blood on this garment or no," 

And when it was tune for the nobles to pass, 
In solemn procession to minster and mass, 
The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall, 
But the blood-besmear'd niglit-robe she wore ovei 

all; 
And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine 
When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine 
Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore 
That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore, 

Tlien lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may think. 
And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink ; 
And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd 

down, [a frown : 

Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with 
" Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt, 
E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast 

spilt ; 
Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent. 
When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent," 

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he 

stood. 
Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood • 
" The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, 
I pour'd forth as freely as flask givi>s its wine ; 
And if for my sake she brooks penance and blama. 
Do not doubt I will save her from suffering *nd 

shame ; 
And light will she reck of thy princedom and rf.nt, 
When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent." 

Chap. X-Tvi. 



(8.)— M T T E S , 

(1.) — Chap, rx. 
This is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, plague, 
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on bim 
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. 

Atumymout. 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



If 



(2.)— Chap. xi. 
One thing is certain in our Northern land, 
Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit, 
Give each precedence to their possessor, 
Euvy, that follows on such eminence, 
A« comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace 
BbaU puU them down each one. 

Sir David lAndsay. 

(3.) — Chap. xrn. 
Tou talk of Gayety and Innocence 1 
Th luoment when the fatal fruit was eaten, 
I'hey parted ne'er to meet again ; and Malice 
Has ever since been playmate to light Gayety 
From the first moment when the smiling infant 
Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with, 
To the last chuckle of the dying miser, 
Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear 
His wealthy neighbor has become a bankrupt. 

Old Play. 

(4.) — Chap. xvi. 
'Tis not her sense — for sure, in that 

There's nothing more than common ; 
And all her wit is only chat, 

Like any other woman. Song. 

(5.) — Chap. xvn. 
Were every hair upon his head a life. 
And eveiy life were to be supplicated 
By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled, 
Life after hfe should out like waning stars 
Before the daybreak — or as festive lamps. 
Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel. 
Each after each are quench'd when guests depart. 

Old Play. 

(6.) — Chap. xrx. 
Must ve then sheath our stiU victorious sword ; 
Turn back our forward step, which ever trude 
O'er foemen's /lecks the onward path of glory ; 
UnLlasp the mail, which with a solemn vow, 
In God's own house we hung upon our shoulders ; 
That vow, as unaccomplish'd as the promise 
Which village nurses make to still their children, 

A.'vd after tliink no more of? 

The Orusadt, a Tragedy. 

(7.) — Chap. xx. 
When beauty leads the lion in her toils, 
Bucli are hei charms, he dare not raise his mane. 
Far less expand the terror of his fangs. 
Bo ^eat Alcides made his club a distaff 
And spun to please fair Oraphal6. Anonyinmis 

(8.) — Chap. xxm. 
Miu cbese Trild scenes Enchantment waves her 

hand, 
to cawiiife the faro of the mysterious land ; 



Till the bewildering scenes around us seen: 
The vain productions of a feverish dream. 

Astolpho, a Rcmante. 

(9.) — Chap. xxiv. 

A grain of dust 

Soiling our cup, will make our sense rejeci 
Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst ft* 
A rusted nail, placed near the faithfid compaaa, 
Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argo«f 
Even this small cause of anger and disgust 
Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes, 
And wreck their noblest purposes. 

TVte Orusadt 

(10.) — Chap. xxvi. 
The tears I shed must ever fall 1 

I weep not for an absent swain, 
For time may happier hours recall. 

And parted lovers meet again. 

I weep not for the silent dead. 

Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er. 

And those that loved their steps must tread 
When death shall join to part no more 

But worse than absence, worse than death, 
She wept her lover's suUied fame, 

And, fired with all the pride of birth. 
She wept a soldier's injured name. 

Ballad. 



Hffe of Napoleon* 



June, 18'25. 



While Scott was engaged in writing the life o, 
!N apoleon, Mr. Lockhart says, — " The rapid ac 
cumulation of books and MSS. was at once flatter 
ing and alarming ; and one of his notes to me 
about the middle of June, had these rhymes It 
way of postscript : — 

When with Poetry dealing 
Room enough in a sliieling : 
Neither cabin nor hovel 
Too small for a novel : 
Tliough my back I should rrt 
On Diogenes' tub. 
How my fancy could prance 
In a dance of romance 1 
But my house I must swap 
With some Brobdignag chap, 
Ere I grapple, God bless me 1 with Emperot 
Nap." 

Life vol. viL p. 891 



720 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Jrom tUoobstock. 



1826. 



(1.)— AJ^ HOUR WITH THEE. 

Ar hour with thee ! — When earliest day 
Dapples with gold the eastern gray, 
Ch, what can frame my mind to beai 
The toil and turmoil, cark and care, 
New griefs, which coming hours unfold, 
And sac! remembrance of the old ? 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When burning June 

Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; 

What shall repay the feithful swain, 

His laboi on the sultry plain ; 

And more than cave or sheltering bough, 

Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ? — 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, 

0, what can teach me to forget 

The thankless labors of the day ; 

The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 

The increasing wants, and lessening gains, 

The master's pride, who scorns my pains ? — 

One hour with thee. 
Chap, xxvL 



(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. n. 

Come forth, old man — Thy daughter's side 
Is now the fitting place for thee : 

When Time hath quell'd the oak's bold pride, 

The youtliful tendril yet may hide 
The ruins of the parent tree. 

(2.) — Chap. m. 
."^ow, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your 

stage. 
To vapor forth the acts of this sad age, 
btout Edgehill fight, the Newbemes and the 

West, 
And northern clashes, where you still fought best ; 
Tour strange escapes, your dangers void of fear. 
Whan bullets flew between the head and ear. 
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit, 
Of you I sp^ak. 

Legend of Captain Jonea 



(8.) — Chap. rv. 

Yon path of greensward 



Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; 

There is no flint to gall thy tender foot, 

There's ready shelter from each breeze or sho^ 

er. — 
But Duty guides not that way — see her stand, 
With wand entwined with amaranth, near yoi 

cUflfs. 
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy foot- 
steps. 
Oft where she leads thy head must bear the 

storm, 
And thy shrmik form endure heat, cold, and 

hunger ; 
But she will guide thee up to noble heights, 
Which he who gains seems native of the sky, 
While eai-thly things lie stretch'd beneath hii 
feet, 

Diminish'd, shrunk, and valueless 

Anonymvui. 

(4.) — Chap. v. 
My tongue pads slowly under this new language. 
And starts and stumbles at these uncouMi phra 

ses. 
They may be great in worth and weight, but bang 
Upon the native glibness of my language 
Like Saul's plate-armor on the shepherd boy, 
Encumbering and not arming him. 

J.B. 

(5.) — Chap. x. 
Here we have one head 



Upon two bodies — your two-headed bullock 

Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 

These two have but one meaning, thought, and 

counsel ; 
And when the single noddle has spoke out, 
llie four legs scrape assent to it. 

Old Fluy. 

(6.) — Chap. xtv. 
Deeds are done on earth. 



Which have then* pimishment ere the earti 

closes 
Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working 
Of the remorse-stirr'd fancy, or the vision. 
Distinct and real, of unearthly being, 
All ages witness, that beside the couch 
Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost 
Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy ■wound. 

Old PUy. 

(7.) — Chap. xvn. 
We do that in our zeal. 
Our calmer moments are afraid to an?w»r 

Anonvmomt 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



72i 



(8.) — Chap. xxrv. 

The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 
'mongst flowers, 

Blend their bright coloring with the varied blos- 
soms. 

Their fierce eyes glittering hke the spangled dew- 
drop ; 

In all 80 Wke what natvre has most harmless, 

That sportive mnocence, which dreads no danger, 

Ij poison'd unawares. 

Old Play. 



afnes to Sft €:ut|»bett SJarp, 



1827. 



■ Sm CuTHBEET Sharp, who had been particu- 
larly kind and attentive to Scott when at Sunder- 
land, happened, in writing to him on some matter 
of business, to say he hoped he had not forgotten 
his friends in that quarter. Sir Walter's answer 
to Sir Cuthbert (who had been introduced to him 
by his old and dear friend Mr. Surtees of Mains- 
KV* ) begins thus :" — 

ToRGET thee ? No ! my worthy fere ! 
Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer 1 
Death sooner stretch me on my bier I 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget the universal shout' 

When " canny Sunderland" spoke out — 

A truth which knaves affect to doubt — 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget you ? No — though now-a-day 
I've heard your knowing people say, 
Disown tne debt you cannot pay, 
You'll find it far the thriftiest way — 

But I?— no. 

Forget your kindness found for all room, 

In what, though large, seem'd stUl a small 

room, 
forget my Surtees in a baU-room — 

Forget you ? No. 

forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, 
And beauty tripping to the fiddles, 
Forget my lovely friends the Liddelh — 

Forget you ? No. 

' A« allusion to the enthaaiastic receptionof the Dnke of 
Wellington at Sunderland. — Ed. 

* Tliii la; has been set to beautifal music b « lady whoae 
01 



" So much for oblivion, my dear Sir C. ; and 
now, having dismounted from my Pegasus, who is 
rather spavined, I charge a-foot, like an old dra- 
goon as I am," <fec. <fec. — LAfe of Scott, vol. ix. p. 1 6 ft, 



Jrom (!II)romcUs of \\)t danongatt 



1827. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— THE TWO DROVERS 

Chap. n. 
Were ever such two loving friends 1— 

How could they disagree ? 
thus it was he loved him dear, 

And thought how to requite him. 
And having no friend left but he. 
He did resolve to fight him. 

Buke upon DuKm, 



(2.)— MY AUNT MARGARETS MIRROR. 

There are times 
When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite 
Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth 
Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seeme 
When the broad, palpable, and marked partition 
'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved. 
As if the mental eye gain'd power to gaze 
Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love 
Than all the gross realities of life. 

Anonynunta. 



irom t^£ Jair iHdb of |)ertl} 



1828. 



(1.)— THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE* 

Ah, poor Louise ! the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 

composition, to say notning of her singing, might make anj 
poet proad of his veree* Mrs. Robert Arkwright, l>'»m Miii 
Kemble. 



792 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And still her voice and viol say, 

Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, 

Think on Louise. 

An, poor Louise 1 The sun was hifi;h. 
It smiich'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye, 
Tilt woodland walk was cool and nigh 
Wliere birds 'vjth cliiniing streamlets vie 

To cheer Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 
The wolves molest not paths so fair — 
But better far had such been there 

For poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 
His bfildric was of silk and gold. 
And many a witching tale he told 

To poor Louise. 

All, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 
For peace of mind that gift divine. 
And spotless innocence, were tliine, 

Ah, poor Loiuse 1 

Ah, poor Louise 1 Thy treasure's reft 1 
I know not if by force or theft. 
Or part by violence, part by gift ; 
But misery is all that's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succor have 1 
^e will not long your bounty crave, 
Dr tire the gay with warning stave — 
Tor heaven has grace, and earth a grave, 

For poor Louise. 

Chap. X. 



(2.)— DEATH CHANT. 

'' Ere he guessed where he was going, the 

■eeoh was hurried into the house of the late Ohver 
r^roudfute, from which he heard the chant of the 
iv'.men, as they swathed and dressed the corpse 
>f the uiliuhile Bunnet-maker, for the ceremony 
»f next morning ; of which chant, the following 
fftiBco may be received as a modern imitation :" — 

1. 

(J lEWLESs Essence, thin and bare, 

Wellnigh melted Into air • 

Still with fondness hovering near 

The earthly form thou once didet wear , 



2. 
Pause upon thy pinion's flight, 
Be thy course to left or right ; 
Be thou doom'd to soar or sink, 
Pause upon the awful brink. 



To avenge the deed expelling 
Tliee imtimely from thy dwelling. 
Mystic force thou shalt retain 
O'er the blood and o'er the brain 



When the form thou shalt espy 
Tliat darken'd on thy closing eye ; 
When the footstep thou shalt hear, 
That thrill'd upon thy dying ear ; 



Then strange sympathies shaU wake. 
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake 
The wounds renew their clotter'd fl jod. 
And every drop cry blood for "blood. 

Chap. xxiL 



(3.)— SONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN. 

" She sung a melancholy dirge in Norman 
French ; the words, of which the following is at 
imitation, were united to a time as doleful as thej 
are themselves." 



Yes, thou mayst sigh. 
And look once more at all around, 
At stream and bank, and sky and ground. 
Thy hfe its final course has found. 

And thou must die. 

2. 

Yes, lay thee down, 
And while thy strugghng pulses flutter, 
Bid the gray monk his soul -mass mutter, 
And the deep bell its death- tone Jtter— 

Thy life is gone. 

8. 

Be not afraid. 
Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, 
A fever fit, and then a cliill ; 
And then an end of human ill, 

For thou art dead 

(^hap XXX 



LTRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



1 23 



(4.)— M T T E S . 

( 1 .) — INTRODUCTORY. 

Thk ashes liere of murder'd Kings 

Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 
And yonder lies the scene of death, 

Where Mary learn'd to weep. 

Captain Marjoribanks. 

(2.)— Chap. i. 
• Bet.old the Tiber !" the vain Roman cried, 
Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie's side ; 
Bnt Where's the Scot that would the vaunt repay, 
^.nd hail the puny Tiber for the Tay ? 

Anorft/mcms. 

« 

(3.) — Chap. xi. 
Fair is the damsel, passing fair — 

Surmy at distance gleams her smile 1 
Approach — the cloud of woeful care 
Hangs trembling in her eye the while. 

Lucinda, a Ballad. 

(4.) — Chap. xv. 
O for a draught of power to steep 
The soul of agony in sleep 1 

Bertha. 

(5.) — Chap. xxin. 
Lo ! where he hes embahn'd in gore. 

His wound to Heaven cries ; 
^e floodgates of his blood implore 
For vengeance from the skies. 

Uranus and Psyche. 



®{)c Beat!) of SeelTiat 



1828. 



"erct or Percival Rede of Trochend, in Redes- 
J'lle, Northumberland, is celebrated in tradition as 
i huntsman, and a soldier. He was, upon two 
-ecasions, singularly unfortunate ; once, when an 
irrow, wliich he had discharged at a deer, lolled 
h'.a celebrated dog Keeldar ; and again, when, be- 
ing on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the 
bands of a clan called Crossar, by whom he was 
murdered. Mr. Cooper's painting of the first of 
;hese incidents, suggested the following stanzas, 

1 These stanzas, accompanying an engraving from Mr. Coop- 
sr's subject, "The Death of Keeldar," appeared in The Ocm 
of 1829, a literary ,jonrnal edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. In 
the acknowledgment to his contributors, Mr. Hood says, "To 
8i» Walter Scott — not merely a literary featl»er in ray cap, b-jt 



Up rose the sun, o'er moor and mead ; 
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede , 
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, 

Career'd along the lea ; 
The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, 
As if to match the gamesome hound ; 
His horn the gallant huntsman wound : 

They were a jovial three ! 

Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, 
To wake tiie wild deer never came, 
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game 

On Cheviot's ruefid day ; 
Keeldar was matcliless in his speed. 
Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher steed, 
A peerless archer, Percy Rede : 

And right dear friends were they. 

The chase engross'd their joys and woes 
Together at the dawn they rose, 
Together shared the noon's repose. 

By fountain or by stream ; 
And oft, when evening skies were red, 
I'he heather was their common bed, 
Where each, as wildering fancy led, 

Still hunted in his dream. 

Now is the thrilling moment near, 

Of silvan hope and silvan fear, "• 

Ton thicket ^olds the harbor'd deer, 

The signs the lumters know ; — 
With eyes of flame, and quivering eara^ 
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears •, 
The restless palfrey paws and rears : 

The archer strings his bow. 

The game's afoot ! — Halloo ! HaUoo ! 
Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue ; — 
But woe the shaft that erring flew — 

That e'er it left the string ! 
And ill betide the faithless yew 1 
The stag bounds scatheless o'er the deT» 
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true 

Has drench'd the gray-goose wing. 

The noble hound — he dies, he dies, 
Death, death has glazed his fixed eye^ 
Stiff on the bloody lieath he Ues, 

Without a groan or quiver. 
Now day may break and bugle sound. 
And whoop and hollow rmg around, 
And o'er liis couch the stag may bound. 

But Keeldar sleeps for ever. 

a whole plume of them — I owe, and with the hand of my hu«\ 
acknowledge, a deep obligation. A poem from bis pen is bKP 
!y to confer on the book that contains it, if not perpetuity, ai 
least a very Old Mortality." — Preface, p. 4. The orifiiii* 
painting by Cooper, remains at Ablotsford. -Ed 



r24 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, 


the Black Friars of Saint Francis's Order, weernij 


Mark the poor palfrey's mute siu-prise, 


their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to cod- 


He knows not that his comrade dies, 


ceal their features. They appeared anxiously en 


Nor what is death — but still 


gaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment 


His aspect hath expression drear 


and, wliile occupied in that employment, they sunf. 


Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear. 


in the ancient German language, rhymes more rud« 


Like startled cliikh-en when they hear 


than Pliilipson could well understand, but whid 


Some mystic tale of ill. 


may be imitated thus :" — 


But he that bent the Mai bow. 


Measurers of good and evil. 


Can well the sum of evil know. 


Bring the square, the line, the level, — 


\nd o'er his favorite, bending low. 


Rear the altar, dig the trench. 


In speechless grief recline ; 


Blood both stone and ditch shall di-ench. 


Can tliink he hears the senseless clay, 


Cubits six, from end to end. 


In um-ep-oachful accents say, 


Must the fatal bench extend, — 


" The hand that took my life away, 


Cubits six, from side to side. 


Dear master, was it thine ? 


Judge and culprit must divide. 




On the east the Court assembles, 


" And if it be, the shaft be bless'd. 


On the west the Accused trembles — 


Which sure some erring aim address' d, 


Answer, brethren, all and one. 


Since in your service prized, caress'd 


Is the ritual rightly done ? 


1 in your service die ; 




And you may have a fleeter hound, 


On life and soul, on blood and bone. 


To match the dun-deer's merry bound. 


One for all, and all for one. 


But by your couch will ne'er be found 


We warrant tins is rightly done. 


So true a guard as L" 






How wears the night ? — Doth morning shini 


And to his last stout Percy rued 


In early radiance on the Rliine ? 


* The fatal chance, for when he stood 


What music floats upon liis tide ? 


'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud. 


Do birds the tardy morning chide ? 


And fell amid the fray, 


Brethren, look out from liill and height, 


E'en with his dying voice he cried, 


And answer true, how wears the night ? 


" Had Keeldar but been at my side, 




Your treacherous ambush had been spied — 


The night is old ; on Rhuie's broad breast 


I had not died to-day I" 


Glance drowsy stars which long to rest. 


■ 


No beams are twinkling in the east. 


Remembrance of the erring bow 


There is a voice upon the flood. 


Long since had join'd the tides which flow 


The stern still call of blood for blood ; 


Conveying human bliss and woe 


'Tis time we listen the behest. 


Down dark oblivion's river ; 




But Art can Time's stern doom arrest, 


Up, then, up I When day's at rest, 


A.nd snatch his spoil from Lethe's breast, 


'Tis time that such as we are watchers. 


A.nd, in her Cooper's colors drest. 


Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! 


The scene shall live for ever. 


Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes, 




He and night are matchers. 




Chap. XX 




iroiii ^nm of Seicrstcin. 


(2.)— MOTTOES 




(1.) — Chap. ni. 
Cursed be the gold and silver, which persuade 
Weak man to follow far fatiguing trade 


1829. 




(1.)— THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 


The lily, peace, outshines the silver store, 


And life is dearer than the golden ore. 


— "PmiipsoN conld perceive that the Ughts 


Yet money tempts us o'er the desert browu. 


proceeded from many torches, borne by men muf- 


To every distant mart and wealthy town. 


led in black cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or 


Hassan, or the Camel-Drtvvt 



(2.)- -Chap. v. 



I wa8 one 



Who loved tlie green-wrood bank and lowing herd. 
The russet prize, the lowly peasant's hfe, 
Season'd with sweet content, more than the halls 
Where revellers feast to fever-height. Believe me, 
There ne'er was poison mix'd in maple bowL 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap. vi. 
Wheo we two meet, we meet Uke rushing torrents ; 
Like warring winds, like flames from various points. 
That mate each other's fury — there is naught 
Of elemental strife, were fiends to guide it, 
Can match the wrath of man. 

Frenaud. 

(4.) — Chap. x. 
We know not when we sleep nor when we wake. 
Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye, 
Which to the slumberer seem realities; 
.ind while they waked, some men have seen such 

sights 
As set at naught the evidence of sense. 
And left them well persuaded they were dreaming. 

A^ionymous. 

(5.) — Chap. xi. 
'Ihese be the adept's doctrines — every element 
Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. 
The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float ; 
Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; 
The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean-billow, 
And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home 
To its peculiar sprite — the Salamander. 

Anonymous. 

(6.) — Chap. xvin. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine. 
Which make the soldier's jovial courage miT'+or ; 
0, blessed be the Rhine 1 

Drinking Song.^ 

(7.) — Chap. xxn. 
Tell me not of it — I could ne'er abide 
The mummery of all that forced civihty. 
" Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams 
The speecli is spoken, and with bended knee, 
Heard by the smiling courtier. — " Before you, sir ? 
It must be on the earth, then." Hang it all ! 
The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion 
Ifi scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. 

Old Play. 

' This is one of the best and most popular of the German 
Utties — 

" <Am Rhein am Rhein, d^ wachsen nnsere Reben, 



(8.) — Chap, xxrin. 
A mirthful man he was — the si.ows of age 
Fell, but they did not chill him. Gayety, 
Even in fife's closing, touch'd his teeming bran 
With such wild visions as the setting siui 
Raises in front of some hoar glacier. 
Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. 

Old F'ay 

(9.) — Chap. xxx. 
Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of bays 
Wove by Apollo and the Sisters Nine, 
Which Jove's dread lightning scathes not. He hati 

doft 
The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung asiil« 
The yet more galling diadem of gold ; 
While, with a leafy chclet round his brows. 
He reigns the King of Lovers and of Poets. 

(10.) — Chap. xxxi. 

■ Want you a man 



Experienced in the world and its affairs ? 
Here he is for your purpose. — He's a monk. 
He hath forsworn the world and aU its work- 
The rather that he knows it passing well, 
'Special the worst of it, for he's a monk. 

Old Play. 

(11.) — Chap, xxxin. 
Toll, toll the bell I 
Greatness is o'ei^ 
The heart has broke. 
To ache no more ; 
An unsubstantial pageant aU — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral palL 

Old Poe)^ 

(12.) — Chap. xxxv. 
Here's a weapon now. 



Shall shake a conquering general in his tent, 

A monarch on his throne, or reach a prelate. 

However holy be his ofilces. 

E'en while he serves the altar 

Old Play 



8KT TO MUSIC BY JOHN WHITEFIELD, MUS TC-C. 



1830. 



The last of our steers on the board has been spreaa 
And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red , 

Gesegnet sei der Rhein," &o. 
2 Set to music in Mr. Thomson's Scottish Coilectioi). r*b 
lished in 1830. 



/26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Up ! uj), my brave kinsmen ! belt swords and be- 

goi.e, 
There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be 

won. 

The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with ours, 
F >r a sj)ace must be dim, as they gaze from the 

towers. 
And strive to distmguish through tempest and 

gloom, 
Tlie prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. 

The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; 
And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a 

cloud ; 
Tis the better, my mates 1 for the warder's dull 

eye 
Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. 

Our steeds are impatient ! I hear my blithe Gray ! 
There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh 1 
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane 
Shall marshal your march through the darkness 
and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown ; 
One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount and be- 



gone 






To their honor and peace, that shall rest with the 

slain; 
To their health and their glee, that see Teviot 



again! 



finsctfp tfo n 



rOR THE MOiTOMENT OF THE EEV. GEOEGE SCOTT ' 



1830. 



r< youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale 
Fells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 
Art thou a parent ? Reverence this bier, 
The parents' fondest hopes lie buried here. 
Hil thou a youth, prepared on Ufe to start, 
?V)th opeiJng talents and a generous heart. 
Fab- hopes and flattering prospects aU thine own ? 
Lo 1 here their end — a monumental stone 
But let submission tame each sorrowing thought. 
Heaven crown'd its champion ere the fight was 
fought. 

/ 
' This voung gentSeman, a son of the author's friend and 
eiaticn, Hugh Scott of Harden. Esq. (now Lord Polwarth), 
»ecauie Rector of Kentisbeare, in Devonshire, in 1828, and 
iitnl there the 9th of Jane, 1830. This epitaph appears on hu 
tomt) i: the chancel there. 



SL(nes on jfortunt, 



1831. 



" By the advice of Dr. Ebenezer Clarkson, Sk 
Walter consulted a skilful mechanist, by nani.j F</r- 
tune, about a contrivance for the support of the lam* 
limb, which had of late given liun much pain, as well 
as inconvenience. Mr. Fortune produced a clever 
piece of handiwork, and Sir Walter felt at first 
great relief from the use of it : insomuch that hij 
spirits rose to quite the old pitch, and his letter tn 
me upon the occasion overflows with merry ap 
plications of sundry maxims and verses about 
Fortune. ' Fortes Fortuna adjuvat ' — he says— 
'never more sing I 

" ' Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou frown on me I 
And will my Fortune never better be ? 
Wilt thou, I say, for ever breed my pain ? 
And wilt thou ne'er return my joys again ?' 

No — let my ditty be henceforth — 

Fortune, my Friend, how ^ell thou favorest me I 

A kinder Fortune man did never see 1 

Thou propp'st my tliigh, thou rid'st my knee oJ 

pain, 
I'll walk, I'll moimt — I'll be a man again.' " — 

Life, vol. X. p. 38. 



Jrom Count llobcrt of Paris. 



1831. 



Othus. 



MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap. u. 

This superb successor 



Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakest, 
Stands 'midst these ages as, on the wide ocean. 
The last spared fragment of a spacious land, 
That in some grand and awful ministration 
Of miglity nature has engulfed been. 
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs 
O'er the wild waste around, and sadly fi-owna 
In lonely majesty 

C'onstanti7ie Paleologus, Scene L 

1 " I believe tliis is the only verse of the old song (often hi 
Inded to by i^halispeare and his contemporaries) thai has M 
yet been recovered." — Lockhart, Life of Scctt, vol. s 
p. 38 



LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 72^ 


(2.) — Chap. hi. 


To meet a lover's onoet. — But though Nature 


Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 


Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. 


Here, youth, thy brow unbraid, 


Feud^,l Timet 


Each tribute that may grace 




The threshold here be paid- 


(8.)— Chap. xi. 


Walk with the stealthy pace 


Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous. 


Which Nature teaches deer, 


Within it was a little paradise. 


When, echouig in the chase, 


Where Taste had made her dwelUng. Statuary 


The hunter's horn they hear. 


First-born of human art, moulded her images, 


The Ccmrt 


\p'\ bade men mark and worship. 




A rumymout 


(3.)— Chap. v. 


• 


The storm increases — 'tis no sunny shower. 


(9.) — Chap, xn. 


Foeter'd in the moist breast of March or April, 


The parties mot. The wily, wordy Greek, 


Or such as parched Summer cools his Up with; 


Weighing each word, and canvassing each syllable 


Heaven s windows are flung wide ; the inmost 


Evading, arguing, equivocating. 


deeps 


And the stern Frank came with his two-hand 


Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; 


sword. 


On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, 


Watching to see which way the balance sways. 


And Where's the dike shall stop it ! 


That he may throw it in, and turn the scales. 


The Deluge, a Poem. 


Palestine 


See Life, voL x. p. ST. 






(10.)— Chap. xvi. 


(4.) — Chap. vi. 


Strange ape of man 1 who loathes thee while b# 


Vain man ! thou mayst esteem thy love as fair 


scorns thee ; 


As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. 


fialf a reproach to us and half a jest. 


She may be all that's matcliless in her person, 


What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure 


And all-divine in soul to match her body ; 


In viewing our own form, our pride and passions^ 


Bu' take this from me — thou shalt never call her 


Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine 1 


Sup(!rior to her sex, while one survives, 


Anonymo^iS. 


And I am her true votary. 




Old Play. 


(11.) — Chap. xvii. 




'Tis strange that, in the dark sulphm-eous mine, 


(5.) — Chap. vin. 


Where wild ambition piles its ripenmg stores 


Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists' skill. 


Of slumbering thimder. Love wiU interpose 


Plain sense and honest meaning work their way ; 


His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion 


So sink the varying clouds upon the hill. 


To burst, when the deviser's least aware. 


When the cleai- dawning brightens into day. 


Anonymoui, 


Br. Watts. 






(12.) — Chap. xxiv. 


(6.) — Chap, ix. 


All is prepared — the chambers of the m'me 


Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent, 


Are cramm'd with the combustible, which, harm 


ll^e skilful artist draws a sudden mound; 


less 


By level long he subdivides their strength, 


While yet unkindled, as the sable sand. 


Stealing the waters from their rocky bed, 


Needs but a spark to change its nature 9s 


J'ii'st to diminish what he means to conquer ; 


That he who wakes it from its slumbrous moooi. 


rbac fot th; residue he forms a road. 


Dreads scarce the explosion less than he wb« i 


Easy to keep, and painful to desert, 


knows 


And g-iiding to the end the planner aim'd at. 


That 'tis his towers which meet its fm-y. 


The Engineer. 


Anwiymo^u. 


(7.)— Chap. x. 


(13.) — Chap. xxv. 


These were wild times — the antipodes of ours : 


Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has its billet 


Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves 


Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose • 


In !'•€ broad lustre of a foeman's sliield 


The fated beasts of Nature's lower strain 


Than 'n a mirror, and who rather sought 


Have each their separate task. 


To match themselves in battle, than in dalliance 


Old Fla^ 



'l^ 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Jrom Clastic IJangerous. 


But he that creeps from cradle on to grare, 
UnskiU'd save in the volvet course ol forttJM, 




Hath miss'd the discipline of nobU. ijearts. 

Ola I lay. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 


(4.) — Chap. xvm. 




His talk was of another world — his 'x)dement8 


(1.)— Chap. v. 


Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those wht 


A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep ; 


heard him 


A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; 


Listen'd as to a man in feverish oreams, 


K. tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch. 


Who speaks of other objects than the present, 


And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly. 


And mutters like to him who sees a vision. 


Old Flay. 


Old Play. 


(2.)— Chap, xl 


(5.) — Chap. xx. 


"Where is he ? Has the deep earth swallow'd him ? 


Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pasa, 


Oi hath he melted like some airy phantom 


Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; 


That stuns the approach of morn and the yovmg sim ? 


Upon Samt Andrew tlirice cau they thus ay, 


Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, 


Ana thrice they shout on height. 


And pass'd beyond the circuit of the sight 


And tuen marked them on the Englishmen, 


With things of the night's shadows ? 


As I have told you right. 


Anonymous. 


Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight, 




To name they were fuU fain ; 


(8.) — Chap. xrv. 


Our Englishmen they cried on beiebt. 


The way is long, my children, long and rough — 


And thrice tbey shout again. 


rbe moors are dreary, ao'i the woods are dark; 


Old Bailad 



DRAMATIC PIECES. 



i^alibon §ill:' 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HlSTORf 



PREFACE. 

Though the Public seldom feel much interest in 
inch communications (nor is there any reason why 
they should), the Author takes the Uberty of stat- 
ing, that these scenes were commenced with the 
purpose of contributing to a miscellany projected 
by a much-esteemed friend.' But instead of being 
confined to a scene or two, as intended, the work 
gradually swelled to the size of an independent 
publication. It is designed to illustrate military 
jitiquities, and the manners of chivalry. The 
j-ama (if it can be termed one) is, in no particular, 
either designed or calculated for the stage.' 

The subject is to be found in Scottish history ; 
Di.t not t\j overload so slight a publication with 
antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure 
chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the 
following passage from Pinkeeton's History of 
Scotland, voL L p. 72. 

"The Governor (anno 1402) dispatched a con- 
riderable force under Murdac, his eldest son : the 
Earlf of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, 
vrho entered England with an army of ten thou- 
tai d men, carrying terror and devastation to the 
^alls of Newcastle. 

"Henry IV. was now engaged in the Welsh 
war against Owen Glendour ; but the Earl of 

I Published by Constable & Co., Jnnt, 1822, in 8vo. 68. 

' The author alludes to a collection of small pieces in verse, 
•rtited, for a charitable purpose, by Mrs. Joanna Baillie. — See 
Life of Scott, vol. vii. pp. 7, 18, 169-70. 

s In the first edition, the text added, " In case any attempt 
shall be made to produce it in action (as has happened in simi- 
lar ejises), the author takes the present opportunity to in- 
timate, that it shall be at the peril of those who make sach 
an experiment." Adverting to this passage, the JVew Edin- 
bvrgh Review (July, 1822) said, — " We, nevertheless, do not 
believe that any thing more essentially dramatic, in so far as 
It goes, more capable of stage effect, has appeared in England 
tnce the days of lier greatest genius ; and giving Sir Walter, 
therefore, full credit for his coyness on tne present occasion, 
we ardently hope that he is but trying his strength in the 
■oit udaoui of all litenuy enterprises, and that, ere lone, he 

as 



Northumberland, and his son, the Hotspur Percj 
with the Earl of March, collected a numerous array 
and awaited the retm-n of the Scots, impeded with 
spoil, near Milfield, in the north part of Northum- 
berland. Douglas had reached Wooler, in his re- 
turn ; and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong 
post between the two armies, called Homildon- 
hill. In this method he rivalled his predecessor at 
the battle of Otterburn, but not with like success. 
The Enghsh advanced to the assault, and Henry 
Percy was about to lead them up the lull, when 
March caught his bridle, and adt'ised him to ad- 
vance no farther, but to pour the dreadful shower 
of English arrows into the enemy. This advice 
was followed by the usual fortune ; for in all age* 
the bow was the Enghsh instrument of victory 
and though the Scots, and perhaps the French 
were superior m tlie use of the spear, yet this 
weapon was useless after the distant bow had de 
cided the combat. Robert the Great, seu3""ble of 
this at the battle of Bannockburn, ordered a pre- 
pared detachment of cavalry to, rush among the 
English archers at the conmiencement, totally to 
disperse them, and stop the deadly effusion. But 
Douglas now used no such precaution, and the con- 
sequence was, that his people, drawn up on the 
face of the hiU, presented one general mark to the 
enemy, none of whose arrows descended in vain 

will demonstrate his right to the highest honors of the tragic 
muse." The British Critic, for October, 1822, says, on th 
same head, " Though we may not accede to the author's (Vec 
laration, that it is ' in no particular calculated for the stage, 
we must not lead our readers to look for any thii:g aniouniinfr 
to a regular drama. It would, we think, form an nnderploi 
of very great interest, in an historical play of customary length ; 
and although its incidents and personages are mixed np, in 
these scenes, with an event of real history, there is nothing in 
either to prevent their being interwoven in the plot of SEy 
drama of which the action should lie in the confines of Eng.ana 
and Scotland, at any of the very numerous periods of Bordei 
warfare. The whole interest, indeed, of the story, is engrossed 
by two characters, imagined, as it appears to Ds, with great 
force and probability, and contrasted with considerable skill 
and eflfect." 



730 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



The Scots fell witLout fighi, and unrevenged, till 
a spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, ' my 
bra ve countrymen ! what fascination has seized 
fou to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, in- 
itead of indulging your ancient courage, and meet- 
ing your enemies hand to band ? Let those who 
wiH, descend with me, that we may gain victory, 
dr life, or full like men.'' This being heard by 
A.uam Goidon, between whom and Swinton there 
remained an ancient deadly feud, attended with 
the mutual slaughter of many followers, he in- 
Btartly feU on his knees before Swinton, begged 
nis pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by 
him whom he must now regard as the wisest and 
the boldest of that order in Britain. The ceremony 
performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the 
Sill, accompanied only by one hundred men ; and 
a desperate valor led the whole body to death. 
Had a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish 
army, it is probable that the event of the day 
would have been different. Douglas, who was cer- 
tainly deficient in the most important qualities of 
a general, seeing his army begin to disperse, at 
length attempted to descend the MU; but the 
English archers, retiring a little, sent a flight of ar- 
rows so sharp and strong, that no armor could 
withstand ; and the Scottish leader himself, whose 
panoply was of remarkable temper, feU under five 
woimds, though not mortal. The EngUsh men-of- 
arms, knights, or squires, did not strike one blow, 
but remained spectators of the rout, which was 
now complete. Great numbers of the Scots were 
slain, and near five hundred perished in the river 
Tweed upon their flight. Among the illustrious 
.:aptives was Douglas, whose chief wound deprived 
him of an eye ; Murdac, son of Albany ; the Earls 
of Moray and Angus ; and about twenty-four gen- 
tlemen of eminent rank and power. The chief 
slain were, Swinton, Gordon, Livingston of Calen- 
dor, Ramsay of Dalliousie, Walter Sinclair, Roger 
Gordon, Walter Scott, and others. Such was the 
issue of the unfortunate battle of Homildon." 

It may be proper to observe, that the scene of 
iction has, in the following pages, been transferred 
from Homildon to Halidon Hill. For this there 
was an obvious reason ; — for who would again ven- 
iai"e to introduce upon the scene the celebrated 
potspiu-, who commanded the English at the for- 
«ner battle ? There are, however, several coinci- 
dences wliich may reconcile even the severer anti- 
quary to the substitution of Halidon Hill for 
Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by the 
English on both occasions, and under nearly the 

1 " Miles magn.inimas dominns Johannes Swinton, tanqnam 
roce liorrida priEconis exclamavit, dicens, O commilitoneg 
bclyti I quia vos hodie faseinavit non indulgere solitse probi- 
teti, quod nee dextris conseritis, nee ut viri corda erigitii, ad 

*uieudani smulos, qui vos, tanqnam damulos vel hinnulos 



same circumstances of address on tlie part of tht 
victors, and mismanagement on that of the van 
quished, for the English long-bow decided the day 
in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon was 
left on the field of battle ; and at HaUdoU; as a* 
Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an ill- 
fated representative of the great house of Douglaa 
He of Homildon was sm-named Tinevian, i. e. Lom 
man, from his repeated defeats and miscarria^m ; 
and, with all the personal valor of his race, seem* 
to have enjoyed so small a portion of their saga- 
city, as to be anable to learn mihtary experience 
from reiterated calamity. I am far, however, from 
intimating, that the traits of imbecility and envy 
attributed to the Regent in the following eketch, 
are to be historically ascribed either to the eldel 
Douglas of HaUdon HUl, or to him called Tinevian, 
who seems to have enjoyed the respect of hia 
countrymen, notwithstanding that, Uke the cele- 
brated Anne de Montmorency, he was either de- 
feated, or woimded, or made prisoner, in every 
battle which he fought. The Regent of the sketch 
is a character purely imaginary. 

The tradition of the Swinton family, which still 
survives in a lineal descent, and to which the au- 
thor has the honor to be related, avers, that the 
Swinton who fell at Homildon in the manner re- 
lated in the preceding extract, had slain Gordon's 
father ; which seems sufiicient ground for adopting 
tliat circumstance into the following dramatic 
sketch, though it is rendered improbable by other 
authorities. 

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at 
Froissart, Fordun, or other historians of the period, 
he will find, that the character of the Lord ot 
Swinton, for strength, corn-age, and conduct, is bj 

no means exaggerated. 

W. S 
Abbotsfokd, 1822. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

SCOTTISH 

The Regent of Scotland. 

Gordon, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

sutheeland, 

Ross, 

Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

Lindesay, 

imparcatos, sagittarnm jacnlis perdere festinant. Descea- 
dant raecum qui velint, et in nomine Domini hos^s penetr» 
bimus, ut vel sie vita potiarour, vel saltern ut milite« cum ha 
nore occumbamus " &c. — Fordcn, Scoti- Chron: eon, rsi <* 
p. 434. 



Scottish Chiefs and IVA't* 



A.DAM DE ViPONT, a Knight Tetplar. 

The Peioe of Maison-Dieo. 

Reynald, Swintoiis Squire, 

Hob Hattkly, a Border Moss-lVooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 

Kjns Edwabd III. 

Ohandos, 'i 

Pekcy > English and Norman Nobles, 

KlHAUMO.VT, ) 

The i^-BBor of Walthamstow. 



§ a I i i u ^\{[ 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 

The northern side of the eminence of Halidon. Ttie 
back Scene represents the summit of t}ie ascent, 
occupied by the Rear-guard of the Scottish army. 
Bodies of armed Men appear as advancing from 
different points, to join the main Body. 

Enter De Vipont and the Peioe of Maison-Dieu. 

ViP. No further, Father — here I need no guid- 
ance — 
I have already brought your peaceful step 
Too near the verge of battle. 

Pel Fain would I see you join some Baron's 
banner, 
Before I say farewell. The honor'd sword 
That fought so well in Syria, should not wave 
Amid tlie ignoble crowd. 

ViP. Each spot is noble in a pitched field, 
So that a man has room to fight and fall on't. 
Bat I shall find out friends. 'Tis scarce twelve 

years 
Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine, 
And then the flower of all the Scottish nobles 
Were known to me ; and I, in my degree, 
Njt all unknown to them. 

Pei, Alas ! there have been changes since that 
tune ! 
tte Hoyil Bruce, with Randolph, Douglas, Gra- 

hat-e, 
Hien shook ir field the banners which now moulder 
Over their graves i' the chancel. 

ViP. And thence comes it, 
That while I look'd on many a well-known crest 
And blazon'd sliield,' as hitherward we came, 
rhe faces of the Barons who display'd them 



• MS — " I've look'd on many a well-kDown pennon 
Plaviii? the air," &c. 



Were all unknown to me. Brave youths thei 

seem'd ; 
Yet, surely, titter to adorn the tilt-yard. 
Than to be leaders of a war. Their followers, 
Young like themselves, seem like themselves im 

practised — 
Look at their battle-rank. 

Pel I cannot gaze on't with indazzled eye. 
So thick the rays i^t back from shield and h«i 

met. 
And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennsn 
Sure 'tis a gallant show ! The Bruce himself 
Hath often conquer'd at the head of fewer 
And woise appointed followers. 

ViP. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. Rev 

erend Fathei, 
'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat ; 
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it. 
HI fate, that we should lack the noble King, 
And all his champions now ! Time caU'd them not» 
For when I parted hence for Palestine, 
The brows of most were free from grizzled hair. 
Pel Too true, alas 1 But well you know, in Sco4 

land 
Few hairs are silver'd underneath the helmet ; 
'Tis cowls hke mine which liide them. 'Mongsi 

the laity. 
War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his sickle 
Before the grain is white. In threescore yea?" 
And ten, which I have seen, I have outUved 
Wellnigh two generations of our nobles. 
The race which holds" yon summit is the third. 
ViP. Thou mayst outlive them also. 
Pel Heaven forfend 1 

My prayer shall be, that Keaven will close mj 

eyes. 
Before they look upon the wrath to come, 

ViP. Retire, retire, good Father ! — Pray f(M 

Scotland — 
Tliink not on me. Here comes an ancient friend. 
Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me. 
Back to your choir, assemble all yoiu* brother- 
hood. 
And weary Heaven with prayers for victory.* 

Pel Heaven's blessing rest with thee. 
Champion of Heaven, and of thy stiff ering country! 

[Exit Peioe. Vipont draws a little aside 
and lets doum the beaver of his helint. 

Enter SwiKioy, followed by Reynald and others, ta 
whom he speaks as he enters. 

Swi. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till iba 
Regent 
Assign our band its station in the host. 



a MS.— "The youths who hold." &e. are." 
8 MS. " with nr«»era for Scotland^'s weal ' 



782 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Bet. That must be by the Standard. We have 
had 
riiat right since good Saint David's reign at least. 
Fain -would I see the Marcher would dispute it. 
Swi. Peace, Reynald 1 Where the general plants 
the soldier, 
rhcre is his place of honor, and there only 
3is valor can win worship. Thou'rt of those, 
iVTio would have war's deep axt bear the wild sem- 
blance 
Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell. 
Each tr"c;8ting to the swiftness of his horse, 
Gallant.a press on to see the quarry falL 
Yon steel-clad Southrons, Reynald, are no deer ; 
And England's Edward is no stag at bay. 

Vip. {advancing.) There needed not, to blazon 
forth the Swinton, 
His ancient burgonet, the sable Boar 
Chain'd to the gnarl'd oak,' — nor his proud step, 
Nor giant stature, nor the ponderous mace, 
Which only he, of Scotland's realm, can wield : 
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader. 
As doth his frame the champion. Hail, brave 
Swinton I 
Swi. Brave Templar, thanks ! Such yoiu- cross'd 
shoulder speaks you ; 
But the closed visor, which conceals your features. 
Forbids more knowledge. Umfraville, perhaps — 
Vip. [unclosing his helmet.) No ; one less worthy 
of our sacred Order. 
Yet, unless Syrian sims have scorch'd my features 
Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton 
Will welcome Symon Vipont. 

Swi. {embracing him.) As the blithe reaper 
Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest 
Lies deep before him, and the sun is high ! 
Thou'lt follow yon old pennon, wilt thou not ? 
Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the Boar- 
heads 
Look aa if brought from off some Christmas board. 
Where knives had notch'd them deeply. 

Vip. Have with them, ne'ertheless. The Stuart's 
Chequer, 
The Bloody Heart of Douglas, Ross's Lymphads, 
Sutherland's Wild-cats, nor the royal Lion, 
4ampant in golden treasure, wins me from them. 
if^e'li back the Boar-heads bravely. I see round 

them 
4k chosen band of lances — some well known to me. 
Where's tlie main body of thy followers ? 

Swi. Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all 
That Swinton's bugle-horn can call to battle. 
However loud it rings. There's not a boy 
Left in my halls, whose arm has strength enough 

' " The armorial bearings of the ancient family of Swintoo 
«re table, a cheveron, or, between three boars' headg erased, 
trgent. Crest — a boar chained to a tree, and above, on an 
Mcroll, J'espere. Supportbrs — two boars staoding oa a 



To bear a sword — there's not a man behind, 
However old, who moves without a staff. 
Striplings and graybeards, every one is here; 
And here all should be — Scotland needs them all 
And more and better men, were each a Hercules, 
And yonder handful centuplied. 

Vip. a thousand followers — such, with frieadi 

and kinsmen, 
Allie* and vassals, thou wert wont to lead— 
A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances 
In twelve years' space ? — And thy brave sons "iit 

Alan? 
Alas ! I fear to ask. 

Swi. All slain, De Vipont. In my empty home 
A puny babe lisps to a widow'd mother, 
" Where is my grandsire 1 wherefore do you 

weep ?" 
But for that prattler, Lyulph's house is heirless. 
Fn: an old oak, from which the foresters 
Have hew'd four goodly boughs, and left beside 

me 
Only a sapling, which the fawn may crush 
As he springs over it. 
Vip. All slain ? — alas ! 

Swi. Ay, all, De Vipont. And their attributes, 
John with the Long Spear — Archibald with the 

Axe — 
Richard the Ready — and my youngest darling. 
My Fair-hair'd William — do but now survive 
In measm'es which the gray-hair'd minstrels sing, 
Wlien they make maidens weep. 

Vip. These wars with England, th«y have rooted 

out 
The flowers of Christendom. Kr.ights, who might 

win 
The sepulchre of Christ from the rude heathen, 
Fall in imholy warfare ! 

Swi. Unlioly warfare ? ay, well hast thou named 

it; 
But not with England — wot^ld her cloth-yard shafts 
Had bored their cuiras&eb ! Their lives had been 
Lost like their granasirt's, in the bold defence 
Of tlieir dear country'' — but in private feud 
With the proud Gordon, fell my Long-spear'd 

John, 
He with the Axe, and he men call'd the Ready, 
Ay, and my Fair-hair'd WUl — the Gordon's wrath 
Devour'd my gallant issue. 

Vip. biiice thou dost weep, their death is oil' 

avenged ? 
S ST. Templar, what think'st thou me ? — Se« 

yonder rock. 
From which the foimtain gushes — is it less 
Compact of adamant, though waters flow from it I 

compartment, whereon are the words, Je Pense." — Douglas's 
Baronage, p. 132. 

a MS.—" Of the dear land that nuised them— bnt In frad. 



HALIDON HILL. 



733 



Firm hearts have raoister eyes. — They are 

avojj.ed ; 
I wept not till they were — till the proud Gordon 
Had with Ills Ufe-blood dyed my fatlier's sword, 
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's lineage, 
And then 1 wept my sons ; and, as the Gordon 
Lay at my feet, there was a tear for him, 
THjich mingled with the rest. We had been 

friends, 
ll> sh ired the banquet and the chase together, 
Fough'. side by side, — and our cause of strife, 
Woe to the pride of both, was but a hght on*" ' 
ViP. you are at feua, men, with vt,* imghty 

Gordon ? 
Swi At deadly feud. Here in this Border- 
land, 
Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the son, 
As due a part of his inheritance, 
As the strong castle and the ancient blazon, 
Where private Vengeance holds the scales of jus- 
tice, 
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously 
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence, 
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and Saint Abb's, 
Rages a bitterer feud than mine and theirs, 
The Swinton and the Gordon. 

ViP. Yim, with some threescore lances — and the 
Gordon 
Leading a thousand followers. 
Swi. You rate him far too low. Since yon 
sought Palestine, 
He hath had grants of baronies and lordships 
In the far-distant North. A thousand horse 
ffis southern friends and vassals always number'd. 
Add Badenoch kerne, and horse from Dey and 

Spey, 
He'U count a thousand more. — And now, De Vi- 

pont, 
If the Boar-heads seem in your eyes less worthy 
For lack of followers — seek yonder standard — 
The bounding Stag, with a brave host aroimd it ; 
There the young Gordon makes his earliest field, 
And pants to win his spurs. His father's friend. 
As well as mine, thou wert — go, join his pennon, 
And grace him with thy presence. 
Vip. When yoi: were friends, I was the friend 
of both, 
And now I can be enemy to neither ; 
But my poor person, though but sUght the aid, 
Joins on this field the banner of the two 
Which hath the smallest following. 
Swi. Spoke like the generous Knight, who gave 
up all. 
Leading and lordship, in a heathen land 
To fight, a Chrstian soldier 1 Yet, in earnest, 



> M> .— "Sharp.y " 

t MS. — " As we do pam,' 



'&o 



I pray, De Vipont, you would join tho Gordon 

In this high battle. 'Tis a noble youtli, — 

So fame doth vouch him, — amorous, quick, and 

valiant ; 
Takes knighthood, too, this day, and weU may usa 
His spurs too rashly' in the wish to win them. 
A friend like thee beside him in the fight, 
Were worth a himdred spears to reii. his valor 
And temper it with prudence : — 'tis the aged eag 
Teaches his brood to gaze upon the sxu' 
Witn eye undazzleu. 

ViP. Alas ! brave Swinton ! Wouldst thou traia 

the hunter 
That soon must bring thee to the bay? Youl 

custom, 
Your most unchristian, savage, fiend-like custom. 
Binds Gordon to avenge his father's death. 

Swi. Why, be it so ! I look for nothing els« : 
My part was acted when I slew his father, 
Avenging my four sons — Young Gordon's sword, 
If it should find my heart, can ne'er inflict there 
A pang 80 poignant as his father's did. 
But I would perish by a noble hand, 
And such will his be if he bear him nobly, 
Nobly and wisely on this field of HaUdoa. 

Enter a Pubsutvant. 
For. Sir Knights, to Council ! — 'tis the Regent i 
order, 
That knights and men of leading meet him in 

stantly 
Before the royal standard. Edward's army 
Is seen from the hill-sunmiit. 

Swi. Say to the Regent, we obey his orders. 

[Exit PuBSUrVANT. 
[To Reynald.] Hold thou my casque, and fuil 
my pennon up 
Close to the staff. I will not show my crest. 
Nor standard, till the common foe shall challeng* 

them. 
I'll wake no civil strife, nor tempt the Gordon 
With aught that's like defiance. 

Vip. Will he not know your features ? 
Swi. He never saw me. In the distant North 
Against his will, 'tis said, his friends deJain'd hina 
During his nurture — caring not, belike. 
To trust a pledge so precious near the Boar-tuaki 
It was a natural but needless caution : 
I wage no war with children, for I think 
Too deeply on mine own. 

Vip. I have thought on it, and will see thi 
Gordon 
As we go hence' to council. I do bear 
A cross, which binds me to be Christian priest, 
As well as Christian champion.* God may granf 

> MS. — " The cros» I wear appoints me Chiistiao ptitm 
Ab weU i''^risuan warrior." Slo 



_. 



7S4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



riiafc I at once his father's friend and yours. 
May make some peace betwixt you.' 
Swi. Wlien that your priestly zeal, and knightly 
valor, 
Shall force the grave to render up the dead, 

; [&e%mt severally. 



SCENE IL 



r\f mmiinlt of Halidon Hill, before the Regents 
Tent. The Royal Standard of Scotland is seen 
in the background, with the Pennons and Ban- 
ners of the principal Nobles around it. 

Oo^mcil of Scottish Nobles and Chiefs. Suther- 
land, Ross, Lennox, Maxwell, and other No- 
bles of the highest rank, are close to the Regent's 
person, and in the act of keen debate. Vipont 
with Gordon and others, remain grouped at some 
distance on the right hand of the Stage. On the 
left, standing also apart, is Swinton, alone and 
bare-headed. The Nobles are dressed in Highland 
or Lowland habits, as historical costtmie requires. 
Trumpets, Heralds, d:c. are in attendance. 

Len. Nay, Lordings, put no shame upon my 
counsels. 
I did but say, if we retired a little. 
We should have fairer field and better vantage. 
I've seen King Robert — ay. The Bruce liimself — 
lietreat six leagues in length, and think no shame 
ou't. 
Reg. Ay, but King Edward sent a haughty 
message, 
Defying us to battle on tliis field, 
This very hill of Halidon ; if we leave it 
Unfought withal, it squares not with our honor. 
SwL (apart.) A perilous honor, that allows the 
enemy. 
And such an enemy as this same Edward, 
To choose our field of battle 1 He knows how 
To make our Scottish pride betray its master 
Into the pitfalL 

[During this speech the debate among the No- 
bles is continued. 
Si'TH {aloud.) We will not back one furlong — 
not one yard, 
^0, nor one inch ; where er we find the foe. 
Or wh<'re the foe finds us, there will we fight him. 
Retreat will dull the spirit of our followers, 
Who now stand prompt for battle. 
Ross. My Lords, methinks great Morarchat' has 
doubts, 
Fhat, if his Northern clans once turn the seam 

I In the MS. the scene terminates with this line. 
* Murarchate is the ancient Gaelic desifnation ff the Earb 
(f SatberlanJ See ante, page 704, note 



Of their check'd hose behind, it will be hard 
To halt and rally them. 

Suth. Say'st thou, MacDonnell ? — Add anolUei 
falsehood. 
And name when Morarchat was coward or tr^tot 
Thine island race, as chronicles can tell, 
Were oft affianced to the Soutlu-on cause ; 
Loving the weight and temper of their goUi 
More than the weight and temper of their steeL 

Reg. Peace, my Lords, ho ! 

Ross {throwing down his Glove.) MacDonnaD 
will not peace ! There lies my pledge, 
Proud Morarchat, to witness thee a har. 

Max. Brought I all Nithsdale from the Western 
B6rder ; 
Left I my towers exposed to foraying England, 
And thieving Annandale, to see such misrule ? 

John. Who speaks of Annandale ? Dare Max- 
well #]ander 
The gentle House of Lochwood ?' 

Reg. Peace, Lordings, once again. We repreeen* 
The Majesty of Scotland — in our presence 
Brawling is treason. 

Suth. Were it in presence of the King himself 
What should prevent my saying — 

Enter Lindesat 

Lin. You must determme quickly. Scarce a mile 

Parts our vanguard from Edward's. On the plaic 

Bright gleams of armor flash through clouds of dust. 

Like stars through frost-mist — steeds neigh, and 

weapons clash — 
And arrows soon will whistle — the worst sound 
That waits on English war, — You must determine 
Reg. We are determined. We wiU spare proud 
Edward 
Half of the groimd that parts us.— ^Onward, Lords 
Saint Andrew strike for Scotland ! We wUl lead 
Tlie middle ward ourselves, the Royal Standard 
Display'd beside us ; and beneath its shadow 
Shall the young gallants, whom we knight tliis day 
Fight for their golden spurs. — Lennox, thou'rt wise 
And wilt obey command — lead thou the rear. 
Len. The rear 1 — why I the reai- ? The van wera 
fitter 
For him who fought abreast with Robert Bruce. 
Swi. {apart.) Discretion h: ih forsaken Lennoi 
tool 
The wisdom he was forty years in gathering 
Has left him in an instant. 'Tis cont?§iou3 
Even to witness phrensy. 

Suth. The Regent hath determined welL Th« 
rear 
Suits him the best who ccansell'd onr retreat. 

3 Lochwood Castle was the ancient seat of the J'vhnjtoaei 
Lords of Annandale. 



HALIDON HILL. 



73> 



Lkn. Proud Northern Thane, the van were soon 
the rear, 
Were thy disorder'd followers planted there. 

SuTH. Then, for that very word, I make a vow 
By my broad Earldom, and my father's soul, 
Yh-At if I have not leading of the van, 
I «'ill 1 o fight to-day ! 

Ror-'. Morarchat ! thou the leading of the van 1 
Vot whilst MacDonnell lives. 

Sw, (apart.) Nay, then a stone would speak, 
[Addrei^sea the Regent.] May't please your Grace, 
And y(>v\, great Lords, to hear an old man's counsel. 
That hath seen fights enow. These open bickerings 
Dishearten all our host. If that your Grace, 
Witl' these gi-eat Earls and Lords, must needs 

debate, 
Let the closed tent conceal your dis.agreement ; 
Else 'twill be said, iU fares it with the flock, 
If shepherds wrangle, when the wolf j.s nigL 
Reg. The old Knight counsels well. Let every 
Lord, 
Or Chief, who leads five hundred men or more, 
Follow to council — others are excluded — 
We'll have no vulgar censurers of our conduct — 

[Looking at Swinton. 
iToung Gordon, your high rank and numerous fol- 
lowing 
Give you a se^t with us, though yet unknighted. 
QoEDON. I pray you, pardon me. My youth's 
imfit 
To sit in council, when that Knight's gray hairs 
Ajid wisdom wait without. 
Reg. Do as you will ; we deign not bid you twice. 
[7'he Regent, Ross, Sutherland, Lennox, 
Maxwell, c&c. enter the Tent. The rest re- 
main grouped ahonit the Stage. 
GoR. [observing Swi.) That helmetless old 
Knight, his giant stature, 
His awful accents of rebuke and wisdom. 
Have caught my fancy strangely. He doth seem 
Likn to some vision'd form which I have dream'd of, 
Bui never saw with waking eyes till now. 
] wil/ accost him. 

Vip. Pray you, do not so ; 
Anon rU give you reason why you should not. 

There's other work in hand 

GoR. I will but ask his name. There's in his 
presence 
Something that works upon me hke a spell. 
Or like the feeUng made my cliildish ear 
Pote upon tales of superstitious dread. 
Attracting wliile they chill'd my heart with fear, 
tfow, born the Gordon, I do feel right well 
I'm bound to fear naught earthly — and I fear 
naught. 



' " A namennmnsical t Vo!scian ears, 

4Dd harsh in soaiid to thine." — Coriolanut. 



I'll know who this man in 

[Accosts SWINTOK 

Sir Knight, I pray you, of your gentle courtesy, 
To teU your honor'd name. I am ashamed, 
Being unknown in arms, to say that mine 
Is Adam Gordon. 

Swinton [shoios e>notion, but instantly subdues it 
It is a name that soundeth in my ear 
Like to a death-knell — ay, and like the call 
Of the slu-ill trumpet to the mortal lists ; 
Yet, 'tis a name which ne'er hath been dislionor'd 
And never will, I trust — most surely never 
By such a youth as thou. 

GoR. There's a mysterious courtesy in this. 
And yet it yields no answer to my question. 
I trust you hold the Gordon not unworthy 
To know the name he asks ? 

Swi. Worthy of all that openness and honor 
May show to friend or foe — but for my njime, 
Vipont will show it you ; and, if it sound 
Harsh in your ear,' remember th^t it knells therti 
But at your own request. This day, at least. 
Though seldom wont to keep it in concealment, 
As there's no cause I should, you had not heard it 

GoR. This strange 

Vip. The mystery is needful. Follow me. 

[They retire behind the side scent 

Swi. {looking after them.) 'Tis a brave youth 
How blush'd his noble cheek, 
WTiile youthful modesty, and the embarrassment 
Of curiosity, combined with wonder, 
And half suspicion of some slight intended, 
All mingled in the flush ; but soon 'twill deepen 
Into revenge's glow. How slow is Vipont ! — 
I wait the issue, as I've seen spectators 
Suspend the motion even of the eyelids. 
When the slow gunner, with his lighted match, 
Approach'd the charged cannon, in the act 
To waken its dread slumbers. — Now 'tis out ; 
He draws his sword, and rushes towards me, 
Who will nor seek nor shun him. 

Enter Gordon, withheld by Vipont, 
Vip. Hold, for the sake of Heaven ! 0, for the 
sake [y^*^ father 

Of your dear country, hold ! — Has Swinton siair 
And must you, therefore, be yourself a parricide. 
And stand recorded as the selfish iraiior 
Wlio, in her hour of need, his country's cause 
Deserts, that he ma} wreak a private wrong if 
Look to yon banner — that is Scotland's standard ; 
Look to the Regent — he is Scotland's general ; 
Look to the English — they are Scotland's foemen 
Bethink thee, then, thou art a son of Scotland. 
And tliink on naught beside." 

» In the MS. the five last lines of Vipont'a «;»?ech are lEtw 
polated. 



736 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



GoE. He hath come here to brave me 1 — Oflf 1 
unhand me 1 
rhou canst not be my fatlier's ancient friend, 
That stands 'twixt me and liim who slew my father. 

ViP. You know not Swinton. Scarce one pass- 
ing thought 
Of lis high mind was with you ; now, his soul 
Is fix'd on this day's battle. You might slay him 
At unawares before he saw your blade drawn. — 
Stand still, and watch him close.' 

Enter Maxwell /rowi the tent. 

Swi. How go our councils, Maxwell, may I ask ? 

Max. As wdd as if the very wind and sea 
With every breeze and every billow battled 
For their precedence." 

Swi. Most sure they are possess'd 1 Some evil 
spirit, 
To mock their valor, robs them of discretion. 
Fie, fie upon't ! — 0, that Dunfermline's tomb 
Could render up The Bruce ! that Spain's red shore 
Could give us back the good Lord James of Doug- 
las ! 
Dr tliat fierce Randolph, with his voice of terror. 
Were here, to awe these brawlers to submission ! 

Vip. to GoE. Thou hast perused him at more 
leisure now. 

GoR. I see the giant form which all men speak of, 
The stately port — but nqt the sullen eye. 
Not the bloodthirsty look, that should belong 
To him that made me orphan. I shall need 
To name my father twice ere I can strike 
At such gray hairs, and face of such command ; 
Yet my hand clenches on my falchion hilt, 
[» token he shall die. 

Vip. Need I again remind you, that the place 
Permits not private quarrel. 

GoR. I'm calm. I will not seek — nay, I will 
shun i*, — 
And yet methinks that such debate's the fashion. 
You've heard how taunts, reproaches, and the lie. 
The he itself, have flown from mouth to mouth ; 
As if a band of peasants were disputmg 
About a foot-ball match, rather than Chiefs 
Were ordering a battle. I am young. 
And lack experience ; tell me, brave De Vipont, 
Is such the fashion of your wars in Palestine ? 

Vip. Such it at times hath been; and then the 
Cross 
Bath sunk before the Crescent. Heaven's cause 
Won ua not victory where wisdom was not. — 
Behold yon EngUsh host come slowly on. 
With equal front, rank marshall'd upon rank, 
As if one spirit ruled one moving body ; 

> MS ' Yon mnsi not here — not where the Royal Standard 
Awaita the attack of Scotland's enemies. 
Against the cominoa foe — wage private qnarrel. 
He braves you not — his thought is on the event 



The leaders, in their places, each prepared 
To charge, support, and rally, as the fortune 
Of changeful battle needs : then look on ours, 
Broken, disjointed, as the tumbling surges 
Which the winds wake at random. Look on botl^ 
And dread the issue ; yet there might be succor. 

GoR. We're fearfully o'erraatch'd in discipline ; 
So even my inexperienced eye can judge. 
What succor save in Heaven ? 

Vip. Heaven acts by human means. The art- 
ist's skill 
Supplies in war, as in mechanic crafts, 
Deficiency of tools. There's courage, wisdom. 
And skill enough, hve in one leader here. 
As, flung into the balance, might avail 
To counterpoise the odds 'twixt that ruled host 
And our wild multitude. — I must not name him. 

GoE. I guess, but dare not ask. — What band ii 
yonder. 
Arranged so closely as the English discipline 
Hath marshall'd their best files ? 

Vip. Know'st thou not the pennon ? 
One day, perhaps, thou'lt see it all too closely;— 
It is Sir Alan Swinton's 

GoE. These, then, are his,— the relics of hit 
power ; 
Yet worth an host of ordinary men.— 
And I must slay my country's sage?t leader. 
And crush by numbers that determinftd handful. 
When most my country needs their practised aid, 
Or men will say, " There goes degenerate Gordon 
His father's blood is on the Swinton's sword. 
And his is in his scabbard !" [Muser 

Vip. {apart.) High blood and mettle, mix'd with 
early wisdom. 
Sparkle in this brave youth. If he survive 
This evil-omen'd day, I pawn my word 
That, in the ruin which I now forbode, ' 
Scotland has treasure left. — How close he eyes 
Each look and step of Swinton 1 Is it hate, 
Or is it admiration, or are both 
Commingled strangely in that steady ^aze ? 
[Swinton aiid Maxwell return from the bottom 
of the stage. 

Max. The storm is laid at length amongst <^eM 
counsellors ; 
See, they come forth. 

Swi. And it is more than time ; 
For I can mark the vanguard archerj 
Handling their quivers — bending up their bows. 

Enter the Regent and Scottish Lords. 
Reg. Thus shaU it be, then, since we may Dt 
better : 

or this day's field. Stand still and watel kirn 
closer." 
3 " Mad as the sea and wind, when ooth contend 
Which is the mightier." — Hamlet, 



Ajid, since no Lord ■will yield one jot of way 
To this high urgency, or give the vanguard 
Dp to another's guidance, we will abide theJi 
Even on this bent ; and as our troops are rank'd, 
So shall they meet the foe. Chief, nor Thane, 
27or Nol le, can eonaplain of the precedence 
Which c lance has thus assign'd him. 

Swi. (apart.) 0, sage discipline, 
riiat leaves to chance the marshalling of a battle ! 

GoE. Move him to speech, De Vipont. 

Vip. Move him ! — Move whom ? 

GoR. Even him, whom, but brief space since. 
My hand did burn to put to utter silence. \ 

Vip. I'll move it to him. — Swinton, speak to 
them. 
They lack thy counsel sorely. 

Swi, Had I the thousand spears which once I led, 
I had not thus been silent. But men's wisdom 
l8 rated by their means. Frnm the poor leader 
Of sixty lances, who seeks words of weight ? 

GoR. {steps forward.) Swinton, there's that of 
wisdom on thy brow, 
And valor in thine eye, and that of peril 
lu this most urgent hour, that bids me say, — 
Bids me, thy mortal foe, say, — Swinton, speak, 
For King and Country's sake I 

Swi. Nay, if that voice commands me, speak I 
will; 
It sounds as if the dead lays charge on me. 

Reg. {To Lennox, with whom he has been consult- 
incf.) 
Tis better than you think. This broad hill-side 
Affords fair compass for our power's display, 
Rank above rank rising in seemly tiers ; 
So that the rearward stands as fair and open 

Swi. As e'er stood mark before an EngUsh archer. 

Reg. Who dares to say so ? — Who is't dare im- 
peach 
Our rule of discipline ? 

Swi. a poor BJaight of these Marches, good my 
Lord ; 
Alan of SwintoD, who hath kept a house here, 
He and his ancestry, since the old days 
Of Malcolm, called the Maidea 

Reg. You have brought here, even to this pitched 
field, 
In which the Royal Banner is display' d, 
i think some sixty spears. Sir Knight of Swinton ; 
Our musters name no more. 

Swi. I brought each man I had ; and Chief, or 
Earl, 
Thane, Duke, or dignitary, brings no more ; 
And with them brought I what may here be use- 
ful— 
An aged eye ; which, what in England, Scotland, 
Spain, France, and Flanders, hath seen fifty battles. 
And ta'en soiue judgment of tbam ; a stark hand 

too, 

03 



Which plays as with a straw with this same mace 
Which if a young arm here can wield more hghtJ^. 
I never more will offer word of counsel 

Len. Hear him, my Lord ; it is the noble Swin 
ton — 
He hath had high experience. 

Max. He is noted 

The wisest warrior 'twixt the Tweed and Solway,— 
I do beseech you, hear him. 

John. Ay, hear the Swinton — hear stout old Sb 
Alan; 
Maxwell and Johnstone both agree for once 

Reg. Where's your impatience now ? 
Late you were all for battle, would not hear 
Ourself pronounce a word — and now you ga/o 
On yon old warrior m his antique armor. 
As if he were arisen from the dead, 
To bring us Bruce's coimsel for the battle. 

Swi. 'Tis a proud word to speak ; but he wb« 
fought 
Long under Robert Bruce, may sometliing gues* 
Without communication with the dead, 
At what he would have counseU'd. — Bruce had 

bidden ye 
Review your battle-order, marshall'd broadly 
Here on the bare hill-side, and biaden you mark 
Ton clouds of Southron archers, beai"ing down 
To the green meadow-lands which stretch beneath- 
The Bruce had warn'd you, not a shaft to-day 
But shall find mark witliin a Scottish bosom. 
If thus our field be order'd. The caUow ^ays, 
WTio draw but four-foot bows, shall gall our from., 
While on our mainward, and upon the rear. 
The cloth-yard shafts shall fall like death's ovn 

darts. 
And, though bhnd men discharge them, find a mark. 
Thus shall we die the death of slaughter'd deer, 
Which, driven into the toils, are shot at ease 
By boys and women, while they toss aloft 
AU idly and m vain their branchy horns, 
As we shall snake our unavailing spears. 

Reg. Tush, tell not me 1 If their shot fall liks 
hail. 
Our men have Milan coats to bear it out. 

Swi. Never did armorer temper steel on stithjr 
That made sure fence against an EngUsh airoyr 
A cobweb gossamer were guard as good* 
Against a wasp-stmg. 
. Reg. Who fears a wasp-sting t 

Swi. I, my Lord, fear none 

Yet should a wise man brush the insect c*^ 
Or he may smart for it. 

Reg. We'll keep the hill; it is the vantag© 
ground 
When the main battle joins. 

SwL It ne'er will join, while their light arcberr 



>MS.- 



"gnard as thick." 



Can foil our spearmen and our barbed horse. 
To hope Plantagenet woidd seek close combat 
\S'Tien he can conquer riskless, is to deem 
'^agacious Edward simpler than a babe 
lu battle-knowledge Keep the hill, my Lord, 
With the main body if it is your pleasure ; 
Hut let a body of your chosen horse 
Make execution on yon waspish archers, 
'"ve done such work before, and love it well; 
If 't»s yom- pleasure to give me the leading, 
n e James of Sherwood, Inglewood, and Weardale, 
Shall sit in widowhood ai«l long for venison, 
i\-ad loug in vain. Whoe'er remembers Bannock- 
burn, — 
And when shall Scotsman, till the last loud trumpet, 
Forget that stirrmg word ! — knows that great battle 
Even thus was fought and won. 

Len. This is the shortest road to bandy blows ; 
For when the bills step forth and bows go back, 
Then is the moment that our hardy spearmen. 
With their strong bodies, and theii- stubborn hearts, 
And limbs well knit by mountain exercise, 
At th'' close tug shalJ foil the short-breath'd South- 
run. 

Swi. I do not say the field will thus be won; 
The Enghsh host is numerous, bravo, and loyal ; 
Their Monarch most accomphsh'd in war's art, 
Skill'd, resolute, and wary 

Reg. And if your scheme secure not victory,* 
Wliat does it promise us ? 

Swi. Tliis much at least — 

Darkling we shall not die : the peasant's shaft, 
Jj<;oseu'd perchance without an aim or purpose. 
Shall not drink up the life-blooi we derive 
From tliose famed ancestors, who made their breasts 
This frontier's barrier for a thousand years. 
Wb'U meet these Southron bravely hand to hand, 
And eye to eye, and weapon against weapon ; 
Each man who falls shall see the foe who strikes 

liim. 
TV liile our good blades are faithfij to the hilts, 
And our good hands to these good blades are faith- 
ful. 
Blow shall meet blow, and none fall unavenged — 
We shall not bleed alone. 

Reg. And this is all 

Your wisdom hath devised ? 

Swi. Not all ; for I would pray you, noble Lords 
I If one, among the guilty guiltiest, might), 
For this one day to charm to ten hours' rest 
riio never-dying worm of deadly feud, 

' The generous abandonment of private dissension, on the 
part of Gorlon, which the historian has described as a momen- 
tvy iini)ulae, is depicted by the dramatist with great skill and 
tnowledf;e of human feeling, as the result of many powerful 
►nd conflicting emotions. He has, we think, been very suc- 
•essfgl in his attempt to express the hesitating, and sometimes 
elrogradc movemer.t-s of a youiij and ardent raind, in its tran- 
^ Hon from . le finil glo>t of inli(nation aga \is\ hi« hereditary 



That gnaws our vexed hearts — iliink no one foe 

Save Edward and his host : — days will remain,* 

Ay, days by far too many will remain, 

To avenge old feuds or struggles foi precedence ;-• 

Let this one day be Scotland's. — For myself. 

If there is any here may claim from me 

(As well may chance) a debt < f blood and hatred 

My hfe is his to-morrow '-nre? sting, 

So he to-day will let me do the best 

That my old arm may achieve for the deal coantry 

That's mother to us both. 

[Gordon shows much emotion during thu 
and the preceding speech of Swinton. 
Reg. It is a dream — a vision ! — if one troop 
Rush down upon the archers, all will follow. 
And order is destroy'd — we'U keep the battle- 
rank 
Our fathers wont to do. No more on't. — Ho 1 
Where be those youths seek knighthood from om 
sword ? 
Her. Here are the Gordon, Somerville^^d Hay 
And Hepburn, with a score of gallants more. 
Reg. Gordon, stand forth. 

GoR. I pray your Grace, forgive me 

Reg. How 1 seek you not for knighthood ? 
GoR. I do tliirst for't. 

But, pardon me — 'tia from another sword. 

Reg. It is your Sovereign's — seek you for a wor 

thier? 
GoR. "Who would drink purely, seeks the secre* 
fountain, 
How small soever — not the general stream. 
Though it be deep and wide. My Lord, I seek 
The 'ooon ol knighthood fi-om the honor'd weapon 
Of the best knight, and of the sagest leader, 
That ever gi-aced a ring of chivalry. 
— Therefore, I beg the boon on bended knee, 
Even from Sir Alan Swinton. \^KneeU 

Reg. Degenerate boy ! Abject at once and in- 
solent ! — 
See, Lords, he kneels to him that slew liis father ! 
GoR. {starting up.) Shame be on him, who speaks 
such shameful word ! 
Shame be on him, whose tongue would sow diseao 

sion. 
When most the time demands that native Scotsmw 
Forget each private wrong ! 

Swi. {interrupting him.) Youth, since you era?*- 
me 
To be your sire in chivalry, I remina you 
War has its duties, Ofiice has its reverence 

foeraan, the mortal antagonist of his father, to the no less wnm 
and generous devotion of feeling which is inspired in it by th« 
contemplation of that foeman's valor and virtnes." — BrtUtik 
Critic. 
s MS, — " For thia one day to chase our country's curBe 

From your vex'd bosoms, and think no one mett i 
But lUose in yondir array- day» eno* 
Ay days," Sic 



HALIDON HILL. 



73s 



Who governs in the Sovereign's name ia Sover- 
eign ;— 
Crave the Lord Regent's pardon. 

GoR. You task me justly, and I crave his pardon, 

[Bows to the Regent. 
His and these noble Lords' ; and pray ihem all 
3ear w-itness to my words. — Ye noble presence, 
H'jre I remit unto the Knigbt of Swinton 
^11 Sitter memory of my father's slaughter, 
kU tlioughts of malice, hatred, and revenge : 
By no base fear or composition moved, 
rJnt by the thought, that in our country's battle 
Ail hearts should be as one. I do forgive lum 
As freely as I pray to be forgiven 
And once more kneel to him to sue for knighthood. 

Swr. {affected, and drawing him sword.) 
Alas ! brave youth, "tis I should kneel to you, 
And, tendering thee the liilt of the fell sworti 
That made thee fatherless, bid thee use the point 
After tliine own discretion. For thy boon — 
Trumpets be ready — In the Holiest name. 
And in Our Lady's and Saint Andrew's name, 

[Touching his shoulder with his sword. 
I dub thee Knight ! — Arise, Sir Adam Gordon ! 
Be faithful, brave, and 0, be fortunate, 
Should this ill hour permit I 

[The trumpets sound; the Heralds cry 
" Largesse," and the Attendants shout 
" A Gordon ! A Gordon !" 

Reg. Beggars and flatterers ! Peace, peace, I say I 
We'll to the Standard ; knights shall there be made 
Who will with better reason crave ^our clamor. 

Len. What of Swinton's coui\sel ? 
Here's Maxwell and myself think it worth noting. 

Reg. {with concentrated indignation!) 
liet the best knight, and let the sagest leader, — 
&7 Gordon quotes the man who slew his father, — 
With his old pedigree and heavy mace, 
Essay the adventure if it pleases him, 
With his fair threescore horse. As for ourselves. 
We Toll not peril aught upon the measure. 

GoR. Lord Regent, you mistake ; for if Sir Alan 
feliall venture such attack, each man who calls 
The Gordon chief, and hopes or fears from him 
Or good or evil, follows Swinton's baimer 
fc this achievement. 

Reg. Why, God ha' mercy 1 This is of a piece. 
Iiet young and old e'en follow their own coimsel, 
Since none will list to mine. 

Ross. The Border cockerel fain would be on 
horseback ; 
Tis safe to be prepared for fight or flight : 
And this comes of it to give Northern lands 
To the false Norman blood. 

GoR. Hearken, proud Chief of Isles I Within 
my stalls 
[ have two hundred horse ; two hundred riders 
^f'umt gatrd upon my castle, who would tread 



Into the dust a thousand of your Redshanks, 
Nor count it a day's service. 

Swi. Hear I this 

From thee, young man, and on the day of battle 
And to the brave MacDonnell? 

GoR. 'Twas he that urged me; but I im r« 

buked. 
Reg. He crouches hke a leash-hound tohiS ma^ 

terl' 
Swi. Each hound must do so that would head 
the deer — 
'Tis mongrel curs that snatch at mate or master. 
Reg Too much of this. Sirs, to the Royal Stand 
ardl 
I bid you in the name of good King David. 
Sound trumpets — sound for Scotland and King 
David ! 
[The Regent and the rest go off, and th 
Scene closes. Manent Gordon, Swin 
TON, and ViPONT, with Retxald andfol 
lowers. Lennox folloius the Regeni' 
hut returns, and addresses Swinton. 
Len. 0, were my western horsemen but come up 
I would take part with you ! 

Swi. Better that you remain. 

Tliey lack discretion ; such gray head as yours 
May best supply that want. 
Lennox, mine ancient friend, and honor'd lord, 
Farewell, I thuik, for ever ! 

Len. Farewell, brave friend ! — and farewell, 
noble Gordon, 
Whose sun will be echpsed even as it rises ! — 
The Regent will not aid you. 

Swi. We will so bear us, that as soon the blood 
hound 
Shall halt, and take no part, what time his com 

rade 
Is grapphng with the deer, as he stand still, 
And see us overmatch' d. 

Len. Alas I thou dost not know how mean hi* 
pride is, 



How strong his envy. 



[him 



Swi. Then we wUl die, and leave the shame with 

[Exit Lennox. 
ViP. {to Gordon.) What ails thee, noble vouth' 
What means tliis pause ? 
Thou dost not rue thy generosity ? 

GoR. I have been hurried on by strong ^pnlM. 
Like to a bark that scuds before the storm. 
Till driven upon some strange and distant coast, 
Which never pilot dream'd of. — Have I not for- 
given ? 
And am I not stiU fatherless ? 

Swi. Gordon, no ; 

For while we hve I am a father to thee. f '« 

GoR. Thou, Swinton ? — no 1 — that cannot, cannol 

I In the MS. this speech and the next are mterpo'ateo 



Swi. Tlien change the phrase, and say, that 
■while we live, 
•xordon shall be my son. If thou art fetherless, 
Am I not chilJless too ? Bethink thee, Gordon, 
Our death-feud was not like the household fire, 
iVhich the poor peasant hides among its embers, 
To smoulder on, and wait a time for waking. 
Ours was the conflagration of rtie forest, 
Whif.h, in Its fury, spares nor sprout nor stem. 
Hoar jak, nor sapling — not to be extinguish'd. 
Till Heaven, in mercy, sends down all her waters ; 
Brt, once subdued, its flame is quench'd for ever ; 
And spring .shall liide the tract of devastation,' 
With foliage and with flowers. — Give me thy 
hand. 
GoR. My hand and heart ! — And freely now 1 — 

to fight ! 
Vip. How will you act ? [TbSwiNTON.] The Gor- 
don's band and tliine 
Are in the rearward left, I think, in scorn — 
lU post for them who wish to charge the foremost! 
Swi. We'll turn that scorn to vantage, and de- 
scend 
Sidelong the hill — some winding path there must 

be— 
0, for a well-skill'd guide ! 

[Hob Hattely starts up from a Thicket. 
Hob. So here he stands. — An ancient friend. Sir 
Alan. 
Hob Hattely, or, if you like it better, 
Hob of the Heron Plume, here stands your guide. 
Swi. An ancient friend ? — a most notorious 
knave. 
Whose throat I've destined to the dodder'd oak 
Before my castle, these ten months and more. 
Was it not you who drove from Simprim-mains, 
And Swinton-quarter, sixty head of cattle ? 
Hob. W^hat then, if now I lead your sixty 
lances 
Jpon the English flank, where theyll find spoil 
8 worth six hundred beeves ? 
Swi. Why, thou canst do it, knave. I would not 
trust thee 
tV^itb one poor bullock ; yet would risk my life, 
.\nd all my followers, on thine honest guidance. 

Hob. There is a dingle, and a most discreet one 
^I've trod each step by star-ligLt), that sweeps 

round 
The rearward of this hill, and opens secretly 
Upon the archers' flank. — Will not that serve 
Your present turn, Sir Alan ? 
Swi. Bravely, bravely I 

GoR. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan. 
Let all who love the Gordon follow me ! 
Swi. Ay, let all follow — but in silence follow. 

■ MS.- -" Bnt, once extingnish'd, it i§ qnench'd for ever. 

And spring shall hide the blackness of its ashes." 



Scare not the ifkre that's couchant on her ff>r;»— 
The cishat from her nest — brush not, if possible, 
The dew-drop from the spray — 
Let no one whisper, until I cry, " Havoc !" 
Then shout as loud 's ye will. — On, on, brave Hob 
On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scots 
manl 

{ExeunU 



ACT II.— SCENE L 

A rising Ground immediately in front of the Poti- 
tion of the English Main Body. Peucy, Chando^ 
Ribaumont, and other English and Nor-nan No- 
bles, are grouped on the Stage. 

Pee. The Scots still keep the hill — the sun growt 

high. 
Would that the charge would sound. 

Cha. Thou scent'st the slaughter, Percy. — "Who 

comes here ? 

Enter the Abbot of "Walthamstow. 
Now, by my life, the holy priest of Walthamstow 
Like to a lamb among a herd of wolves ! 
See, he's about to bleat. 

Ab. The King, methinks, delays the onset long. 

Cha. Your general. Father, like your rat-catcher 
Pauses to bait his traps, and set his snares. 

Ab. The metaphor is decent. 

Cha. Reverend sir, 

I will uphold it just. Our good King Edward 
Will presently come to this battle-field. 
And speak to you of the last tilting match, 
Or of some feat he did a twenty years since ; 
But not a word of the day's work before him. 
Even as the artist, sir, whose name ofi"ends you. 
Sits prosing o'er his can, until the trap fall. 
Announcing that the vermin are secured, 
And then 'tis up, and on them. 

Per. Chandos, you give your tongue too twld t 
license. 

Cha. Percy, I am a necessary evil 
King Edward would not want me, if be could, 
And could not, if he would. I know my value. 
My heavy hand excuses my light tongue. 
So men wear weighty swords in their defence 
Although they may ofi"end the tender shin, 
When the steel-boot is doff'd. 

Ab. My Lord of Cliando^ 

This is but idle speech on brink of battle, 
When Christian men should think upon their suu 
For as the tree falls, so the trunk must he, 
Be it for good or evil. Lord, bethink thee, 
Thou hast withheld from our most reverend hons* 
The tithes of Everingham and Settleton ; 



HALIDON HILL. 



741 



Wilt thou make satisfaction to the Chuch 
Before her thunders strike thee ? I do -warn thee 
fn most paternal sort. 

CuA. I thank you, Father, fiUally. 
riiough but a truant son of Holy Church, 
[ would not clioose to undergo her censures, 
When Scottish blades are waving at my throat. 
['11 make fair composition. 

Ab. No composition ; I'U have all, or none. 

Cha. None, then — 'tis soonest spoke. I'U take 
my chance, 
knd trust my sinful soul to Heaven's mercy, 
Rather than risk my worldly goods with thee — 
My hour may not be come. 

Ab. Impious — impenitent — 

Per. Hush ! the King — the King 1 

Enter King Edward, attended bg Baliol and 

others. 
King {apart to Cha.) Hark hither, Chandos 1 — 
Have the Yorkshire archers 
?et join'd the vanguard ? 
Cha. They are marching thither. 
K. Ed. Bid them nlake haste, for shame — send 
a quick rider. 
iTie loitering knaves ! were it to steal my venison. 
Their steps were hght enough. — How now, Sir 

Abbot? 
Say, is your Reverence come to study with us 
The j*-incely art of w^r ? 

Ab. I've had a lecture from my Lord of Chandos, 
In which he term'd your Grace a rat-catcher. 
K. Ed. Chandos, how's this ? 
Cha. O, I will prove it, sir ! — These skipping 
Scots 
Hav< changed a dozen times 'twixt Bruce and 

Baliol, 
Qmtting each House when it began to totter ; 
They're fierce and cunning, treacherous, too, as 

rats, 
Aad we, as such, wiU smoke them in their fast- 
nesses. 
K. Ed. These rats have seen your back, my Lord 
of Chandos, 
And noble Percy's too. 

Per. Ay ; but the mass which now lies welter- 
ing 
On yon hill side, like a Leviathan 
That's stranded on the shallows, then had soul 

in't, 
Order and discipline, and power of action. 
fTow 'tis a headless corpse, which only shows. 
By wild convulsions, that some life remains in't. 
K. Ed, True, they had once a head ; and 'twas a 
wise, 
Although a rebel head. 
Ab. {bowing to the King.) Would he were here I 
we should find one to match him , 



K. Ed. There's 8on.ething in that wish wliich. 
wakes an echo 
Within my bosom. Yet it is as well, 
Or better, that The Bruce is in his grave. 
We have enough of powerful foes on eartli. — 
No need to summon them from other worlds. 
Per. Your Grace ne'er met The Bruce I 
K. Ed. Never himself ; but in my earliest field, 
I did encounter with his famous captains, 
Douglas and Randolph. Faith ! they press'd m« 
hard. 
Ab. My Liege, if I might urge you with a ques 
tion, 
WiU the Scots fight to-day ? 

K. Ed. {sharply.) Go look your breviary. 
Cha. {apart.) The Abbot has it — Edward wiL 
not answer 
On that nice point. We must observe his ha 
mor. — 

\^Addresses the Kin a 
Your first campaign, my Liege ? — That was iu 

Weardale, 
When Douglas gave our camp yon midnight rufiie, 
And tiu'n'd men's beds to biers ? 

K. Ed. Ay, by Saint Edward 1 — I escaped right 
nearly. 
I was a soldier then for hoUdays, 
And slept not in mine armor : my safe rest 
Was startled by the cry of " Douglas ! Douglas 1" 
And by my couch, a grisly chamberlain, 
Stood Alan Swinton, with his bloody mace. ' 
It was a churchman saved me — my stout chaplain 
Heaven quit his spirit ! caught a weapon up, 
And grappled with the giant. — How now, Louis 

Enter an Officer, who whispers the Kino 

K. Ed. Say to him, — thus — and thus 

[ Wfiispert 
Ab. That Swinton's dead. A monk of ours re- 
ported. 
Bound homeward from St. Ninian's pUgruuage, 
The Lord of Gordon slew him. 

Per. Father, and if your house stood on oa 
borders. 
You might have cause to know that Swintou lives 
And is on horseback yet. 

Cha. He slew the Gordon, 

That's aU the difference — a very trifle. 

Ab. Trifling to those who wage a war moi« 
noble 
Than with the arm of flesh. 

Cha. {apart.) The Abbot's vex'd, I'U rub th« 
sore for him. — 
(Aloud.) I have seen priests that used that arm H 

flesh. 
And used it sturdUy. — Most reverend Father, 
What say you to the chaplain's deed of aririf 
In the King's tent at Weardale ? 



U2 



SCOTTS POETICAL WORKS. 



AB. It was most sinful, being against the canon 
'Prohibiting all churchmen to bear weapons ; 
A.u(i as he fell in that miseemly guise, 
Perchance his soul may rue it. 
K, Ed. (overhearing the last words.) Who may 
rue? 
/Vnd what is to be rued ? 
Cha. {apart.) I'll match his Reverence for the 
tithes of Everingham. 
- -Ilia Abbot says, my Liege, the deed was sir.ful. 
By which yo'or chaplain, wielding secular weap- 
ons, 
?e"Mred your Grace's life and hberty, 
And ihat he suffers for't in purgatory. 
K. Ed. {to the Abbot.) Sa5''st thou my chaplain 

48 in purgatory? 
Ab. It is the canon speaks it, good my Liege. 
K. Ed. In purgatory 1 thou shalt pray him out 
on't. 
Or I will make thee wish thyself beside him. 

Ab. My Lord, perchance his soul is past the aid 
Of aU the Church may do — there is a place 
From which there's no redemption. 

K. Ed. And if I tliought my faithfid chaplain 
there. 
Thou shtiuldst there join him, priest ! — Go, watch, 

fast, pray, 
A.nd let me liave such prayers as will storm Heav- 
en — 
N"one of your maim'd and mutter'd hunting masses. 
Ab. {apart to Cha.) For G»d"8 sake take him off. 
Cha. Wilt thou compoimd, then, 
I'he tithes of Everingham ? 
K Ed. I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys of 
Heaven, 
Abbot, thou shalt not turn a bolt with them 
Gainst any well-deserving English subject. 
Ab. (<oCha.) We will compound, and grant thee, 
too, a share 
I' the next indulgence. Thou dost need it much. 
And greatly 'twill avail thee. 
Cn\. Enough — we're friends, and when occasion 
serves, 

I will strike in. 

\^Looks as if towards the Scottish Amiy. 
K. Ed. Answer, proud Abbot ; is my chaplain's 
soul, 
kf thou knowest aught on't, in the evU place ? 
Cha. My Liege, the Yorkshire men have gain'd 
the meadow. 
I see the permon green of merry Sherwood. 

K. Ed. Then give the signal instant 1 We have 
IcMi 
But too much time already. 

t MS. — " The viewless, the resistless plagne," &o. 
The well-known expressior by which Robert Brnce cen- 



Ab. My Liege, your holy chaplain's blesaed 

soul — 
K. Ed. To hell wit h it and thee ! Is this a time 
To speak of monks and chaplains ? 

\Flourish of Trumpets, answered by a 
distant sound of Bugles. 
See, Chandos, Percy — Ha, Saint George 1 Saint 

Edward ! 
See it descending now. the fatal hail-sb'' wer. 
The storm of England's wratn — sure, awi/t, r'^sist 

less, 
Which no mail-coat can brook. — Brav* English 

hearts 1 
How close they shoot together ! — as one eye 
Had aim'd five thousand shafts — as if one hand 
Had loosed five thousand bow-strings ! 

Per. The thick volley 

Darkens the air, and hides the sun from us. 

K. Ed. It falls on those shall see the sun nfl 
more. 
The whiged, the resistless plague' is with them. 
How their vex'd host is reeling to and fro. 
Like the chafed whale with fifty lances in him, 
They do not see, and caimot shun the wotmd. 
The storm is viewless, as death's sable wing. 
Unerring as his scythe. 

Pee. Horses and riders are going down together 
'Tis almost pity to see nobles fall, 
And by a peasant's arrow. 

Bal. I could weep them, 

Although they are my rebels. 

Cha. {aside to Per.) His conquerors, he means, 
who cast him out 
From his usurped kingdom. — {Aloud.) 'Tia the 

worst of it, 
Tliat knights can claim small honor ift the field 
Which archers win, unaided by our lances. 

K. Ed. The battle is not ended. \^Locks towwrdt 
the field. 
Not ended ? — scarce begun I What horse aro 

these. 
Rush from the thicket underneath the hiU ? 

Per. They're Hainaulters, the followers of Queen 

Isabel 
K! Ed. {hastily.) Hainaulters ! — thou art blin(? - 
wear Hainaulters 
Saint Andrew's silver cross? — or would tlwy 

charge 
Full on our archers, and make havoc of them ?— 
Bruce is alive again — ^ho, rescue ! rescue 1 — 
Who was't survey'd the giound ? 
Riba. Most royal Liege — 
K. Ed. a rose hath fallen from thy chaplet 
Ribaumont. 



sored the negligence of Randolpli, for permitting an Engli»« 
body of cavalry to pass his flanii on th» lay preceding tiu 
battle o'"*''<inockburn 



HALIDON HILL. 



741 



&IBA I'll win it back, or lay my head beside it. 

{Exit. 
K. Ed. Saint George ! Saint Edward ! Gentle- 
men, to horse, 
And to tlie rescue ! — Percy, lead the bill-men ; 
Ob/uidos, do thou bring up the men-at-arms. — 
If yonder numerous host should now bear down 
Field as their vanguard {to the Abbot), thou mayst 

praj for us, 
»Ve ma}" ueedgood men's prayers. — To the rescue, 
Lords, to the roscue ! ha, Saint George ! Saint Ed- 
ward I' 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE II. 

4 part of the Field of Battle betwixt tne two Main 
Armies. Tumults behind the scenes ; alaru7ns, 
and cries of " Gordon, a Gordon," " Swinton," <fec. 

tinter, as victorious over the English vajiguard, 
ViPONT, Reynald, and others. 

Vip, 'Tis sweet to hear these war-cries sound 
together, — 
Sordon and Swinton. 
Rey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange 
withal. 
Faith, when at first I heard the Gordon's slogan 
Sounded so near me, I had nigh struck down 
The knave who cried it." 

Enter Swinton and Gordon. 

Swi. Pitch down my pennon in yon hoUy bush. 

Gor. Mine in the thorn beside it ; let them wave, 
A.S fought this morn their masters, side by side. 

Swi. Let the men rally, and restore their ranks 
Here in this vantage-ground — disorder'd chase 
Leads co disorder'd fhght ; we have done our 

part, 
And if we're succor'd now, Plantagenet 
Must turn his bridle southward. — 
Reynald, spm- to the Regent with the basnet 
Of stout De Grey, the leader of their vanguard ; 
Say, that in battle-front the Gordon slew him, 
And by that token bid him send us succor. 



1 " In tne secor.d act, after the English nobles have amnsed 
•.h^viseives in some trifling conversation with the Abbot of 
Wa.thamstow, Edwanl is introduced ; ana his proud coura- 
geous temper and short manner are very admirably delineated ; 
though, if our liistorical recollections do not fail us, it is more 
completely the picture of Longshanks than that of the third 

Edward We conceive it to be extremely probable 

that Sir Walter Scott had resolved to commemorate some of 
the events in the life of Wallace, and had already sketched 
that hero, and a Templar, and Edward the First, when his 
eye glanced over the description of Homildon Hill, in Pinker- 
ion's History of Scotland ; that, being pleased with the char- 
kct«rs of Swinton and Gordon, he transferred his Wallace to 

wintoa ; and that, for tiu sake of retaining his portrait of 



GoR. And tell him that when Selby's heatllon| 
charge 
Had wellnigh borne me down, Su- Alan smote hin: 
I cannot send his helmet, nev( r nutshfill 
Went to so many shivers.— Harkye, grooms 1 

\2h those behind the scent t 
Why do you let my noble steed stand stiffening 
After so hot a course ? 

Swi. Ay, breathe your horses, they'll have worl 
anon. 
For Edward's men-at-arms will soon be on us, 
The flower of England, Gascony, and Flandeifc ; 
But with swift succor we will bide them brawly.— 
De Vipont, thou look'st sad T 

Vip. It is because I hold a Templar's sword 
Wet to the crossed hilt with Clu-istian blood. 

Swi. The blood of Enghsh archers — what cac 
gild 
A Scottish blade more bravely ? 

Vip. Even therefore grieve I for those gaUan* 
yet)men, 
England's pecuhar and appropriate sous. 
Known in no other land. Each boasts his hearth 
And field as free as the best lord his barony. 
Owing subjection to no human vassalage, 
Save to tlieir King and law. Hence a»e they re»»- 

lute. 
Leading the van on eveiy day of battle, 
As men who know the blessings they defend. 
Hence are they frank and generous in peace, 
As men who have their portion in its plenty. 
No other kingdom shows such worth and happi 

ness 
Veil'd in such low estate — therefore I mours 
them. 

Swi. I'll keep my sorrow for our native Scots, 
Who, spite of hardship, poverty, oppression. 
Still follow to the field their Chieftain's banner, 
And die m the defence on't. 

GoR. And if I hve and see my halls again, 
They shall have portion in the good they fight 

for. 
Each hardy follower shall have his field. 
His household heartli and sod-built home, as free 
As ever Southron had. They shall be happy ! — 



Edward, as there happened to be a Gordon snd a Dougla-s « 
the battle of Haiidoun in the time of Edward the Third, and 
there was so much similarity in the circumstances of the oon- 
test, he preserved his Edwa 1 as Edward the Tliird, retaining 
also his old Knight Templar, in defiance ;f the anachronisni 
— Monthly Review, July, 18JiJ. 

" The MS. adds — " such was my surprise." 

s " While thus enjoying a breathing time, Swinton observei 
the thoughtful countenance of De Vipont. See what follow" 
Were ever England and Englishmen more nobly, more beauti- 
fully, more justly characterized, than by the latter, or was 
patriotic feeling ever better suslaineO tnan by the former arJ 
his brave companion in aima J" — J^ew Edinbursn Review 



And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it ! — 
I have betray'd myself. 

SwL Do not believe it. — 

Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height. 
And see what motion in the Scottish host, 
And in Kinp Edward's. — 

[^xit Vipont. 
Now will I counsel thee ; 
The Templar's ear is for no tale of love, 
Being weided to his Order. But I tell thee, 
The brave young knight that hath no lady-love 
Is like a lamp unligh+ed ; his brave deeds, 
And its lich painting, do seem then most glorious. 
When the pure ray gleams through them. — 
Hath thy Ehzabeth no other name ?" 

GoR. Must I then speak of her to you, Sir Alan ? 
The thought of thee, and of thy matchless strength, 
Hath cnnjured phantoms up amongst her dreams. 
The name of Swiuton hath beeu spell sufficient 
To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek, 
Aiid wouldst thou now know hers ? 

Swi. I would, nay must. 

Thy father in the paths of chivalry, 
Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy course 

by. 

3oR. Nay, then, her name is — hark 

[ ]Vhispers. 

Swi. I know it well, that ancient northern house. 

GoR. 0, thou shalt see its fairest grace and honor 
In my Ehzabeth. And if music touch thee 

Swi. It did, before disasters had untuned me. 

GoE. 0, her notes 
Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion. 
Or melt them to such gentleness of feeluig. 
That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she, 
Knows the wild harpings of our native land ? 
Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill. 
Or wake the knight to battle ; rouse to merriment, 
Or soothe to sadness ; she can touch each mood. 
Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms. 
And gray-hair'd bards, contend wliich shaU the first 
And choicest homage render to the enchantress. 

Swi. You speak her talent bravely. 

GoR. Though you smile, 

I do not speak it half. Her gift creative, 
Kew measures adds to every air she wakes ; 
Varying and gracing it with hquid sweetness. 
Like the wild modulation of the lark ; 
Now leaving, now returning to the strain 1 
To Usten to her, is to seem to wander 
In some enchanted labyrinth of romance. 
Whence nothing but the lovely fancy's will, 

1 " There wanted but a little of the tender passion to make 
Ana youth every way a hero of romance. Bni the poem has 
to ladies. How admirably is this defect sup;)lied I In his 
inthnsiastic a:ilicipation of prosperity, he allows a name to 
wcape liiin."— JVfW Edinburgh. Review. 

^ ' A iiid the confusion and din of the battle, \ie reader is 



Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer. 
Methinks I hear her now I — 

Swi. Bless'd privilege 

Of youth 1 There's scarce three minutes to decidt 
'Twixt death and fife, 'twixt triumph and defeat, 
Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bowei, 

List'mng her harping ! 

[JEnter VlPO« 
Wliere are thine, De Viponl 
Vip. On death— on judgment — on eteioityl 
For time is over with us. 

Swi. There moves not, then, one pennon to otr 
aid, 
Of all that flutter yonder ! 

Vip. From the main English host come rufhing 
forward 
Peimons enow — ay, aiid their Royal Standard. 
But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on. 
Swi. [to hhnself.) I'll rescue him at least.— 
Yoimg Lord of Gordon, 

Spur to the Regent — show the instant need 

GoR. I penetrate thy purpose ; but I go not. 
Swi. Not at my bidding ? I, thy- sire in chiv- 
ah-y— 
Thy leader in the battle ? — I conamaud tliee. 
GoR. No, thou wilt not command me seek mj 
safety, — 
For such is thy kind meaning — at the expense 
Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scot 

land. 
While I abide, no follower of mine 
Will turn his rein for Ufe ; but were I gone, 
What power can stay them ? and, our band ui« 

persed. 
What swords shall for an instant stem yon host, 
And save the latest chance for victory ] 

Vip. The noble youth speaks truth ; and wer« 
he gone. 
There wiU not twenty spears be left with us. 

GoR. No, bravely as we have begvm the field, 
So let us fight it out. The Regent's eyes, 
More certam than a thousand messages, 
Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host 
Against yon bursting storm. If not for hont;f, 
If not for warlike rule, for shame at least 
He must bear down to aid us. 

Swi. Must it be so ? 

And am I forced to yield the sad consent, 
Devoting thy yoimg Ufe ?' 0, Gordon, Gordon I 
I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue ; 
I at my country's, he at Heaven's command ; 
But I seek vainly some atoning sacrifice,* 



unexpectedly greeted with a dialogue, which breathes iDiIe*>. 
the soft sounds of the lute in the clang of trumpets." — Month 
ly Review. 

3 MS. — " And am I doom'd to yield the sad consent 
That thus devotes thy life 7" 

* MS. — " O, could there be some lesser sacrifioa " 



HALIDON HILL. 



741 



Rather than snch a yictun 1 — {Trumpets.) Hark, 

they come 1 
That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. 

GoE. Tet shall my lady's name mix with it 
gayly.— 
Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, " Gor- 
don ! 
Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth 1" 

[Exeunt. Loud Alarums. 



SCENE IIL 

V- 

tlnother part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to the 
foriner Scene. 

Alarums. Enter Swinton, followed by 
Hob H1#ttely. 

Swi. Stand to it yet 1 The man who flies to-day, 
May bastards warm them at his household hearth 1 
Hob. That ne'er shall be my curse. My Magdalen 
Is trusty as my broadsword. 

Swi. Ha, thou knave, 

Art thou dismoimted too ? 

Hob. I know, Sir Alan, 

You want no homeward guide ; so threw my reins 
Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose. 
Within ar. hour he stands before my gate ; 
And Magdalen will need no other token 
To bid the Melrose Monks say masses for me. 
Swi. Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, then ? 
Hob. It is my purpose, 

Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's death ; 
And never had I a more glorious chance for't. 
Swi. Here lies the way to it, knave. — Make in, 
make in, 
(uad aid young Gordon ! 

\_Exeunt. Loud and long Alamms. Af- 
ter which the back Sceiie rises, and 
discovers Swinton on the ground, 
Gordon supporting him ; both much 
wounded. 
Swi. All are cut down — the reapers have pass'd 
o'er us. 
And hie to distant harvest. — My toil's over ; 
There lies my sickle. [Dropping his sword.] Hand 

of mine again 
Shall never, never wield it 1' 

GoE. valiant leader, is thy hght extinguish'd 1 
That only beacon-flame which promised safety 
In this day's deadly wrack 1 
fewi. My lamp hath long been dim ! But thine, 
young Gordon, 



' This 8[«ech of Swinton's is interpolated on the b**** page 

•he iP^noscr ot. 
04 



Just kindled, to be quencn d so suddenly, 

Ere Scotland saw its splendor 1 

GoE. Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hilj 
Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us I 
Swi. It was the Regent's envy. — Out ! — alap ' 
Why blame I him ! — It was our civil discord. 
Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred. 
Which framed this day of dole for our poor couD 

try.— 
Had thy brave father held yon leading staff. 
As well his rank and valor might have claim'd "t, 
We had not fall'n unaided. — How, how 

Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented 

GoE. Alas ! alas ! the author of the death-feud 
He has his reckonirig too ! for had your sons 
And mnn'rous vassals Uved, we had lack'd no aid. 
Swi. May God assoQ the dead, and him who 

follows ! 
We've drank the poison'd beverage which we 

brew'd : 
Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirl- 
wind 1 — 
But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart 
Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted ; 
Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgive 

neas, — 
Why should'st thou share our punishment ! 
GoR. All need forgiveness — [distant alarum.] - 

Hark, in yonder shout 
Did the main battles counter 1 

Swi. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thot 

canst. 
And tell me how the day goes. — But I guess. 

Too surely do I guess 

GoE. All's lost ! all's lost I— Of the main Scot 

tish host, 
Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward , 
And some there are who seem to turn then: spear* 
Against their countrymen. 

Swi. Rashness, and cowardice, and secret tre* 

son, 
Combine to ruin us ; and our hot valor, 
Devoid of discipliae, is madmen's strength. 
More fatal unto friends than enemies ! 
I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no moie 

on't.— 
Let thy hands close them, Gordon — I will dream 
My fair-hair'd WUliam renders me that ofiice ! 

[ Diet 
GoE. And, Swmton, I will think I do that duty 
To my dead father. 

Enter De Vipont. 
Vrp. Fly, fly, brave youth 1 — A handful of thy 
followers. 
The scatter'd gleaning of this desperate day, 
Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue. — 
linger not 1 — I'U bL your guide to them 



QoE. Look there, and bid ine fly 1 — The oak has 
fall'n ; 
^d the young ivy bush, wliich learn'd to climb 
By its support, must needs partake its fall. 
Vip. Swinton i Alas 1 the best, the bravest, 
strongest, 
And eagest of our Scottish cliivalry 1 
r^rgive one moment, if to save the hving, 

t«ngue should wrong the dead. — Gordon, be- 
think thee, 
rhou dost but stay to perish with the corpse' 
Of him who slew thy father. 

GoE. Ay, but he was my sire m chivalry. 
He taught my youth to soar above the promptings 
Of mean and selfish vengeance ; gave my youth 
& name that shall not die even on this death- 
spot. 
Records shall teU this field had not been lost, 
Had lU men fought like Swinton and like Gordon. 

[2'ru7npets. 
Save thee, De Vipont. — Harkl the Southron 
trmnpets. 
Yip. Nay, without thee, I stir not. 

J^nter Edwaed, Chandos, Perot, Baliol. &c. 

Go£. Ay, they come on — the Tyrant and the 
Traitor, 
Workman and tool, Plantagenet and BaUol. — 

for a moment's strength in this poor arm, 
To do one glorious deed ! 

\Ue rushes on the English, but is made 
prisoner with Vipont. 
K. Ed. Disarm them — harm them not ; though 
it was they 
Made havoc on the archers of our vanguard, 
rhey and that bulky champion. Where is he ? 
Chan. Here lies the giant 1 Say his name, young 

Knight ? 
GoE. Let it suffice, he was a man tliis morning.* 
Cha. I questional thee in sport. I do not need 
lliy uiformation, yiuth. Who that has fought 
Through all these Scottish wars, but knows his 
crest, 

1 MS.— " Thou hast small cause to tarry with the corpse." 

2 Fn his n.irrative of events on the day after the battle of 
Pheriffm'iir. Sir Walter Scott says, " Amongst the gentlemen 
who fell on this occasion, were several on both sides, alike 
eminent for birth and character. The body of the gallant 
young Earl of Strathniore was found on the field watched by 

1 faithful old domestic, who, being asked the name of the per- 
ton whose body he waited upon with so much care, made this 
itriking reply, 'He was a man yesterday.'" — Tales of a 
Grandfather. 

s MS. — " Stood arm'd beside my couch," &c. 

* " The character of Swinton is obvionsly a favorite with 
Ihe anthor, to which circumstance we are probably indebted 
for the strong relief in which it is given, and the perfect verisi- 
Oilitude which belongs to it. The stately commanding figure 
l£ the veteran warrior, whom, by the illusion of his art, the 



The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak. 
And that huge mace still seen where war wai 
wildest ! 
King Ed. 'Tis Alan Swinton ! 
Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at "Weardale, 
Stood by my startled couch^ with torch and mace, 
T\Tien the Black Douglas' war-cry waked mj 
camp. 
GoR. [sinking down.) If thus thou know'st him. 
Thou wilt resjject liis corpse.'' 

K. Ed. As belted Knight and crowned King, J 

will. 
GoR. And let mine 
Sleep at his side, in token that our c)r,iith m 
Ended the feud of Swinton and of Goidon. 

K. Ed. It is the Gordon ! — Is there aught beedde 
Edward can do to lienor bravery, 
Even in an enemy ? 

GoR. Nothing but this : 
Let not base Bahol, with his touch or look, 
Profane my corpse or Swinton's. I've some breath 

still. 
Enough to say — Scotland — Elizabeth 1 [Diea, 

Cha. Baliol, I would not brook such dying 
looks, 
To buy the crown you aim at. 

K. Ed. [to Vip.) Vipont, thy crossed shield sbowi 
ill in warfare 
Against a Christian King. 

Vip. That Chiistian King is warring upon Scot- 
land. 
I was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar,* 
Sworn to my country ere I knew my Order. 
K. Ed. I will but know thee as a Christian chiini 
pion. 
And set thee fi"ee unransom'd. 

Enter Abbot of Walthamstow, 
Ab. Heaven gi-ant your Majesty 
Many such glorious days as this has been I 

K. Ed. It is a day of much and high advou 
tage; 
Glorious it might have been, had all our foes 

author has placed in veritable presentment before ns ; — hi« vn 
erable aee. suoerioi nrowess, and ii.uitive decision ; — thr; broili 
in which he had engaged, the misfortunes he had suffered, and 
the intrepid fortitude with which he sustained them, — togethei 
with that rigorous control of temper, "ot to be shaktn even 
by unmerited contumely and insult; — nese qualities, grouped 
and embodied in one and the same cliawcter, render it Eorally 
in> Possible that we should not at once sympathize and admire. 
The inherent force of his character is finely illustrated in th« 
effect produced upon Lord Gordon by the first appearance oi 
the man 'who had made him fatherless.'" — Edinburgh 
Magazine, July, 1822. 

' A Venetian General, observing his soldiers testified s tn.t 
unwillingness lo fight against those of the Pope, whom the» 
regarded a? father of the Chur"'- addressed them in terras d( 
similar encouragement, — " Figl.. — - ' "*' were Venetians b» 
fore we were Christiaus." 



EALIUON HILL. 



?4I 



Fought like these two brave champions. — Strike 

the drums, 
Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives, 

1 " It is generally the case that much expectation ends in 
diBappointiiient. The free delineation of character in some of 
Ihe recent Scottish Novels, and tlie admirable conversations 
interspersed tliroughout them, raised hopes that, when a regu- 
lar drama should be attempted by the person who was con- 
sidered as their author, the success would be eminent. Its 
Konouucement, too, in a solemn and formal manner, did not 
diminish the interest of the public. The drama, however, 
which was expected, turns out to he in fact, and not only in 
name, merely a dramatic slietch, wliieh is entirely deficient in 
plot, and contains but three characters, Swinton, Gordon, and 
Edward, in whom any interest is endeavored to be excited. 
With some exceptions, the dialogue also is flat and coarse ; 
and for a'' tl. ^se defects, one or two vigorous descriptions of 
battle scenes will scarcely make sufficient atonement, except 
in the «ves of very enthusiastic friends." — Monthly Review. 



" flalidon Hill, we understand, unlilie the earlier poems of 
its author, has not been received into the i^^nks of popular 
favor. Such rumors, of course, have no effect on our critical 
joilgment ; but we cannot forbear saying, that, thinking as we 
do very highly of the spirit and taste with which an interest- 
ing tale is here sketched m natural and energetic verse, we 
»re vet far froir. feeling surprised that the approbation, which 
R a our pleasing duty to bestow, should not nave been antici- 
Mted by the ordinary readers of the work before us. It bears, 
n tinth, no s^aA resemblancs to the narrative poeiD fvof. 



Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwick*! 

render'd — 
These wars, I trust, will soon find lasting close ' 

which Sir Walter Scott derived his fii-st and high reputation 
and by which, for the present, his genius must be charac'.-JT" 
ized. It is wholly free from many of their most obvious fauiu 
— their carelessness, their irregularity, and their inequality both 
of conception and of execution ; but it wants likewise no incon 
siderable portion of their beauties — it has less ' pomp ana cir- 
cumstance,' less picturesque description, romantic association 
and chivalrous glitter, less sentiment and reflection, less pet- 
Iiaps of all their strikmg charms, with tlie single exception of 
that one redeeming and sufiicing quality, whicli forms, in ooi 
view, the highest recommendation of all the author's works 
of imagination, their unaffected and unflagging vigor. This 
perhaps, after all, is only saying that we have before us a 
dramatic poem, instead of a metrical tale of romance, anfi 
that the author has had too much taste and discretion to be- 
dizen his scenes with inappropriate and encumbering ornn 
ment. There is, however, a class of readers of poetry, and a 
pretty large class, too, who have no relish for a work, howevei 
naturally and strongly the characters and incidents may be 
conceived and sustained — liowever appropriate and manly inaf 
be the imagery and diction — from which they cannot se!eo< 
any isolated passages to store in their memories or their conw 
monplace books, to whis])er into a lady's ear, or transcribe int« 
a lady's album. Witli this tea-table and watering-place school 
of critics, ' Halidon Hill' must expect no favor ; it has no rant 
— no mysticism — ana, worst ffence o!' f\\, no affec'Htion,"— 
British Critic, Octolwr. 1^8 



748 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



iilacJDuff'0 €xo55. 



INTRODUCTION. 

These few scenes had the honor to be included 
la a Miscellany, published in the year 1823, by Mrs. 
Joaima Bail lie, and are here reprinted, to unite 
them with the trifles of the same kind which owe 
their birth to the author. The singular history of 
the Cross and Law of Clan MacDufF is given, at 
length enough to satisfy the keenest antiquary, in 
The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border} It is here 
only necessary to state, that the Cross was a place 
of refuge to any person related to MacDuff, within 
the ninth degree, who, having committed homicide 
in sudden quairel, should reach this place, prove 
his descent from the Thane of Fife, and pay a cer- 
tain penalty. 

The shaft of the Cross was destroyed at the 
Reformation. The huge block of stone which 
served for its pedestal is still in existence near 
the town of Newburgh, on a kind of pass which 
commands the county of Fife to the southward, 
and to the north, the wmdmgs of the magnificent 
Tay and fertile coimtry of Angus-shii-e. The Cross 
bore an inscription, which is transmitted to us in 
tn luuntelligible form by Sir Robert Sibbald. 

Abbotsford, January, 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

_.' ' y Monks of Lindores. 

Waldhave, ) 



LiNl/ESAT, 

Maurice Bebkelet, 



.} 



Scottish Barons. 



MRS. JOANNA BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS tit 

-THE PLAYS ON THE PASSIONS. 



PRELUDE. 



I mean that roughrhewn block of massive stone 
Placed on the summit of this mountain-pass. 
Commanding prospect wide o'er field and feU, 
And peopled village and extended moorland, 
And the wide ocean and majestic Tay, 
To the far distant Grampians. — Do not deem it 
A loosen'd portion of the neighboring rock, 
Detach'd by storm and thunder — 'twas the pedestaJ 
On which, in ancient thues, a Cross was rear'd, 
Carved o'er with words which foil'd philologists' 
And the events it did commemorate 
Were dark, remote, and undistinguishable, 
As were the mystic characters it bore. 
But, mark, — a wizard, born on Avon's bank, 
Tuned but his harp to this wild northern theme, 
And, lo 1 the scene is hallow'd. None shall paaa, 
Now, or in after days, be«i'de that stone. 
But he shaU have strange visions ; thoughts ana 

words, 
That shake, or rouse, or thrill the human heart, 
Shall rush upon his memory when he hears 
The spirit-stirrmg name of this rude symbol; — 
ObUvious sages, at that simple spell, 
Shall render back their terrors with their woes, 
Alas ! and with thei crimes — and the proud 

phantoms 
Shall move with step familiar to liis eye. 
And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets no^ 
Though ne'er again to list them. Siddons, thine, 
Thou matchless Siddons ! thrill upon our ear • 
And on our eye thy lofty Brother's form 
Rises as Scotland's monarch. — But, to thee, 
Joanna, why to thee speak of such visions t 
Thine own wild wand can raise them. 

Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine, 
Take one which scarcely is of worth enougU 
To gi?e or to withhold. — Our time creeps on. 
Fancy grows colder as the silvery hair 
Tells the advancing winter of our life. 
But if it be of worth enough to please, 
That worth it owes to her who set the task; 
If otherwise, the fault i ests with the author. 



Uat, smile not, Lady, when I speak of witchcraft, 
And say, that still there lurks amongst our glens 
Some touch of strange enchantment. — Mark that 
fragment, 

I Vol. iv, p. 266, ia uie Appendix to Lord Soalia, " Law of 
'^JUn MacDuff' 



iHacPuff's (S,vo33. 

SCENE L 

The summit of a Rocky Pass near to Newburgk 
about two miles from the ancient Abbey of Lin 
dores, in Fife. In tJie centre is MacDuff' a Crou 



dti antique Monument ; and, at a small distance, 
on one side, a Chapel, with a Lamp burning. 

Enter, as having ascended the Pass, Ninian and 
Waldhave, Monks of Lindores. Ninian crosses 
himself, and seems to recite his devotions. Wald- 
have stands gazing on the prospect, as if in deep 
conte7nplation. 

NiN. Here stands the Cross, good brother, conse- 
crated 
By the bold Thane unto his patron saint 
Magridius, once a brother of our house. 
Canst thou not spare an ave or a creed ? 
Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you ? Lsome. 
You trode it stoutly, though 'twas rough and toil- 

Wal. I have trode a rougher. 

NiN. On the Highland lulls — 

Scarcely -within our sea-girt provmce here. 
Unless upon the Lomonds or Bennarty. 

Wal. I spoke not of the literal path, good father. 
But of the road of life -which I have travell'd, 
Ere I assumed this habit ; it -was bounded, 
Hedged in, and limited by earthly prospects, 
As ours beneath -was closed by dell and thicket. 
Here -we see -wide and far, and the broad sky, 
With -wide horizon, opens full around, 
While earthly objects d-windle. Brother Ninian, 
Fain -would I hope that mental elevation 
Could raise me equally o'er -worldly thoughts, 
And place me nearer heaven. 

NiN. 'Tis good moraUty. — But yet forget not, 
'Hiat though we look on heaven from this high em- 
inence, 
i'et doth the Prince of all the airy space, 
Arch foe of man, possess the realms between. 

Wal, Most true, good brother; and men may 
bo farther 
From the bright heaven they aim at, even because 
They deem themselves secure on't. 

NiN. {after a pause.) Tou do gaze — 

Strangers are wont to do so — on the prospect. 
Yon is the Tay roU'd do-wn from Highland hills, 
That rests his waves, after so rude a race. 
In the fair plains of Gowrie — fuii-her westward, 
Proud Stirling rises — yonder to the east, 
r)undee, the gift of God, and fair Montrose, 
And still more northward lie the ancient towers — 

Wal. OfEdzell. 

NiN. How ? know you the towers of Edzell ? 

Wal. I've heard of them. 

NiN. Then have you heard a tale, 

Which when he tells, the peasant shakes his head. 
And shuns the mouldering and deserted walls. 

Wal. Why, and by whom, deserted ? 

NiN. Long the tale, — 

Enough to say that the last Lord of Edzell, 
Hold Louis lindesay, had a wife, and found 



Wal. Enough is said, indeed — since a weak 
woman, 
Ay, and a tempting fiend, lost Paradise, 
When man was mnocent. 

NiN. They fell at strife. 

Men say. on slight occasion : that fierce Llndcsay 
Did bend his sword against De Berkeley's breast 
And that the lady threw herself between ■ 
That then De Berkeley d«ialt the Baron's deatL 

wound. 
Enough, that from that time De Berkeley bore 
A spear in foreign wars. But, it is said, 
He hath return'd of late ; and, therefore, brother 
The Prior hath ordain'd our vigil here, 
To watch the privilege of the sanctuary, 
And rights of Clan MacDufF. 

Wal. What rights are these 

NiN. Most true 1 you are but newly come froic 
Rome, 
And do not know our ancient usages. 
Blnow then, when fell Macbeth beneath the an» 
Of the predestined knight, uuborn of woman, 
Three boons the victor ask'd, and thrice did Ma; 

colm. 
Stooping the sceptre by the Thane restored, 
Assent to his request. And hence the rule. 
That first when Scotland's King assumes the crn-wn 
MacDuff's descendant rings his brow with it: 
And hence, when Scotland's King calls forth hil 

host, 
MacDuiF's descendant leads the van in battle: 
And last, in guerdon of the cro-wn restored, 
Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant. 
The right was granted in succeeding time. 
That if a kinsman of the Thane of Fife 
Commit a slaughter on a sudden impulse. 
And fly for refuge to this Cross MacDuff, 
For the Thane's sake he shall find sanctuary; 
For here must the avenger's step be staid, 
And here the panting homicide find safety. 

Wal. And here a brother of your order watcher 
To see the custom of the place observed ? 

NiN. Even so ; — such is our convent's holy righ^ 
Since Saint Magridius — blessed be his momorj 1— 
Did by a vision warn the Abbot Eadmir. — 
And chief we watch, when there is bickering 
Among the neighboring nobles, now most likely 
From this return of Berkeley from abroad, 
Having the Lindesay's blood upon his hand. 

Wal. The Lindesay, then, was loved among hit 
friends ? 

NiN. Honor'd and fear'd he was — but little 
loved ; 
For even his bounty bore a show of sternness ; 
And when his passions waked, he war a Sathan 
Of wrath and injury. 

Wal. How now, Sir Priest I {f/,rcely) — Forgivf 
me (recollecting himself)-'-! was dreaminf 



750 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



Of an o](i baron, who clitl bear about hiili 
Some touch of your Lord Reynold. 

NiN. Lindcsay's name, n»y brother, 
Indeed was Reynold ; — and methinks, moreover, 
That, as you spoke even now, he would have 

spoken. 
I brought him a petition from our convent : 
He granted straight, but in such tone and manner, 
uy my good saint ! I thought myself scarce safe, 
Till Tay roll'd broad between us. I must now 
Unto the chapel — meanwhile the watch is thine ; 
And, at thy word, the hurrying fugitive. 
Should such arrive, must here find sanctuary ; 
And, at thy word, the tiery-paced avenger 
jlnst stop his bloody course — e'en as swoln Jordan 
ControU'd his waves, soon as they toucb'd the feet 
Jf those who bore the arL 

Wal. Is this my charge ? 

NiN. Even so ; ana I am near, should chance re- 
quire me. 
At midnight I relieve you on your watch, 
When we may taste together some refreshment : 
I have cared for it ; and for a flask of wine — 
Tliere is no sin, so that we drink it not 
Until the midnight horn*, when lauds have toll'd. 
Farewell a while, and peaceful watch be with you I 

[£xit toicards the Chapel. 

Wal. It is not with me, and alas ! alas ! 
I know not where to seek it. This monk's mind 
Is with his cloister match'd, nor lacks more room. 
Its petty duties, formal ritual. 
Its humble pleasures and its paltry troubles, 
Fill up his round of life ; even as some reptiles, 
ITiey say, are moulded to the very shape, 
Ar >i all the angles of the rocky crevice, 
Ti. which they live and die. But for myself, 
Retired in passion to the narrow cell. 
Couching my tired limbs in its recesses. 
So ill-adapted am I to its limits, 

That every attitude is agony. 

How now 1 what brings him back ? 

He-enter Ninian. 
NiN. Look to your watch, my brother ; horse- 
men come : 
•icnrd their tread when kneeling in the chapel. 
Wal. [looking to a distance.) My thoughts have 
rapt me more than thy devotion, 
F.l^e had I heard the tread of distant horses 
Farther than thou couldst hear the sacring bell ; 
But. now in truth they come : — flight and pursuit 
Aie sights I've been long strange to. 
NiN. See how they gallop down the opposing 
hill! 
Yon gray steed bounding down the headlong path, 
As on the level meadow ; while the black. 
Urged by the ridei with liis naked sword, 
stoops on his prey as I liave seen the foJcon 



Dashing upon the heron. — Tliou dost frowa 
And clench thy hand, as if it grasp'd a weapon ? 
Wal. 'Tis but for shame to see a man fly thus 
Wliile only one pursues him. Coward, turn ! — 
Turn thee, i say ! thou art as stout as he, 
And well mayst match thy single sword with hi&-» 
Shame, that a man should rein a steea like <,hee, 
Yet fear to turn his front against a foe I- 
I am ashamed to look on them. 

NiN. Yet look again : they quit their horses now 
Unfit for the rough patli : the fugitive 
Keeps the advantage still. — They strain towai'di 
us. 
Wal. I'll not believe that ever the bold Thane 
Rear'd up liis Cross to be a sanctuary 
To the base coward, who shunn'd an equal com- 
bat — 
How's this ? — that look — that mien — mine eyes 
grow dizzy ! — 
NiN. He comes 1 — thc>> art a novice on this 
watch, — 
Brother, I'll take the word and speak to him 
Pluck down thy cowl ; know, that we spi*'ituj>l 

champions 
Have honor to maintain, and must not seem 
To quail before the laity. 

[Waldh.we lets do-im his cowl, anu 
steps back. 

Enter Maurice Berkeley. 
NiN. Who art thou, stranger ? speak tSy name 

and purpose. 
Ber. I claim the privilege of Clan Mai-.Ili'ff. 
My name is Maurice Berkeley, and my L'noage 
Allies me nearly with the Thane of Fife. 

NiN. Give us to know the cause of sanctua'-y ? 
Ber. Let him show it^ 

Against whoso violence I claim the privilege. 

Enter Lindesat, t"i<A his sv'ord drawn. He rushei 
at Berkele"' •, Ni\iAN interposes. 

NiN. Peace, in the uaire of Saint Magridiunl 
Peace, in our Prior's name, ard in the nane 
Of that dear symbol, whici. dia purchase peaca 
And good-will towards man ! j do comnisvnd tlt« 
To sheath thy sword, and stii no contest h- ,-i^. 

LiN. One charm I'U try first. 
To lure the craven from the enchanted cifi-ij' 
Which he hath harbor'd in. — Hear you, D*. .'?ii'Bi* 

ley. 
This is my brother's sword — tlie hand it airam 
Is weapon'd to avenge a brother's death : — 
If thou hast heart to step a fvirlong off. 
And change three blows, — even for so short a ,\\\v 
As these gooil men may say an ave-marie,- - 
So. Heaven b(> good to me ! I will forgive t^v>-» 
Thy deed and all its consequences. [thmi^Hy 

Bee. Were not my right hand fetter'd b> tl*' 



MACDUFF'S CROSS. 



75i 



That slaymaf thee were but a double sruilt 
In wliich to steep my soul, no bridesfroom ever 
Stepp'd forth to trip a measure willi his bride, 
More joyfully than I, young man, would rush 
To meet thy challene'e. 

Tjrs, Ho quails, and shuns to look upon my 
(reapoii. 
Yet boasts himself a Berkeley I 

Ber. Lindesay, and if there were no deeper cause 
For shunning thee than terror of thy weapon, 
That rock-hewn Cross as soon should start and stir. 
Because a shepherd-boy blew horn beneath it, 
A s 1 for brag of thine. 

NiN. 1 charge you both, and in the name of 
Keaven, 
Breaune no defiance on tliis sacred spot, 
Where Christian men must bear them peacefully, 
On pain of the Church thunders. Calmly tell 
Your cause of difference ; and, Lord Lindesay, thou 
Be lirst to speak them. 

Lin. Ask cbe blue welkin — ask the silver Tay, 
The northern Grampians — all things know my 

wi'ongs ; 
But ask not me to tell them, while the villain. 
Who wrought them, stands and listens with a 
smUe. 

I^iN. It is said — 
dince you refer us thus to general fame — 
Tliat Berkeley slew thy brother, the Lord Louis, 
[n his own haUs at EdzeU 

I.iN. Ay, in his halls — 
£n his own halls, good father, that's the word. 
In lii.** own balls he slew him, wliile the wine 
Pass'd on the board between ! The gallant Thane, 
Who wroak'd Macbeth's inhospitable murder, 
Rear'd net jon Cross to sanction deeds like these. 

Ber. Thou say'st I came a guest ! — I came a 
victim, 
A destined ^ ictim, train'd on to the doom 
Ilis frantic jealousy prepared for me. 
He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought. 
Can I forget the form that came between us, 
And perish d by his sword ? 'Twas then I fought 
For vengeance, — until then I guarded life. 
Rut tuen I sought to take it, and prevail' d. 

laN. Wretch 1 thou didst first dishonor to thy 
victim. 
And then didst slay him 1 

Bek. There is a busy fiend tugs at my heart. 
But I will struggle with it ! — Youthful knight, 
My heart is sick of war, my liand of slaughter ; 
I come, n it to my lordsliips, or my land. 
But just to seek a spot in some cold cloister. 
Which I may kneel on living, and, when dead, 
Wliich n.ay sufiice to cover me. 
Forgive me that I caused your brother's death ; 
And I fi rgive thee the injurious terms 
With wljdi thoo taxest me. 



Lin. Talfe worse and blacker. — Murderer, adult 
orer ! — 
Ai t thou not moved yet ? 

Ber. Do not press me furthei 

The hunted stag, even when he seeks tlie thicket, 
Compell'd to stand at bay, grows dangerous I 
Most true thy brother perish'd by mv hand. 
And if you term it murder — I must bear it. 
Thus far my patience can ; but if thou brain. 
The purity of yonder martyr'd saint, 
Whom then my sword but poorly did avenge. 
With one injurious word, come to the valley. 
And I will'show thee how it shall be answer'd 1 

NiN. This heat, Lord Berkeley, doth but ill ae 
cord 
With thy late pious patience. 

Ber. Father, forgive, and let me stand excused 
To Heaven and thee, if patience brooks no more. 
I loved this lady fondly — truly loved — 
Ijoved her, and was beloved, ere yet her father 
O'vpfprT'd heron another. Wliile she lived. 
Each thought of her was to my soul as hallow'd 
As those I send to Heaven ; and on her grave. 
Her bloody, early gi-ave, wliile tliis poor hand 
Can hold a sword, shall no one cast a scora. 

Lin. Follow ?ne. Thou shalt hear me call th* 
adulteress 
By her right name. — I'm glad there's yet a spur 
Can rouse thy slugijard mettle. 

Ber. Make then obeioance to the blessed Cross 
For it shaU be on earth thy last devotion. 

[They are going off 

Wal. {rushing forward.) Madmen, stand 1 — 
Stay but one second — answer but one question.- ■ 
There, Maurice Berkeley, canst thou look upon 
That blessed sign, and swear thou'st spoken truth ' 

Ber. I swear by Heaven, 
And by the memory of that murder'd innocent, 
Each seeniLug charge against her was as false 
As our bless'd Lady's spotless. Hear, each saint I 
Hear me, thou holy rood ! hear me from heaven, 
Thou martyr'd excellence ! — Hear me from penal 

fire 
(For sure not yet thy guilt is expiated) I 
Stern ghost of her destroyer ! 

Wal. (throws bach his cowl.) He hears 1 ht 
hears ! Thy spell hath raised the dead, 

Lin. My brother 1 and alive ! — 

Wal. Alive, — but yet, my Richard, dead ti 
thee. 
No tie of kindred binds me to the world ; 
AU were renounced, when, with reviving life, 
Came the desire to seek the sacred cloister. 
Alas, in vain ! for to that last retreat, 
Like to a pack of bloodliounds in full chase, 
My passion and my wrongs have follow'd me, 
Wrath and remorse — and, to fill up the cry. 
Thou hast brought vengeance hither. 



759 



SCOUT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Lnf. I but sought 

To do the act urn duty r{ a brother. 

WjiL. I ceased to bo «o when I left the world* 
But i J he can forgive aa I i'orgJve, 
God sends me here a brother in mine enemy, 
Vo pray for me and with me. If thou cauBt, 
Oe Berkeley give thine hand. — 

SsxL i(/i*f* At« hand.) It is the wHi 



Of Heaven, made manifest in thy preservation, 
To inhibit fartl^ bloodshed ; for De Berkeley, 
The votary Maurice lays the title dowa 
Go to his halls, Lord Richard, where a maiden, 
Kin to his blood, and daughter in affection. 
Heirs his broad lands; — If thou canst lore htSt, 

Lindesay, 
Woo her, and be succeasfoL 



itfg.Ai^^^^^,.^,igg^^g^^^^g^^ 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



75S 



®l)e ffiloom of HeDDrgoil. 



PREFACE 

The first of these dramatic pieces' was long 
iince written, for the purpose of obliging the lat« 
Mr. Terry then Manager of the Adelphi Theatre, 
Tor whom the Author had a particular regard. The 
nanner in wliich the mimic gobUns of Devorgoil 
ire intermixed with the supernatural machinery, 
(ras found to be objectionable, and tlie production 
lad other faults, which rendered it unfit for rep- 
•eeentation.^ I have called the piece a Melo- 
Irama, for want of a better name ; but, as I learn 
jom the unquestionable authority of Mr. Colman's 
Random liecorda, that one species of the drama is 
;ermed an extf'yjaganza, I am sorry I was not 
KOiitr aTV'are of a more appropriate name than 
;hat which I had selected for Devorgoil. 

The Author's Publishers thought it desirable, 
ihat the scenes, long condemned to obhvion, 
(houjil be united to similar attempts of the same 
rind i-nd as he felt indifi^erent on the subject, 
they are pruited in the same vi>lume with Hali- 
■lon HUl and MacDuff's Cross, and thi^wn aS. in 
1 separate form, for the convenience of those who 
possess former editions of the Author's Poetical 
Works. 

The general story of the Doom of Devorgoil ia 
founded on an old Scottish tradition, the scene of 
which lies in Galloway. The crime supposed to 
bave occasioned the misfortunes of this devcced 
house, is similar to that of a Lord Herries of 
Hoddani Castle, who is the principal personage 
of Mr. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe's interesting 
ballad, in the Mmstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
vol. i'. p. 807. In remorse for his crime, he 
biiilt the singular mommaent called the Tower 
of Repentance. In many cases the Scottish super- 
Btitions allude to the fairies, or those who, for 



I " The Doom of Devorgoil," and " Auchindrane," were 
pnblished together in an octavo volnme, in the spring of 1830. 
for tlie origin and progress of the first, see Life of Scott, vol. 

pp. :.P7-5>04, 285-6. 

Ur (Hniol Terry, the oomedian, distinf^uislied for a very 
05 



sms of a milder description, are permitted to 
wander with the " rout that never rest," as they 
were termed by Dr. Leyden. They imitate hu 
man labor and human amusements, but their toil 
is useless, and without any advantageous result ; 
and their gayety is unsubstantial and hoUow. The 
phantom of Lord Erick is supposed to be a spectr*- 
of this character. 

The story of the Ghostly Barber is told m mani 
countries ; but the best narrative founded on the 
passage, is the tale caUed Stumme Liebe, amonjj 
the legends of Muaseus. I think it has been in- 
troduced upon the English stage in some panto 
mime, which was one objection to bringing it apoi 
the scene a secon'' *'-ne. 
ASBuTSfoRS, Ap<nl, 1830. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Oswald of Devoegoil, a decayed Scottish Ba, ,>« 

Leonard, a Ranger. 

DuRWARD, a Palmer. 

Lancelot Blackthorn, a Companion of Leonam 

in love with Katleen. 
Gullcrammer, a conceited Student. 
OwLSPiKGLE and ) Maskers, represented by Bl<i^ 
CocKLEDEMOY, s thom and Ka-tleMK. 

Spirit ok Lord Erick of Devorgoi., 
Peasants, Shepherds, and Vassals ofi;\^en^jf »imh 

Eleanor, Wife of Oswald, descended oj obsatt4 

Parentage. 
Flora, Daughter of Oswald. 
Katleen, Niece of Eleanor. 

peculiar style of humor on the stage, ani, moreover, b) 
personal accomplishments of various sorts no> generally shtrei 
by members ot his profession, was, during t.iany years. (►» 
terms of intimauy with Sir Walter Scott. He v'ied "iP/i Jaok 
1839. 



T64 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



®l)£ Poom of DcDorgoil. 

ACT I.— SCENE L 

Ffu ^cene represents a wild arid hilly, but not a 
mountainous Cvimtry, in a frontier District of j 
8 otland. The flat Scene exhibits the Castle of i 
Devorgoil, decayed, and partly rui?ious, situated 
Hpon a Lake, and connected with the Land by a 
iJrawbridgs, which is lowered. Time — Sunset. 

Floea enters from the Castle, looks timidly around, 
then comes forward and speaks. 

He is not here — those pleasures are not ours 
Which placid evening brings to all things else. 

SONG.' 

The sun upon the lake is low, 

The wild birds hush their song, 
Tho hills have evening's deepest glow, 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide, 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame on turret liigh, 

Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor bright. 
Tl»e village maid, with hand on brow, 

The level ray to shade. 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans row. 

By day they swam apart. 
And to the tliicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner's side, 

Twitters Ids closing song — 
AH meet whom day and care divide. 

But Leonard tarries long. 

[Katleex has co^ie out of the Castle 
while Floea was singing, and speaks 
wher. t/ie Song is ended. 

iLai Ah, my dear coz 1 — if that your mother's 

niefe 
May 80 presume to call your father's daughter — 
All these fond things have got some home of com- 

foit 



' Th« inthor ♦honght of omitting twis song, which wm, in 
tun, nbnilgeii into one in " Qnentin Durward," termed Coonty 
Q«r. [Se« ante, pafe 709.] It a«eined, boweveir, neow 



To tempt their rovers back — the lady's bower, 
The shepherdess's hut, the wild swan's coach 
Among the rushes, even the lark's low nesi. 
Has that of promise which lures home a lover,— 
But we have naught of this. 

Flo. How call you, then, tliis castle of ray sin*, 
Thti towers of Devorgoil ? 

K.\T. Dungeons for men, and palaces for owU; 
Yet no wise owl would change a fiirmer's barn 
For yonder himgry haU — oiu- latest mouse, 
Our last of mice, I tell you, has been found 
Starved in the pantry ; and the reverend spider, 
Sole living tenant of the Baron's halls. 
Who, train'd to abstinence, lived a whole summei 
Upon a single fly, he's famish'd too ; 
The cat is in the kitchen-chimney seated 
Upon our last of fagots, destined soon 
To dress our last of suppers, and, poor soul, 
Is starved with cold, and mewling mad with huBgei 

Flo. D'ye mock our miseiy, Katleen ? 

Kat. No, but I am hysteric on the subject. 
So I must laugh or cry, and laugliing's lightest 

Flo. Why stay you with us, then, my mefTj 
cousin ? 
From you my sire can ask no filial duty. 

Kat. No, thanks to Heaven ! 
. No noble in wide Scotland, rich or poor, 
Can claim an interest in the vulgar blood 
That dances in my veins ; and I might wed 
A forester to-morrow, nothing fearing 
The wrath of high-born kindred, and far less 
That the dry bones of lead-lapp'd ancestors 
Would clatter in their cerements at the tidingBt 

Flo. My mother, too,would gladly see you plaOM 
Beyond the verge of our unhappiness," 
Which, like a witch's circle, bhghts and taints 
Whatever comes within it. 

Kat. Ah ! my good aunt ! 

She is a careful kinswoman and prudent, 
In all but marrying a ruin'd baron. 
When she could take her choi»»e of honest yeomee 
And now, to balance this ambitious error. 
She presses on her daughter's love the suit 
Of one, who hath no touch of nobleness. 
In manners, birth, or mind, to recommend him,— 
Sage Master Gullcrammer, the new-dubb'd 
preacher. 

Flo. Do not name hina, Katleen ! 

Kat. Ay, but I must, and with some gratitude 
I said but now, I saw our last of fagots 
Destined to dress our last of meals, but said ?ot 
That the repast consisted of choice dainties. 
Sent to our larder by that hberal suitor. 
The kind Melchisedek. 



tary to the sense, that the original stanza* shonld be 
here. 
* MS.- ' Beyond the circle of our wretchednew " 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



75;. 



Flo. Were famisting the word, 

rd famish ei<! I tasted them — the fop, 
rhe fool, the low-born, low-bred, pedant coxcomb ! 

Kat. There spoke the blood of long-descended 
sires 1 
My cottage w^dom ought to echo bacV, — 

the snug iiarsonage ! the well-psud stipend ! 
The y< ^-hedged garden ! beehives, pigs, and poul- 

3 it, to speak hone«tIj, the peasant Katleen, 
y nluing these good things justly, still would scorn 
To wed, f ,r such, the paltry GuUcrammer, 
As much as Lady Flora. 

Flo. Mock me not with a title, gentle cousin, 
Which poverty has made ridiculous. — 

[Trumpets far off. 
Hark ! they have broken up the weapon-shawing ; 
The vassals are dismiss' d, and marching homeward. 

Kat. Comes your sire back to-night ? 

Flo. He did purpose 

To tarry for the banquet. This day only, 
Summon'd as a king's tenant, he resumes 
The right of rank liis birth assigns to him, 
And mingles with the proudest. 

Kat. To return 

To his domestic wretchedness to-morrow — 

1 envy not the privilege. Let us go 

To yonder height, and see the marksmen practise : 
They shoot their match down in the dale beyond, 
Betwixt the Lowland and the Forest district, 
Bv ancient custom, for a tun of wine. 
Let us go see which wins. 

Flo. That were too forward. 

KiT. Why, you may drop the screen before 
your face, 
Which some chance breeze may haply blow asiae 
Just when a youth of special note takes aim. 
It chanced even so that memorable morning. 
When, nutting ia the woods, we met young Leon- 
ard ; — 
And in good time here comes his sturdy comrade, 
Fhe rough Lance Blackthorn. 

^nter Lancelot Blackthorn, a Forester, with the 
Carcass of a Deer on his back, and a Chin in his 
hand. 

Bla. Save j ou, damsels 1 

Ka.t. Godden, good yeoman. — Come you from 

iht Weaponshaw ? 
B\Ji. Net I, indeed ; there hes the mark I shot at. 

[Lays down the Deer. 
The time has been I had not miss'd the sport, 
Mthough Loid Nithsdale's self had wanted ven- 
ison ; 
But this same mate of mine, young Leonard Dacre, 
Makes me do what he lists ; — he'll win the prize, 

though : 
Hie Forest d ^tnct will not lose it» honor, 



And that is all I care for — (some shouts are heard.' 

Hark ! they're at it. 
m go see the issue. 

Flo. Leave not here 

The produce of your hunting. 

Bla. But I must, though 

This is his lair to-night, for Leonard Dacre 
Charged me to leave the stag at Devorgoil ; 
Then show me quickly where to stow the quarr} 
And let ue to the sports — {more shots.) C»n" 
hasten, damsels 1 
Flo. It is impossible — we dare not take ii 
Bla. There let it he, then, and I'll wind mj 
bugle, 
That all within these tottering walls may know 
That here lies venison, whoso Ukes to Uft it. 

[^ lout to blow 
Kat. {to Flo.) He will alarm your mother ; and 
besides. 
Our Forest proverb teaches, that no question 
Should ask where venison comes from. 
Your careful mother, with her wonted prudence, 
WiU hold its presence plead its own apology. — 
Come, Blackthorn, I will show you where to stow il 
[£xeunt Katleen and Blackthorn int( 
the Castle — more shooting — then a dis 
tant shout — Stragglers, armed in differ 
ent ways, pass over the Stage, as iffr'^n 
the Weaponshaw. 
Flo. The prize is won ; that general shout pro 
claim'd it. 
The marksmen and the vassals are dispersing. 

[She draws back 
First Vassal {a peaiant.) Aj, ay, — 'tis lost an<J 
won, — the Fcrest have it. 
'Tis they have all the luck on't. 

Second Vas. {a shepherd.) Luck, oayst thou, 

man ? 'Tis practice, skill, and cunning. 
Third Vas. 'Tis no such thing. — I had hit the 
mark precisely. 
But for this cursed flint ; and, as I fired, 
A swallow cross'd mine eye too — WiU yciu tell roe 
That that was but a chance, mine honest shepherd I 
First Vas. Ay, and last year, when Lancelol 
Blackthorn won it. 
Because my powder happen'd to be damp. 
Was there no luck in that? — The worse luckmoia 
Second Vas. Still I say 'twas not chanc« • \^ 

might be witchcraft. 
First Vas. Faith, not unlikely, neighbors ; fo' 
these foresters 
Do often haunt about this ruin'd castle. [ere,— 
Fve seen myself this spark, — young L<»onai-d Oa 
Come stealing like a ghost ere break of day, 
And after sunset, too, along this path ; 
And well you know the haunted cowers of I)* 

vor>?oil 
Hav* ao go^d repntatioo m the land 



166 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, 



Shep. That have they not. I've heard my fa- 
ther say, — 
iJhosts dance as lightly in its moonlight halls, 
As ever maiden dia At Midsummer 
fjpon the village-green. 
FiRbT Vas. Those that frequent such spu-it- 
haunted ruins 
Must needs know more than sunple Christians do. — 
See, Lance this blessed moment leaves the castle, 
And comes to triimiph over us. 

[Blackthorn enters from the Castle, and 
comes forward w/'iile t/iey speak. 
Third Vas. A mighty triumph ! What is't, af- 
ter all, 
Except the driving of a piece of lead, — 
As learned Master Gullcrammer defined it, — 
Just tlirough the middle of a painted board. 

Black. And if he so define it, by your leave, 
Y"our learned Master Gulleraramer's an ass. 
Third Vas. {angrily.) He is a preacher, hunts- 
man, under favor. 
Skcoxd Vas. No quarrelling, neighbors — you 
may both be right. 

Enter a Fourth Vassal, vnth a gallon stoup of wine. 
Fourth Vas. Why stand you brawling here ? 
Young Leonard Dacre 
Has set abroach the tun of wine he gain'd. 
That all may drink who list. Blackthorn, I sought 

you; 
Your comrade prays you will bestow this flagon 
Where you have left the deer you kill'd this morn- 
ing. 
Black. And that I will ; but first we will take 
toll 
To see if it's worth carriage. Shepherd, thy 

horn. 
There must be due allowance made for leakage. 
And that wdl come about a draught apiece. 
Skink it about, and, when our tliroats are liquor'd. 
We'll merrily trowl our song of weaponshaw. 

[They drink about ont of the Shepherd's 
horn, and then aing. 

SONG. 

Ve love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's 

rftHle, 
iliej call U!- to sport, and they call us to battle ; 
And aid Scotland shall laugh at the threats of a 

stranger, 
A hile our comrades in pastime are comrades in 

danger. 

[f there's mirth in our house, 'tis our neighbor that 

shares it — 
[f peril approach, 'tis our neighbor that dares it ; 
\n(\ when we lead off to the pipe and the tabor, 
"he fair hand v ? press is the h-md of a neighbor. 



Then close your ranks, comrades, tht bands thai 

combine them, 
Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, Join'd to ett 

twine them ; 
And we 11 laugh at the threats of each iiisolent 

stranger, 
While our comrades in sport are our comrades ia 

danger. 

Black. Well, I must do mine errand. Msjntf 

flagon 

[ShakiTiq U. 
Is too consumptive for another bleeding. 
Shep. I must to my fold. 

Third Vas. I'll to the butl of wine, 

And see if that has given up the ghost yet. 
First Vas. Have with you, neighbor. 

[Blackthorn enters the Castle, the rest ex- 
eunt severally. Melchisedek Gullcram- 
mer watches them off the stage, and then 
enters from a side-scene. His costume ii 
a Geneva cloak and band, with a high- 
crowned hat ; the rest of hisdress in the 
fashion of James the Firsfs time. He 
looks to the windows of the Castle, then 
draws back as if to escape observation, 
while he brushes his cloak, drives ths 
'white threads from his waistcoat with hia 
wetted thumb, and dusts his shoes, all 
with the air of one who would not will- 
ingly be observed engaged in these offices. 
He then adjusts his collar and band, 
comes forward and speaks. 
Gull. Right comely is thy garb, Melchisedek ; 
As well beseemeth one, whom good Saint Mimgo^ 
The patron of our land and university, 
Hath graced with license both to teach and 

preach — 
Who dare opine thou hither plod'st on foot ? 
Trim sits thy cloak, unruffled is thy band, 
And not a speck upon thine outward man, 
Bnwrays the labors of thy weary sole. 

[To7iches his shoe, and smiles complacently. 
Quaint was that jest and pleasant 1 — Now will I 
Approach and hail the dwellers of this fort ; 
But specially sweet Flora Devorgoil, 
Ere her proud sire return. He loves me ot, 
Mocketh my lineage, flouts at mine advance 

ment — 
Sour as the fruit the crab-tree furnishes. 
And hard as is the cudgel it supplies ; 
But Flora — she's a lily on the lake. 
And I must reach her, though I risk a ducking. 

[As Gullcramm«r moves towards the draw 

bridge, Bauldie Dl^rward enters, and in 

terposes himself betwixt him and the Cas 

tie. Gullcrammer stops and fpeaks. 

Whom have we here ? — that ancient fort'ine t«llei 



Papist an 1 sorcerer And sti::- dy beggar, 
Old Bauldie Durv .rd ! Would I were well past 
him! 

[Duewabij advances, partly in the dress of a 
palmer, partly hi that of an old Scottish 
■mendicant, hating coarse blue cloak and 
badge, white beard, d'c. 
Due. The blessing of the evening on yoiu- wor- 
ship, 
ikDd on your taff'ty doublet. Much I marvel 
Tour wisdom chooseth such trim garb,' when tem- 
pests 
Are gatberhig to the bursting. 
GuLLCEAMMER {looks to hls dress, and then to the 
sky, with some apprehension.) 

Surely, Bauldie, 
Thou dost beUe the evening — in the west 
The light shiks down as lovely as this band 
Drops o'er this mantle — Tush, man 1 'twUl be 
fair 
Due. Ay, but the storm I bode is big with blows, 
Horsewhips for hailstones, clubs for thunderbolts ; 
A nd for the waihng of the midnight wind, 
The impitied howling of a cudgell'd coxcomb. 
Oome, come, I know thou seek'st fair Flora Devor- 
goU. 
(Jul. And if I did, I do the damsel grace. 
del mother thinks so, and she has accepted 
♦ t these poor hands gifts of some consequence, 
Aid cui'ious dainties for the evening cheer. 
To which I am mvitea — She respects me.. 

Due. But not so doth her father, haughty Os- 
wald. 

Beth'nk thee, he's a baron 

GuL. And a bare one ; 

Construe me that, old man! — The crofts of Muc- 

klewhame — 
Destined for mine so soon as heaven and earth 
Have shared my uncle's soul and bones between 

them — 
The crofts of Mucklewhame, old man, which ncvr- 

ish 
Three scoi es of sheep, tln-ee cows, with ei^ch her 

follower, 
A female palfrey eke — I will be candid. 
She is of that meek tribe whom, in derision 
[)ur wealthy southern neighbors nicknamei Joa- 

keys 

Due. She hath her follower too, — ^when thou art 

there. 
GuL. I say to thee, these crofts of Mucklewhame, 
ti^ the mere tything of their stock and produce, 
Outvie whatever patch of land remains 
To this old rugged castle and its owner. 
Well, therefore, may Melchisedek GuUcrammer, 
Youisqer of Mucklewhame, for such I write me, 

■ MS.- ' That yoi' sb ild walk iu such trim gaise.' I 



Master of Ai'ts, by grace of good Saint Andrew, 
Preacher, in brief expectance of a kirk, 
Endow'd with ten score Scottish poimds per au 

num. 
Being eight pounds seventeen eight in sterling 

coin — 
Well, then, I say, may this Melcliisedek, 
Thus highly graced by fortune — and by naruiT 
E'en gifted as thou seest — aspire to woo 
The daughter of the beggar'd Devorgoil. 

Due Credit an old man's word, kind Maste/ 

GuUcrammer, 
You will not find it so. — Come, sir, I've known 
The hospitality of Mucklf.whame ; 
It reach'd not to profuseness — yet, in gratitude 
For the pure water of its livmg well, 
And for the barley loaves of its fair fields. 
Wherein chopp'd straw contended with the grain 
Which best should satisfy the appetite, 
I would not see the hopeful hek of Mucklewhanif 
Thus fling himself on danger. 

GuL. Danger ! what danger ? — Know'st thou not 

old Oswald 
This day attends the muster of the shire, 
Where the crown-vassals meet to show their arms, 
And their best horse of service? — 'Twas good 

sport 
(And if a man had dared but laugh at it) 
To see old Oswald with his rusty morion, 
And huge two-handed sword, that might have 

seen 
The field of Bannockburn or Chevy-Chas«, 
Without a squire or vassal, page or groom, 
Or e'en a single pikeman at his heels. 
Mix with the proudest nobles of the county. 
And claim precedence for his tatter'd person 
O'er armors double gdt and ostricli plumage. 
Due. Ay ! 'twas the jest at which fools laugh 

the loudest. 
The downfall of our old nobility — 
Which mav forerun the ruin of a kuiy'dom. 
I've seen an idiot clap liis hands, and shout 
To see a tower like yon {points to a jjarf f ihi 

Castle) stoop to its base 
in headlong ruiti ; while the wise look"d round, 
And fearful sought a distant stance to watch 
What fragment of the fabric next should follow ; 
For when the turrets fall, the walls are tolterinaf 
GuL. (after pondering.) If that means augJit, it 

means thou saw'st old Oswald 
ExpeU'd from the assembly. 

Due. Thy sharp wit 

Hath glanced unwittingly right nigh the truth. 
Expell'd he was not, but, liis claim denied 
At some contested point of ceremony. 
He left the weaponshaw in high disj^ieasure, 
And hither comes — his wonted bitter temper 
Scuxe sweeten'd by the chances of the dav 



758 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Tv/ere much like riishness should you wait his 
And tliither londB my couasel. [coming, 

GuL. And 1 11 take it ; 
3ood Bauldie Durward, I will take thy counsel, 
Vnd will requite it with this minted farthing. 
That bears our sovereign's head in purest copper. 

DuR. Thanks to thy bounty — Haste thee, good 
young master ; 
>?'rald, besides the old two-handed sword, 
Jears in his hand a staff of potency, 
To charm intruders from his castle purlieus.. 

GuL. I do abhor all charms, nor wiD abide 
To beai or see, far less to feel their use. 
Behold, I have departed. 

[Exit hastily/. 
Mmie7it DuRWAiiD. 

DuR. Thus do I play the idle part of one 
A'^ho seeks to save the moth from scorching hun 
In the bright taper's flame — And Flora's beauty' 
Must, not unlike that taper, waste away, 
(rildiug the rugged walls that saw it kindled, 
riiis was a shard-born beetle, heavy, drossy,* 
Though boasting his dull drone and gilded wing. 
Here comes a flutterer of another stamp, 
Whom the same ray is charming to his ruin. 

Enter Leonard, dressed as a huntsman ; he pauses 
before the Tower, and whistles a note or two at 
intervals — drawing back, as if fearful of obser- 
vation — yet waiting, as if expecting some reply. 
DuRWARD, vihom he had not observed, moves 
round, so as to front Leonard unexpectedly. 

Leon. I am too late — it was no easy task 
To rid myself from yonder noisy revellers. 
Flora ! — I fear she's angry — Flora — Flora !' 

SONG. 

Admire not that I gain'd the prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with hand or eyes, 

When heart and faith were true ? 

And when in floods of rosy wine 
My comrades drown'd their cares, 

I thouglit but that thy heart was mine. 
My own leapt light as theirs. 



-" And Flora's years of beauty." 



• MS.—" This was an earth-bom beetle, dull, and drossy." 
5 From the MS., the following song appears to have been a 

^ent interpolation. 

* The MS. here adds :— 

" Leonard. But mine is not misplaced — If I soogbt 
beauty. 
Resides it no' with Flora Devorgoil t 
It' piety, if sweetness, if discretion, 
Paiience beneath ill-suited tasks of labor, 
A.nd filial tenderness, that can beguile 
S<" iBoo \y sire'* ^^rl »houKht3, as the soft moonshine 



My brief delay then do not blai »e, 
Nor deem your swain imtrue ; 

My form but Unger'd at the game, 
My soul was still with you. 

She hears not ! 

DuR. But a friend hath heard- -Leonard, 1 pit • 
thee. 

Leon, {starts, but recovers himself^ Pity, gom) 
father, is for those in want, 
In age, in sorrow, in distress of mind, 
Oi agony of body. I'm in health — 
Can match my limbs against the stag in chase, 
Have means enough to ineet my simple wants, 
And am so free of soul that I can carol 
To woodland and to wild in notes as lively 
As are my jolly bugle's. 

DuR. Even therefore dost thou need my pity 
Leonard, 
And therefore I bestow it, paying the^i. 
Before thou feel'st the need, my mite of pity, 
Leonard, thou lovest ; and in that little word 
There lies enough to claim the sympathy 
Of men who wear such hoary locks as mine. 
And know what misplaced love is sure to end in.* 

Leon. Good father, thou art old, and even thj 
youth. 
As thou hast told me, spent in cloister'd cells. 
Fits thee but ill to judge the passions. 
Which are the joy and charm of social life. 
Press me no farther, tlien, nor waste those momentt 
Whose worth thou canst not estimate. 

\^As turning from him, 

DuR. {detains him.) Stay, young man ! 
'Tis seldom that a beggar claims a debt ; 
Yet I bethink me of a gay young stripling, 
That owes to these wliite locks and hoary beard 
Something of reverence and of gratitude 
More than he wills to pay. 

Leon. Forgive me, father. Often hast tuou told 
me, 
That in the ruin of my father's house 
You saved the orphan Leonard in his cradle ; 
And well I know, that to thy care alone — 
Care seconded by means beyond thy seeming- - 
I owe whate'er of nurture I can boast. 

DuR. Then for thy life preserved, 

Illumes the cloud of night — if I seek these. 
Are they not all with Flora ? Number me 
The ^st of female virtues one by one, 
And wil" answer all with Flora Devorgoil. 

" Dur. This is the wonted pitch of youthful pa.sshw 
And every woman who hath had a lover. 
However now deem'd crabbed, cross, and canket'd, 
And crooked both in temper and in shape. 
Has in her day been thought the purest, wisest. 
Gentlest, and best condition'd— and o'er all 
Fairest and liveliest of Eve's numerous daughteii 

" Leonard. Good father, thou art old." &o. 



i 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



75Ji 



A-id for th* TO«<ui8 of knowledge I have furnish'd 
(Which lafJpn^, man is levell'd with the brute*), 
Grant me th»s Vx)on . — Avoid these fatal walls 1 
A curse h ou them, bitter, deep, and heavy, 
Of power to spht the roassiest tower they boast 
Frt.ja pirnacie to dungeon vault. It rose 
Upon th^ gay horizon of proud Devorgoil, 
As unio/^wded as th^ fleecy cloud. 
The fifit forerunner of the huiricane, 
Scarce •5?eu amid the welkin's shadeless blue. 
Dark qrew it, and more dark, and still the fortunes 
Of tLia doom'd family have darken'd with it. 
U hid their sovereign's favor, and obscured 
The lustre of their service, gender'd hate 
Betwixt them and the mighty of the land ; 
rill by degrees the waxing tempest rose, 
4jid etiippd the goodly tree of fruit and flowers, 
And buds, and boughs, and branches. There re- 
mains 
A ruf ged trunk, dismember'd and imsightly, 
Waitmg the bursting of the final bolt 
To splinter it to shivers. Now, go pluck 
Its single tench'il to enwreath thy brow. 
And rest beneath its shade — to share the ruin I 

Leon. Tliis anathema, 
Whence should it come ? — How merited I— ^and 
when? 

Due. 'Twas in the days 
Of Oswald's grandsire, — 'mid Galwegian chiefs 
The feUest foe, the fiercest champion. 
His blood-red pennons scared the Cumbrian coasts, 
And wasted towns and manors mark'd his progress. 
His galleys stored with treasure, and their decks 
Crowded with EngUsh captives, who beheld. 
With weeping eyes, their native shores retire. 
He bore him homeward ; but a tempest rose 

Leoji. So far I've heard the tale, 
And spare thee the recital — The grun chief. 
Marking his vessels labor on the sea, 
And loth to lose his treasiu-e, gave command 
To plunge his captives in the raging deep. 

DcE liere sunk the lineage of a noble name, 
And i^e wild ■waves boom'd over sire and son, 
Mother a^ ' nursling, i f the House of Aglionby,' 
Leaving but one frail tendril. — Hence the fate 
That hovers o'er these t'jrrets, — hence the peasant, 
Belated, hyiJ » homewards, dreads to cast 
A glance upon thai portal, lest he see 
rhe un shrouded spectres of the murder'd dead;* 
'Jr the avenging Angel, with his sword, 
Waving destruction ; or the grisly phantom 
Of that fell Chief, the doer of the deed. 
Which stiU, they say, roams through his empty 

halls. 
Knd mourns their wasteness and their lonelihood. 

1 M8. " House of Ehrenwald." 

t MS. — " spectres of the murder'd ca t7 ve«. 
M?.. " their painted limbs." 



Leon. Such is the dotage 
Of superstition, father, ay, and the cant 
Of hoodwink'd prejudice. — Not for atonement 
Of some foul deed done in the ancient warfare, 
When war was butchery, and men were wolves 
Doth Heaven consign the innocent to suifering 
I tell thee. Flora's virtues might atone 
For all the massacres her sires have done, 
Since first the Pictish race their stained limb** 
Array 'd in wolf's skin. 

Due. Leonard, ere yet this beggar's scrip ;uii 
cloak 
Supplied the place of mitre and of crosier,* 
Which in these alter'd lands must not be worn, 
I was superior of a brotherhood 
Of holy men, — the Prior of Lauercost. 
Nobles then sought my footstool many a league, 
There to unload their sins — questions of conscienr* 
Of deepest import were not deem'd too nice 
For my decision, youth. — But not even then, 
With mitre on my brow, and aU the voice 
Which Rome gives to a father of her church 
Dared I pronounce so boldly on the ways 
Of hidden Providence, as thou, youn^ man. 
Whose chiefest knowledge is to track » etag. 
Or wind a bugle, hast presumed to do. 

Leon. Nay, I pray forgive me. 
Father ; thou know'st I meant not to presume 

DvA. Can I refuse thee pardon ? — Thou art all 
That war and change have left to the poor Dor 

ward. 
Thy father, too, who lost his life and fortmc 
Defending Lanercost, when its fair aisles 
Were spoil'd by sacrilege — I bless'd his baimer, 
And yet it prosper'd not. But — all I could — 
Thee from the wreck I saved, and for thy sake 
Have still dragg'd on my life of pilgrimage 
And penitence upon the hated shores 
I else had left for ever. Come with me. 
And I will teach thee there is healing in 
The wounds which friendship gives. l^Exettn* 



SCENE IL 

27ie Scene changes to the interior of the Castle 
apartment is discovered, in which there ts mttcn 
appearance of present poverty, mixed with aofim 
relics of former grandeur. On the wall ha?igs, 
amongst other things, a suit of ancient armor; 
by the table is a covered basket ; behind, and con- 
cealed by it, the carcass of a roe-deer. There it 
a small latticed wtTidow, which, appearing to per- 
forate a wall of great thickness, is supposed 'o I 

( 
••MS —" Supplied the J ! of palmer's cow wid staff 



760 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



looK out towards the aravhridge. It ix in the 
shape of a loop-hole for musketry ; and, as is not 
unusual in old buildings, is placed so high up in 
the wall, that it is only approached by five or six 
narrow stone steps. 
E1.BANOR, the wife of Oswald of Devokgoil, Flora 
a': id Katleen, her Daughter and Niece, are dis- 
covered at work. The former spins, the latter are 
embroidering Eleanor quits her own labor to 
examine the manner in which Flora is exe- 
cuting her task, and shakes her head as if dis- 
satisfied. 

Ele. Fy oa it, Flora ; this botch'd work of thine 
Rhows that thy mind is distant from thy task. 
The finest tracery of our old cathedral 
Had not a richer, freer, bolder pattern, 
Thar Flora once could trace. Thy thoughts are 
wandering. 
Flo. They're with my father. Broad upon the 
lake 
The evening sun sunk down ; huge piles of clouds, 
Crim.son and sable, rose upon his disk, 
And quench'd him ere his setting, like some cham- 
pion 
In his last conflict, losing all his glory. 
Sure signals those of storm. And if my father 

Be on liis homeward road 

Ele. But that he wUl not. 
Baron of Devorgoil, this day at least 
He banquets with the nobles, who the next 
Would .scarce vouchsafe an alms to save his house- 
hold 
From want or famine. Thanks to a kind friend, 
For one brief space we shall not need their aid. 

Flo. {joyfully.) "WTiat ! knew you then his gift ? 
Ho T silly I that would, yet durst not tell it 1 
I feur my father will condemn us both, 
That easily accepted such a present. 
Kat. Now, here's the game a bystander sees 
better 
Than those who play it. — My good aunt is pon- 
dering 
On the good cheer which Gullcrammer has sent us, 
^nd Flora thinks upon the forest venison. [Aside. 
ErE. [to Flo.) Thy father need not know on't — 
'tis a boon 
C 'mes timely, when frugality, nay, abstinence 
Might scarce avail us longer. I had hoped 
Ere now a visit from the ybuthful donor. 
That we might thank his bounty ; and perhaps 
My Flora thought the same, when Sunday's ker- 
chief 
And the best kirtle were sought out, and donn'd 
To grace a work-day evening. 

Flo. Nay, mother, that is judging all too close 1 
Hy work-day gown was torn — my kerchief sullied ; 
Ant th'^s — But, think you, \« ill the gallant come ? 



Ele. He will, for with these dainties came a 
message 
From gentle Master Gullcrammer, to intimate — - 

Flo. {greatly disappointed.) Gullcrammer '\ 

Kat. There burst the bubble — down fell honsc 
of cards. 
And cousin's hke to cry for't ! \^A side.. 

Ele. Gullcrammer ? ay, Gullcrammer — thot 
scorn'st not at him ? 
'Twere sometliing short of wisdom in a maid-n, 
Who, hke the poor bat in the Grecian ^aole, 
Hovers betwixt two classes in the world. 
And is disclaim'd by both the mouse and bird. 

Kat. I am the poor mouse, 

And may go creep into what hole I list. 
And no one heed me — Yet I'll waste a word 
Of counsel on my betters. — Kind my aunt. 
And you, my gentle cousin, were't not better 
We thought of dressing this same gear for sujiptr 
Than quarrelling about the worthless donor ? 

Ele. Peace, minx ! 

Flo. Thou hast no feeling, cousin Katleen 

Kat. Soh ! I have brought them both on mj 
poor shoulders 
So meddling peace-makers are still rewarded: 
E'en let them to't again, and fight it out. 

Flo. Mother, were I disclaim'd of every class 
I would not therefore so disclaijn myself. 
As even a passing thought of scorn to waste 
On cloddish Gullcrammer. 

Ele. List to me, love, and let adversity 
IncHne thine ear to wisdom. Look around thee— 
Of the gay youths who boast a noble name, 
Which will incHne to wed a dowerless damsel ? 
And of the yeomanry, who think'st thou. Flora, 
Would ask to share the labors of liis tV.rm 
A high-born beggar ? — This young man is mod 
est 

Flo. SiUy, good mother ; sheepish, if you will it 

Ele. E'en call it what you list — the softer ten* 
per. 
The fitter to endure the bitter saUies 
Of one '7h«>se wit is all too sharp for mine. 

Flo. Mother, you cannot mean it as you lay ; 
You caimot bid me prize conceited folly ? 

Ele. Content thee, child — each lot has its ow^ 
blessings. 
This youth, with his plain-dealing, honest suit. 
Proffers thee quiet, peace, and competence. 
Redemption from a home, o'er which fell Fate 
Stoops like a falcon. — 0, if thou couldst cho08« 
(As no such choice is given) "twixt such a mate 
And some proud noble ! — Who, in sober judgmen,. 
Would like to navigate the heady river. 
Dashing in fury from its parent mountain. 
More than the waters of the quiet lake ? 

Kat. Nfiw can I hold no longer — Lake, pxW 
aunt? 



Nay, in the nams of truth, say mill-pond, horse- 
pond; 
Or if there be a pond more miry, 
More sluggish, ir»ean-derived, and base than either, 
Be such GrullcTimmer'a emblem — and his portion ! 

Flu. I woMld that he or I were in our grave. 
Rather than thus his suit sbould goad me ! — Mother, 
Flora cf Dc'crgoil, though low in fortunes, 
Is still too Wgh in mind to join her name 
With sucb a base-born chm-l as Gullcrammer. 

Ele. You are trim maidens both 1 
Tr Flora.) Have you forgotten, 

Or did you mean to call to my remembrance 
Thy father chose a wife of peasant blood ? 

Flo. Will you speak thus tu me, oc thiok the 
stream 
Cac mock the fountain it derives its source from } 
My venerated mother, in that name 
Lies all on earth a child should chiefest honor ; 
Arid with that name to mix reproa«.- or taunt. 
Were only short of blasphemy to Heaven. 

Ele. Then listen, Flora, to that mother's counsel, 
Or rather profit by that mother's fate. 
Tom- father's fortunes were but bent, not broken, 
Until he listen'd to his rash affection. 
Means were afforded to redeem his house, 
A.mple and large — the hand of a rich heiress 
Awaited, almost courted, his acceptance ; 
IJe saw my beauty — such it then was caU'd, 
Or such at least he thought it — the wither'd bush, 
Whate'er it now may seem, had blossoms then, — 
And he forsook the proud and wealthy heiress, 

To wed with me and ruin 

Kat. [aside.) The more fool, 

day I, apart, the peasant maiden then, 
Who might have chose a n^^te from her own 
hamlet. 
Ele. Friends fell off. 
And to his own resources, his own counsels, 
Abandon' d, as they said, the thoughtless prodigal, 
V/ho had exchanged rank, riches, pomp, and honor, 
For the mean "beauties of a cottage maid. 

Flo. It was done like my father, 
Wh3 scorn'd to sell what wealth can never buy — 
T». e love and free affections. And be loves you I 
If you havv' suffer'd in a weary world. 
Your son >W3 have been jointly borne, and love 
Has made the load sit Ughter. 

E »c. Ay, but a misplaced match hath that deep 
cursi in't. 
That can embitter e'en the purest streams 
Of true affection. Thou hast seen me seek. 
With the strict caution early habits taught me, 
To match our wants and means — hast seen thy 

father. 
With aristocracy's high brow of scorn. 
Spurn at economy, the cottage virtue, 
\9 best befitting her whose ^ires were peasants; 



Nor can I, when I see my lineage scorn'd. 
Always conceal in what contempt I hold 
The fancied claims of rank he clings to fondly 
Flo. Why will you do so ? — well you know ii 

cbafes him. 
Ele. Flora, thy mother is but mortal -woman. 
Nor can at all times check tm eager tongue. 
Kat. {aside.) That's no new tiduige to her nieci 

and daughter. 
Ele mayst thou never know the .spiljd fo:,' 
ings 
Thai gender discord in adversity 
Betwixt the dearest friends and truest lovers . 
In the chill dampmg gale of poverty , 
If Love's lamp go not out, it gleams but palely, 
And twinkles m the socket. 

Flo. But tenderness can screen it with her veil, 
Till it revive again. By gentleness, good mother, 
How oft I've seen you soothe my fatiier's mood ! 
\LkT. Now there speak youthful hope and fan 
tasy ! [Aside. 

Ele. That is an easier task in youth than age ; 
Our temper hardens, and our charms decay, 
And both are needed ui that art of soothing. 
Kat. And there speaks sad experience. [Aside. 
Ele. Besides, shice that oiu* state was uttef 
desperate. 
Darker his brow, more dangerous grow his words 
Fain would I snatch thee from the woe and wrath 
Which darken'd long my hfe, and i30on must end it 
[A knocking with'mt ; Eleanor slums alann. 
It was thy fathei"'s knock, haste to the gate. 

[Exeunt Flora and Katlekn. 
Wliat can have happ'd ? — he thought to stay the 

night. 
This gear must not be seen. 

[A.t she is about to rejnovt „„^ t/rum,©,/, she 
sees the body of the roe-deer. 
What have we here ? a roe-deer ! — as I fear it, 
This was the gift of which poor Flora thought. 
The young and handsome hunter ; — but time 
presses. 

[SJie removes the basket and the roe into 
a closet. As she has done — 

Enter Oswald of Devorgoil, Flora, and Katleek, 
[He is dressed in a scarlet cloak, which shmtM 
seem ivorn and old — a headpiece and old- 
fashioned sword — the rest of ' 's dress thai 
of a peasant. His countenance and man- 
ner should express the moody and irritabU 
haughtiness of a proud inan involved in ca- 
lamity, and who has been ezfcsed to recent 
insult. 
Osw. [addressing his wife.) flie su i hath set- 
why is the drawbridge lower'd ? 

' MS. — " Ay, but the veil of tendesrness cat screen U ' 



rG2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ele. rhe counterpoise has fail'd, and Flora's 
btrength, 
Katleen's, and mine united, could not raise it. 
Osw. Flora and thou ! A goodly garrison 
lo hold a castle, which, if fame say true, 
Oi^ce foil'd the King of Norse and all his rovers. 
Ele. It might be so in ancient times, but now — 
Osv. A herd of deer might storm proud De- 

vorgciiL 
Kat. {aside to Flo.) You, Flora, know fuU well 
one deer already 
flas enter'd at the breach ; and, what is worse, 
The escort is not yet march'd oflf, for Blackthorn 
Ib still witliin the castle. 
Flo. In Heaven's name, rid him out on't, ere 
my father 
Discovers he is here ! Why went he not 
Before ? 

Kat. Because I staid him on some little tasiness ; 
I had a plan to scare poor paltry GuUcrammer 
Out of his paltry wits. 

Flo. Well, haste ye now, 

And try to get him off. 

Kat. I will not promise that. 

I would not turn an honest hunter's dog. 
So well I love the woodcraft, out of shelter 
Fn such a night as this — far less his master : 
But 111 do this, I'll try to hide him for yoiL 
Csw. (whmn his wife has assisted to take off his 
cloak and feathered cap.) Ay, take them ofif, 
and bring my peasant's bomiet 
And peasant's plaid — I'll noble it no fartlier. 
Let them erase my name from honor's lists. 
And drag my scutcheon at their horses' heels ; 
[ have deserved it all, for I am poor. 
And poverty hath neither right of birth, 
ISTor rank, relation, claim, nor privilege. 
To match a new-coin'd viscount, whose good grand- 
sire. 
The Lord be with him, was a careful skipper. 
And steer'd his paltry skiff 'twixt Leith and 

Campvere — 
Marry, sir, he could buy Geneva cheap, 
And knew the coast by moonlight. 
Flo. Mean you the Viscount Ellondale, my 
father ? 
Wh&i strife has been between you ? 

Osw. O, a trifle 1 

Not worth a wise man's thinking twice about — 
Preceaence is a toy — a superstition 
About a taoie 8 erd, jo'at-stool, and trencher. 
Bometning was once thought due to long descent, 
Ana something to Galwegia's oldest baron, — 
Put let that pass — a dream of the old time. 
Ele. It is indeed a dream. 

' MS. " Yet, I know, for minds 

Of nobler stamp earth has no dearer motive." 



Osw. (turning upon her rather guickly.) Ha 
said ye 1 let me hear these words more plain 
Elk. Alas ! they are but echoes of your own. 
Match'd with the real woes that hover o'er us, 
What are the idle visions of precedence, 
But, as you term them, dreams, and toys, and triflei^ 
Not worth a wise man's thinking twice upon i 
Osw. Ay, 'twas for you I framed that caDM> 
lation. 
The true philosophy of clouted shoe 
And linsey-woolsey kirtle. I know, that minds 
Of nobler stamp receive no dearer motive' 
Than what is hnk'd with honor. Ribands, tassels, 
Which are but shreds of silk and spangled tinsel — ' 
The right of place, which in itself is momentary — 
A word, wliich is but air — may in themselves, 
And to the nobler file, be steep'd so richly 
In that elixir, honor, that the lack 
Of tilings so very trivial in themselves 
Shall be misfortime. One shall seek for them' 
O'er the wild waves — one in the deadly breach 
And battle's headlong front — one in the paths 
Of midnight study ; and, in gaining these 
Emblems of honor, each wiU hold himself 
Repaid for all lois labors, deeds, and dangers. 
What then should he think, knowing them his own 
Wlio sees what warriors and what sages toil for, 
The formal and establish'd marks of honor, 
Usm'p'd from him by upstart insolence ? 

Ele. {who has listened to the last speech with sorm 
impatience^ This is but empty declamation, 
Oswald. 
The fragments left at yonder full-spread banquet, 
Nay, even the poorest crust swept from the table, 
Ought to be far more precious to a father, 
Whose family lacks food, than the vain boast, 
He sate at the board-head. 

Osw. Thou'lt drive me frantic ! — I will tell tuee, 
woman — 
Yet why to thee ? There is another ear 
Which that tale better suits, and he shall hear it. 
[Looks at his stoi rd, which he has unbuckled 
and addresses the rest of the speech to it. 
Yes, trusty friend, my father knew thy worth, 
And often proved it — often told me of it — 
Though thou and I be now held lightly of. 
And want the gilded hatclmients of the time, 
I think we both may prove true metal stilL 
'Tis thou shalt tell this story, right this w^ Dng : 
Rest thou till time is fitting. [Hangs up the sword 
[The tvotnen look at each, other with anxietif 
during this speech, whidi they partly over- 
hear. TJvey both approach Oswald. 
Ele. Oswald — my dearest husband ! 
Flo. My dear father I 



* MS. " tinsell'd spangle." 

' MH " One shall seek thesf emblem* 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



768 



Osw. Peace, both I — we speak do more of this. 
Igo 
To heave the drawbridge up. [Exit, 

Katl£EN mounts the steps tovjards the loop-hole, 
looks out, and speaks. 
The storm is gathering fast ; broad, heavy drops 
Fall plashing on the bosom of the lake, 
And dash its inky surface into cii'cles ; 
rhe distar.l hiUs are hid in wreaths of darkness. 
Twill be a fearful night. 

Oswald re-enters, and throws himself into a seat. 

Ele. More dark and dreadful 

rhan is our destiny, it caimot be. 

Osw. {to Flo.) Such is Heaven's will — it is our 
part to bear it. 
We're warranted, my child, from ancient story 
And blessed writ, to say, that song assuages 
The gloomy cares that prey upon our reason, 
And wake a strife betwixt our better feelings 
And the fierce dictates of the headlong passions. 
Sing, then, my love ; for if a voice have influence 
To mediate peace betwixt me and my destiny, 
Flora, it must be thine. 

Flo My best to please you 1 

SONG. 

When the tempest's at the loudest, 

On its gale the eagle rides ; 
When the ocean rolls the proudest, 

Through the foam the sea-bird glides — 
All the rage of wind and sea 
Is subdued by constancy. 

Gnawing want and sickness pining, 

All the ills that men endure ; 
Each their various pangs combining. 

Constancy can find a cure — 
Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, 
Are subdued by constancy. 

Bar me from each wonted pleasure. 
Make me abject, mean, and poor ; 

Heap on insults without measure. 
Chain me to a dungeon floor — 

I'll be happy, rich, and free. 

If endow'd with constancy. 



ACT IL— SCENE L 

^ Chamber in a distant part of the Castle. A 
large Windo'C in the fiat scene, supposed to look 
OH the Lake, which is occasionally illuminated by 
lightning. There is a Couch-bed in the Romn, 
•fd an antique Cabinet. 



Enter Katleen, introducing Bi ackthokn.' 
Kat. This was the destined scene of actioiv 
Blackthorn, 
And here our properties. But all in vain. 
For of Gullcrammer we'll see naught to-night. 
Except the dainties that I told you of 

Bla. 0, if he's left that same hog's face and sav 
sages, 
He will try back upon them, never fear it. 
The cur will open on the trail of bacon, 
Like my old brach-hound. 

Kat. And should that hap, we'll play our come 
dy,- 
Shall we not. Blackthorn ? Thou shalt be Owl* 

piegle 

Bla. And who may that hard-named person 

be? 
Kat. I've told you nine times over. 
Bla. Yes, pretty Katleen, but my eyes wer* 
busy 
In looking at you all the time you were talking , 
And so I lost the tale. 

Kat. Then shut your eyes, and let your goodly 
ears 
Do their good office. 

Bla. That were too hard penance 

Tell but thy tale once more, and I will hearken 
As if I were thrown out, and listening for 
My bloodhound's distant bay. 

Kat. a civil simile ! 

Then, for the tenth time, and the last — be told, 
Owlspiegle was of old the wicked barber 
To Erick, wicked Lord of Devorgoil. 

Bla. The chief who drown'd his captives in tha 
Solway — 
We all have heard of him. 

Kat. a hermit hoar, a venerable man— 
So goes the legend — came to wake repentance 
In the fierce lord, and tax'd him with his guilt ; 
But he, heart-harden'd, turn'd into derision 
The man of heaven, and, as his dignity 
Consisted much in a long reverend beard, 
Which reach'd his girdle, Erick caused his barber, 
This same Owlspiegle, violate its honors 
With sacrilegious razor, and chp his hau 
After the fashion of a roguish fooL 

Bla. This was reversing of our anciem provoi?. 
And shaving for the devil's, not 4>r God s sak 
Kat. True, most grave Blackthorn ; and inpuiJsh' 
ment 
Of this foul act of scorn, the barber's ghost 
Is said to have no resting after death. 
But haunts these haUs, and chiefly this same duuu 

ber, 
Where the profanity was acted, trimming 
And cUpping all such guests as sleep within ix. 

' f 
1 The M9 thronghoat the First Act reads Buektlm^ 



Such is at least the tale our elders tell, 
With many others, of this haulited castle. 

Bla. And you would have me take this shape 
of Owlspiegle, 
^d trim the wise Melchisedek ! — I wonnot. 
Kat. You will not ! 

Bla. No — unless you bear a part. 

Kat. What I can you not alone play such a 

fiuce ? 
Bi.A. Not I — I'm duD Besides, we foresters 
»Hill hunt our game in couples. Look you, Kat- 

leen, 
We danced at Shrovetide —then you were my part- 
ner ; 
We sung at Christmas — you kept time with me ; 
And if we go a mumming in this business, 
By heaven, you must be o <e, or Master Gullcram- 
mer 

Is like to rest unshaven 

Kat. WTiy, you fool, 

W^hat end can this serve ? 

Bla. N'ay, I know not, I, 

But if we keep this wont of being partners, 
Why, use makes perfect — who knows what may 
happen ? 
Kat. Thou art a foolish patch — But sing our 
carol. 
As I liave alter'd it, with some few words 

To suit the characters, and I will bear 

[Gives a paper. 
Bla. Part in the gambol. I'll go study quickly. 
Is there no other ghost, then, haunts the castle. 
But tliis same barber shave-a-penny goblin ? 
I thought they glanced in every beam of moon- 
shine, 
A.S frequent as the bat. 
Kat. I've heard my aunt's high husband tell of 
propliecies. 
And fates impending o'er the house of Devorgoil ; 
Legends first coin'd by ancient superstition. 
And render'd current by credulity 
And pride of Uneage. Five years have T dwelt. 
And ne'er saw any thing more mischievous 
Than what I am myself. 

Bla. And that is quite enough I warrant you. 
Bv.t, stay, wlicre shall I find a dress 
To play this — what d'ye call hira — Owlspiegle ? 
Kat. (takes dressen out oj the cabinet.) Why, 
there are his own clothes, 
Preserved with other trumpery of the sort, 
For we have kept naught but wliat is good for 
naught. 
[She dropx a cap ah she draws out the clothes. 
Blackthorn lifts it, and gives it to her. 
Nay, keep it for thy pains — it is a coxcomb ; 
Bo call'd in^ :ieiit limes, in om-s a fool's cap; 
For you mSt know they kept a Fool at Devor- 
goil 



In former days ; but now are well contented 
To play the fool themselves, to save expenses , 
Yet give it me, I'U find a worthy use for't. 
I'll take this page's dress, to play the page 
Cockledemoy, who waits on ghostly Owlspiegle 
And yet 'tis needless, too, for Gullcrammer 
Will scarce be here to-night. 

Bla. I tell you that he will — I wiU uphold 
His plighted faith and true allegiance 
Unto a sous'd sow's face and sausages. 
And such the dainties that you say he sent you. 
Against all other likings whatsoever, 
Except a certain sneakinsr of affection. 
Which makes some folks I know of play the fool, 
To please some other folks. 

Kat. WeU, I do hope he'U come — there's first a 
chance 
He will be cudgell'd by my noble uncle — 
I cry his mercy — by my good aunt's husband, 
Wlio did vow vengeance, knowing naught of him 
But by report, and by a limping sonnet 
Which he had fashion'd to my cousin's glory. 
And forwarded by blind Tom Long tlie carrier; 
So there's the chance, first of a hearty beating. 
Which failing, we've this after-plot of vengeance. 
Bla. Kind damsel, how considerate and merci- 
ful ! 
But how shall we get off, o\v parts being play'd? 
Kat. For that we are well fitted ; here's a trap 
door 
Sinks with a counterpoise- you shall go that 

way. 
I'll make my exit yonder — 'neatli the window, 
A balcony communicates with the tower 
That overhangs the lake. 

Bla. 'Twere a raie place, this house of Devor- 
goil, 
To play at liide-and-seek in — shall we try. 
One day, my pretty Katleen? 

Kat. Hands off, rude ranger ! I'm no managed 
hawk 
To stoop to lure of yours. — But beai you gal 

lantJy ; 
This Gullcrammer hath vex'd my cousin much, 
I fain would have some vengeance. 

Bl^-v. I'U bear my part with glee ; — ^he epokl 
irreverently 
Of practice at a mark I 

Kat. That cries for vengeance. 

But I must go ; I hear ray aunt's shrill voice I 
My cousin and her father will screimi next. 
Ele. {at a distance.) Kptleen! Katleen! 
Bla. Hark to old Swoctlips ' 

Away with you before the full cry open — 
But stay, wliat have you the*-? ? 

K.\t. {with a bundle she has taken fmm the wara 
robe.) My dress, my paare'« dro«8 — let i' 
alone. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



76a 



Bla Your tiring Toom is not, I hope, far dis- 
tant ; 
Vou're inexperienced in these new habiliments — 
' am most ready to assist your toilet. 
Kai. Out, }ou great ass 1 was ever such a fool ! 

[^Huns off. 

Bla. {sings.) 
Robin Hood was a >jowman good, 

And a bowman good was he. 
And he met with a maiden in merry Sherwood, 

All under the greenwood tree. 

Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood, 

Now give me a kiss, said he. 
For there never came maid into merry Sher- 
wood, 

But she paid the forester's fee. 

I've coursed this twelvemonth this sly puss, young 

Katleen, 
And she has dodged me, tm-n'd beneath my nose, 
And flung me out a score of yards at once ; 
[f this same gear fadge right, I'll cote and mouth 

her. 
And then ! whoop ! dead ! dead ! dead ! — She is 

the metal 

To make a woodsman's wife of! 

\^Pauses a mcyment. 
Well — I can find a hare iipon her form 
With any man in Nithsdale — stalk a deer, 
[lun Revnard to the earth for all his doubles. 
Reclaim a haggard hawk that's wild and wayward, 
Can bait a wild-cat, — sure the devil's in't 
But I can match a woman — I'll to study. 

\Sits down on the couch to examine the paper. 



SCENE II. 

K/ tne changes to the inhabited apartment of the 
Castle, as in the last Scene of the preceding Act. 
A fire is kindled, by which Oswald sits in an 
attitude of deep and melancholy thought, without 
paying attention to what passes around him. 
Eleanor is busy in covering a table ; Floka goes 
jm.f. and re-enters, as if busied in the kitchen. 
There should be some by-play — the women whis- 
pering together, and watching the state of Os- 
wald ; theti, separating, and seeking to avoid his 
observation, when he casually raises his head, and 
drops it aaain. This must be left to taste and 
management. The wonien, in the first part of 
the scene, talk apart, and as if fearful of being 
overheard ; the by-play of stopping occasionally, 
and attending to Oswald's mo\€ments, will give 
Hveliness to the Scene, 



Ele. Is all prepared T 

Flo. Ay ; but I doubt the issu* 

"Will give my sire less pleasure than you hope for 

Ele. Tush, maid — I know thy father's humor 
better. 
He was high-bred in gentle luxuries ; 
Ajid when our griefs began, Tve wept apart, 
Wliile lordly cheer and high-fiU'd cups of wine 
Were blinding him against the woe to come. 
He has turn'd his back upon a piincely banquet : 
We will not spread his board — tlis night at leasx 
Since chance hath better furnish'd — with dry bread, 
And water from the weU. 

Enter Katleen, and hears the last speech. 
Kat. (aside.) Considerate aunt 1 she deems that 
a good supper 
"Were not a thing indifferent even to him 
Who is to hang to-morrow. Since she tliinks so, 
We must take care the venison has due honor — 
So ifiuch I owe the sturdy knave. Lance Blar.k 
thorn. 
Flo. Mother, alas ! when Grief turns reveller, 
Despair is cup-bearer. What shall hap to-morrow t 
Ele. I have learn'd cai-elessness from fruitlesn 
care. 
Too long I've watch'd to-morrow ; let it come 
And cater for itself — Thou hear'st the thunder. 

[Low and distant thunder 
Tliis 18 a gloomy night — witliin, alas ! ' 

[ Looking at her husbana. 
Still gloomier and more threatening — Let us use 
'V\1iatever means we have to drive it o'er. 
And leave to Heaven to-morrow. Trust »r>« 

Flora, 
'Tis the philosophy of desperate want 
To match itself but with the present evil. 
And face one grief at once. 
Away, I wish thine aid and not thy counsel. 

l^As Flora is about to go off, Gullcram- 
mer's voice is heard behind the fiat scene, 
as if from the drawbridge. 
Gul. (behind.) Hillo — hillo — liilloa — hoa — ^hoa I 
[Oswald raises himself and listens ; El- 
eanor goes up the steps, and opens the 
window at the loop-hole; Gullobam 
mer's voice is then heard more di'<tincU^ 
Gul. Kind Lady Devorgoil — sweet .'Cistre^o 
Flora !— 
The night grows fearful, I have lost my w: y. 
And wander'd till the road turn'd round with me. 
And brought me back — For Heaven's sake, ^v« 
me shelter ! 
Kat. {aside.) Now, as I live, the voice of GuU 
crammer ! 
Now shall our gambol be pla/d off with spirit ; 
I'll swear I am the only one to whom 
That screech-owl whoop was e'er acceptabln 



T6fl 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORK&. 



Osw. What bawling knave is this that takes oiir 
dwelling 
For some hedge-inn, the haunt of lated drunkards? 

Ele. What shall I sa^ f — Go, Katleen, speak to 
him. 

Kat. {aside.) The game is in my hands — I will 
say something 
Will fret the Baron's pride — and then he enters. 
\She speaks f) om the window.) Good sir, be patient 1 
We are poor folks — it is but six Scotch miles 
To the next borough town, where your Reverence 
May be accomma^ated to your wants ; 
We are poor folks, an't please your Reverence, 
And keep a narrow houseliqld — there's no track 
To lead your steps astray — — [lady, 

GuL. Nor none to lead them right. — You kill me. 
If you deny me harbor. To budge from hence. 
And in my weary phght, were sudden death. 
Interment, funeral-sermon, tombstone, epitaph. 

Osw. Who's he that is thus clamorous without ? 
(ToEle.) Thou know'st him ? 

Ele. {confused.) I know him ? — no— yes — 'tis a 
worthy clergyman, 
Benighted on his way ; — but think not of him. 

Kat. The morn will rise when that the tempest's 
past, 
And if he miss the marsh, and can avoid 
Tlie crags upon the left, the road is plain. 

Osw. Then tliis is all yoiu- piety ! — to lewv© 
One whom the holy duties of his office 
Have summon'd over moor and wilderness. 
To pray beside some dying wretch's bed. 
Who (erring mortal) still would cleave to life, 
Or wake some stubborn sinner to repentance, — 
To leave him, after offices hke these. 
To choose his way in darkness 'twixt the marsh 
And dizzy precipice ?' 

Ele. What can I do ? 

Osw. Do what thou canst — the wealthiest done 
more — 
And if so much, 'tis well These crumbling walls, 
WTiile yet they bear a roof, shall now, as ever, 
(xive slielter to the wanderer' — Have we food ? 
He shall partake it — Have we none ? the fast 
Shall be accounted with the good man's merits 

And our misfortunes 

[He goes to the loop-hole while he speaks, 
and places himself there in room of his 
Wife, who comes down with reluctance. 

GuL. {w thout.) llillo — hoa — hoa 1 
By my good fsiith, I cannot plod it farther ; 
The attempt were death. 

Osw. {speaks from the windoic.) Patience, my 
friend, I come to lower the drawbridge. 

\^Descends, and exit. 

1 MS. — " And headlong diery precipice.' 

• MS. " tnau p»e, •■ •»«, 



Ele. 0, that the screaming bittern had his coacli 
Where he deserves it,* in the deepest mar%}i ! 

Kat. I would not give this sport for all tJiereut 
Of Devorgoil, when Devorgoil was richest ! 
{To Ele.) But now you chided me, my dearesJ 

aunt. 
For wishing him a horse-pond for his portion f 

Ele. Yes, saucy girl ; but, an it please you, thei) 
He was not fretting me ; if he had sense enougli, 
And skill to bear him as some casual stranger,— 
But he IS dull as earth, and every hint 
Is lost on him, as hail-shot on tlie cormorant. 
Whose hide is proof except to musket-bullets ? 

Flo. {apart.) And yet to such a one would my 
kind mother. 
Whose chiefest fault is loving me too fondly. 
Wed her poor daughter ! 

Enter Gullorammer, his dre«s damaged by the 
storm ; Eleanor runs to meet him, in order to 
explain to him that she wished him to behave as 
a stranger. Gullcrammer, mistaking her ap- 
proach for an invitation to familiarity, advances 
with the air of pedantic conceit belonging to his 
character, when Oswald enters, — Eleanor recov- 
ers herself, and aesmjies an air of distance — 
Gullcrammer is confounded, and does not knou 
what to make of it. 

Osw. The counterpoise has clean given way ; the 
bridge 
Must e'en remain unraised, and leave us open, 
For this night's course at least, to passing visit- 
ants. — 
What have we here ? — is this the reverend man ? 
[He takes up the candle, and surveys 
Gullorammer, who strives to sustain 
the inspection with confidence, while fear 
obviously contends with conceit and de- 
sire to show himself to the best advan- 
tage. 
GuL. Kind sir — or, good my lord — my band is 
ruffled, 
But yet 'twas fresh this morning. This fell showei 
Hatli somewhat smirch'd my cloak, but you may 

note 
It rates five marks per yard ; my doubkt 
Hath fairly 'scaped — 'tis three-piled taffeta. 

[Opens his cloak, and displays his doublet 
Osw. A goodly inventory — Art thou a preacher I 
GuL. Yea — I laud Heaven and good Saint Mmi' 

go for it. 
Osw. 'Tis the time's plague, when those tlul 
should weed, follies 
Out of the common field, have their own roiudp 

Their shelter to the } "^^''^ 

' wanderer. ' » 

» Ma — " Where it ia fittest," fco. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



Te? 



O'errun with foppery — Envoys 't\dxt heaven and 

earth, 
Example should with precept join, to show us 
How we may scorn the world with all its vanities. 
G-L. N'ay, the high heavens forefend that I were 

vain ! 
Wlien our leam'd Principal such sounding laud 
Gave to iirtne Essay on the hidden quaUties 
Of the sulphuric mineral, I disclaim'd 
All self-exaltmeut. And {turning to the women) 

when at the dance, 
The lovely Saccharissa Kirkencroft, 
Daughter to Kirkencroft of Kirkencroft, 
Graced mr with her soft hand, credit me, ladies, 
That still I felt myself a mortal man, 
Though beauty smiled on me. 



Osw. Come, sir, enough of this. 



[heavens, 



Tliat you're our guest to-night, thank the rough 
And all our worser fortunes ; be conformable 
Unto my rules ; these are no Saccharissas 
To gild with compliments. There's in your pro- 
fession, 
A*! the best grain wiU have its piles of chaff, 
A OCT tain whiffler who hath dared to bait 
A noble maiden with love tales and sonnets ; 
Arid if I meet him, his Geneva cap 
May scarce be proof to save his ass's ears. 

Kat. (aside.) Umph — I am strongly tempted ; 
And }et I think I will be generous. 
And give his brains a chance to save his bones. 
Then there's more humor in our goblin plot. 
Than in a simple drubbing. 

Ele. (apart to Flo.) What shall -we do ? If he 
discover him, 
He'U fling him out at window. 

Flo. My father's hint to keep himself unknown 
[s all too broad, I think, to be neglected. 

Ele. But yet the fool, if we produce his bounty, 
May claim the merit of presenting it ; 
And then we're but lost women for accepting 
A. gift our netids made timely. 

ILat, Do not produce them. 

Ron let the fop go supperless to bed, 
And keep his bones whole. 

Osw. {to his Wife.) Hast thou aught 

To place before him ere he seek repose ? 

Ele. Alas ! too well you know our needful fare 
Is ot the narrowest now, and knows no surplus. 

Osw. Shame us not with thy niggard housekeep- 
ing; 
He is a stranger — were it our last crust, 
Anrt. he the veriest coxcomb ere wore taffeta, 
A. pitch he'" Uttle short of — he must share it, 
riiough all should want to-morrow. 

GuL. {partly overhearing what passes between 
thejn) Nay, I am no lover of youi sauced 
Oiiinties : 
Plain food and plenty is my motto still. 



Tour mountain air is bleak, and brings an appetite : 
A soused sow's face, now, to my modest thinking. 
Has ne'er a fellow. What thuik these fair ladies 
Of a sow's face and sausages ? 

[Makes signs to Elkanob 
Flo. Plague on the vulgar hind, and on his cour 
tesies, 
The whole truth wUl come out ! 

Osw. What should they tliink, but that jt'U'n 
like to lack 
Tour favorite dishes, sir, unless perchanc< 
You bring such dainties with you. 

GuL. No, not wUh me ; not, indeed. 
Directly with me ; but — Aha ! fair ladies 1 

[Makes signs again, 
Kat. He'll draw the beating down — Were thai 
the worst. 
Heaven's wUl be done ' [Aside 

Osw. (apart.) Wha( can he mean ? — this is the 
veriest dog-whelp — 
Still he's a stranger, and the latest act 
Of hospitahty in this old mansion 
Shall not be sullied. 

GuL. Troth, sir, I think, under the ladies' favor, 
Without pretending skill in second sight, 

Tliose of my cloth being seldom conjurers 

Osw. I'll take my Bible-oath that thou art none 

[Asidf 
GuL. I do opine, still with the ladies' favor. 
That I could guess the nature of our supper ; 
I do not say in such and such precedence 
The dishes will be placed ; housewives, as you know 
On such forms have their fa^^cies ; but, I say stilL 

That a sow's face and sausages 

Osw. Peace, sir ! 

O'er-driven jests (if this be one) are insolent. 
Flo. {apart, seeing her mother uneasy.) The olil 
saw still holds true — a chiud's benefits. 
Sauced with his lack of feeling, sense, and courtesy, 
Savor like injuries. 

[A horn is winded vnthout ; then a loud 
knocking at the gate. 
Leo. {without.) Ope, for the sake of love and 
charity 1 

[Oswald goes to the loop-hole, 
Gdl. Heaven's mercy 1 should there come osir 
other stranger. 
And he half starved with wandering on the wold^ 
The sow's face boasts no substance, nor the sauaagea 
To stand our reinforced attack ! I judge, too. 
By this starved Baron's language, there's no hop<> 
Of a reserve of victuals. 

Flo. Go to the casement, cousin. 
Kat. Go yoursell, 

And bid the gallant who that bugle winded 
Sleep in the storm-swept waste ; as meet for hun 
As for Lance Blackthorn. — Come, I'll not diatrea* 
you. 



P8 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



m get admittance for this second suitor, 

And we'll play out this gambol at cross purposes. 

But see, your father has prevented me. 

Osw. (seevis to have spoken with those without, 
aiid avsioers.) Well, I will ope the door; 
one guest already, 
Driven by the storm, has claim'd my hospitality, 
iVnd you, if you were fiends, were scarce less wel- 
come 
To this my mouldering roof, than empty ignorance 
And rani conceit — I hasten to admit you. [Exit. 
Elf. {to Flo.) The tempest thickens. By that 
winded bugle, 

[ guess the guest that next will honor us. 

Little deceiver, that didst mock my troubles, 
Tis now thy turn to fear ! 

Flo. Mother, if I knew less or more of this 
Fnthought-of and most perilous visitation, 
I would your wishes were fulfilled on me, 
A^id I were wedded to a thing like yoD 
Gdl. {approaching.) Come, ladies, now you see 
the jest is threadbare, 
S id vou must ow" *^''* -***ne sow's face and sau- 
^geo 

Re-enter Oswald wivn LiEOnard, supporting Baul- 
DiE DuEWAKD. OswALD takes a vieiv of them, as 
■formerly of Gullcrammer, theji speaks. 
Osw. {to Leo.) By thy green cassock, hunting- 
spear and bugle, 
I guess thou art a himtsman ? 
Leo. {bowing with respect.) A ranger of the neigh- 
boring royal forest, 
Under the good Lord Nithsdale ; huntsman, there- 
fore, 
In time of peace, and when the land has war. 
To my best powers a soldier. 
Osw. Welcome, as either. I have loved the 
chase. 
And was a soldier once. — This aged man. 
What may he be ? 
Dvu {recovering his breath.) Is but a beggar, sir, 
an humble mendicant, 
tt'lio feels it passing strange, that from this roof. 
Above all others, he should now crave shelter. 
Osw. Why so ? You're welcome both — only the 
word 
(Varrants more courtesy than our present means 
I'ermit us to bestow. A huntsman and a soldier 
May be a prince's comrade, much more mine ; 
And for a beggar — friend, there little lacks, 
Save that blue gown and badge, and clouted 

pouches. 
To make us comrades too ; then welcome both. 
And t.j a beegar's feast. I fear brown bread, 
A.nd water from the spring, will be the best on't ; 
For we had cast to wend abroad this evening, 
iad left our larder empty. 



GcL. Yet, if some kindly fairy, 

In our behalf, would search its hid recesses, — 
i^Apart.) We'll not go supperless now — we're thre« 

to one. — 
Still do I say, that a soused face and sausages—— 
Osw. {looks sternly at him, then at his wifs) 
There's somethi.ig under this, tr^ that the 
present 
Is not a time to question. (To Ele.) Wife, my mood 
Is at such height of tide, that a turn'd feather 
Would make me frantic now, with mirth or fury I 
Tempt me no more — but if thou hast the things 
This carrion crow so croaks for, bring them forth , 
For, by my father's beard, if I stand caterer, 
'Twill be a fearful banquet ! 

Ele. Your pleasure be obey'd — Come, aid me 
Flora. [Exmnt 

{Jjuring the following speeches the Womev 
place dishes on the table.) 
Osw. {to DuR.) How did you lose your path ? 
Dim. E'en when we thought to find it, a wild 
meteor 
Danced in the moss, and led our feet astray.— 
I give small credence to the tales of old, 
Of Friar's-lantern told, and Will-o'-Wisp, 
Else would I say, that some malicious demon 
Guj Jed us in a round ; for to the moat. 
Which we had pass'd two hours since, were w* 

led, 
AnK there the gleam flicker'd and disapnear'd, 
Even on your drawbridge. I was so worn dow;*, 
So broke with laboring tlirough maraL and moor, 
That, wold I nold I, htre my young conductor 
Would needs implore xor en^.,fai>ce ; else, believe 

me, 
I had not troubled you 
Osw. And why tiot, father? — have you e'ef 
heard aught. 
Or ol my house or me, that wanderers. 
Whom or their loving trade or sudden circumstanct 
Oblige to se4.k a, shelter, should avoid 
Tlie house- of Devorgoil ? 

DuR. Sh', I am English born — 

Nativ e of Cumberland. Enough is said 
Why I should shun those bowers, whose lords wei «| 

hostile 
To English blood, and unto Cumberland 
Most hostile and most fatal. 

Osw. Ay, father. Once my grandsire ploa^h'd, 
and harrow'd. 
And sow'd with salt the streets of your fair towns; 
But what of that ? — you have the 'vantage now. 

DuR. True, Lord of Devorgoil, and well believe I, 
That not in vain we sought these towers to-night. 
So strangely guided, to behold their state. 

Osw. Ay, thou wouldst say, 'twas Sb a Cumbria* 
beggar 
Should sit an equal guest in his proud balls, 



TIIE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



76b 



WTiose fathers beggar'd Cumberland — Graybeard, 

let it be so, 
ril not dieipute it with thee. 

(To Leo., who was speaking to Flora, but 
on being surprised, occupied himself 
with the suit of armor.) 
Wliat makest tb*^ ^here, young man ? 
Leg I marvell'd at this h»* jitrss ; it is larger 
Than arms of modern days. How richly carved 
With gold inlaid on steel — how close the rivets — 
HEow justly fit the joints ! I think the gauntlet 
Would swallow twice my hand. 

[He is about to take down some part of the 
Armor ; Oswald interferes. 
Osw. Do not displace it. 

My grandsire, Erick, doubled hiunan strength, 
And almost human size — and human knowledge, 
And human vice, and human virtue also. 
As storm or sunshine chanced to occupy 
His mental hemisphere. After a fatal deed, 
He hung his armor on the wall, forbidding 
It e'er should be ta'en dowa There is a prophecy, 
Tha/ of itself 'twill fall, upon the night 
When, in the fiftieth year from his decease, 
Devorgoil's feast is full This is the era ; 
But, as too well you see, no meet occasion 
Will do the downfall of the armor justice, 
Or grace it with a feast. There let it bide, 
Trying its strengtii with the old walls it hangs on. 
Which shall fall soonest. 
Dub. {looking at the trophy with a mixture of 
feeling.) Then there stern Erick's harness 
hangs imtouch'd, 
Since his last fatal raid on Cumberland 1 

Osw. Ay, waste and want, and recklessness — a 
comrade 
Still yoked with waste and want — have stripp'd. 

these walls 
Of every other trophy. Antler'd skulls. 
Whose branches vouch'd the tales old vassals told 
Of desperate chases — partisans and spears — 
Knights' barred helms and shields — the shafts and 

bows, 
Axes and breastplates of the hardy yeomanry — 
The banners of the vanquish'd — signs these arms 
Were not assumed in vain, have disappear'd. 
Tes, one by one they all have disappear'd ; 
.\.nd now Lord Erick's harness hangs alone, 
Miflst implements of vulgar husbandry 
And mean economy ; as some old warrior. 
Whom want hath made an inmate of an alms-house, 
Shows, raid the beggar'd spendthrifts, base me- 
chanics. 
And bankrupt pedlars, with whom fate has mix'd 
, him. [house. 

Dub, Or rather like a pirate, whom the prison- 



US. —"Mngied with peacefnl men, broken in fortnnei " 
*7 



Prime leveller next the grave, hath for the first tim» 
Mingled with peaceful captives, low in fortunes,' 
But fair in innocence. 

Osw. (looking at Dub. loith surprise.) Friemi 

thou art bitter ! 
Dub. Plain truth, sir, like the vulgar copp* 
coinage, 
Despised amongst the gentry, still finds value 
And currency with beggars 

Osw. Be it so. 

I will not trench on the immunities 
I soon may claim to share. Thy features, too. 
Though weather-beaten, and thy strain of language 
ReUsh of better days.' Come hither, friend, 

[They speak apart, 
And let me ask thee of thine occupation. 

[Leonard looks round, and, seeing Oswald 
engaged with Durward, and Gullcram- 
MER with Eleanor, approaches towards 
Flora, who must give him a ^ opportunity 
of doing so, with obvious attention on her 
part to give it the air of chance. The by- 
play here will rest with the Lady, wh^ 
must engage the attention of the avdirnof 
by playing off a little female hypocrisy 
and simple coquetry. 

Leo. Flora 

Flo. Ay, gallant huntsman, may she deign to 
question 
Wff]^ Leonard came not at the appointed hour • 
Or why he came at midnight ? 

Leo. Love has no certain loadstar, gentle Flora, 
And oft gives up the helm to wayward pilotage. 
To say the sooth — A beggar forced me hence. 
And WiU-o'-wisp did guide us back again. 

Flo. Ay, ay, your beggar was the faded spectre 
Of Poverty, that sits upon the threshold 
Of these our ruin'd walls. I've been unwise, 
Leonard, to let you speak so oft with me ; 
And you a fool to say what you have said. 
E'en let us here break short ; and, wise at leugth. 
Hold each our separate way through life's wid« 
ocean. 
Leo. Nay, let us rather join our course togetner 
And share the breeze or tempest, doubling joys, 
Rehevmg sorrows, warding evils off 
"With mutual effort, or enduring them 
With mutual patience. 
Flo. This is but flattering counsel — eweel an 
baneful ; 
But mine had wholesome bitter in't. 

Kat. Ay, ay ; but like the sly apothecary, 
You'll be the last to take the bitter drug 
That you prescribe to others. 

[They whisper. Elkanoe advances to ittr 
terrupt them, followed by G'~ lcrammi* 

MS.— " Both smack of better days ' fto 



Ele. Wtat, maid, no household cares ? Leave 
to your elders 
rhe task of filling passing strangers' ears 
With the due notes of welcome. 

GoL. Be it thine, 

Mistress Flora, the more useful talent 

Oi filling strangers' stomachs with substantial s ; 
That is to say — for leara'd commentators 
Do so i^xpound substantials in some places, — 
Witn a sous'd bacon-face and sausages. 
Flo. (apart.) Would thou wert sous'd, intoler- 
able pedant, 
Base, greedy, perverse, interrupting coxcomb ! 

Kat. Hush, coz, for we'll be well avenged on him, 
Ajid ere this night goes o'er, else woman's wit 
Cannot o'ertake her wishes. 

[^Shc proceed/! to arrange seats. Oswald and 
Due WARD come forward in conversation. 
Osw. I like thine humor well. — So all men 

beg 

Dub. Yes — I can make it good by proofl Your 
soldier 
Begs for a leaf of laurel, and a line 
In the Gazette. He brandishes his sword 
To back his suit, and is a sturdy beggar — 
Tlie courtier begs a riband or a star. 
And, like our gentler mumpers, is provided 
With false certificates of health and fortune 
Lost in the public service. For your lover 
Who begs a sigh, a smile, a lock of hair, 
A buskin-point, he maimds upon the pad, 
With the true cant of pure mendicity, 
" The smallest trifle to reUeve a Christian, 

And if it like your Ladyship 1" 

[/n a begging tone. 
Kat. {apart.) This is a cunning knave, and feeds 
the humor 
Of my aunt's husband, for I must not say 
Mme honor'd uncle. I will try a question. — 
Yom- man of merit though, who server the com- 
monwealth. 
Nor asks for a requital ? 

[To DURWAED. 

Due. Is a dumb beggar, 

And lets his actions speak like signs for him, 
(/ballenging double guerdon. — Now, I'll show 
\ low your true beggar has the fair advantage 
( )'er aU the tribes of cloak'd mendicity 

1 lAve told over to you. — Tlie soldier's laurel. 
The statesman's riband, and the lady's favor. 
Once won and gain'd, are not held worth a farthiiig 
By such as longest, loudest, canted for them ; 
Whereas your charitable halfpenny,' 

Which is the scope of a true beggar's suit, 
A worth two farthings, and, in times of plenty, 
Will buy a crust of bread. 

' MS.—' VVTiereas yonr fruulne copper halfpenny." 



Flo. {interrupting him, and addreisi ng her fa 
ther.) Sir, let me be a beggar with the time 
And pray you come to supper. 

Ele. {to Oswald, apart.) Must he sit with us ? 

[Looking at DurwarI) 
Osw. Ay, ay, what else — since we are beggan 
all? 
WTien cloaks are ragged, sure their worth L equal 
WTiether at first they were of silk or woollea 

Ele. Thou art scarce consistent. 
This day thou didst refuse a princely banquet. 
Because a new-made lord was placed above thee 

And now 

Osw. Wife, I have seen, at public executions, 
A wretch, that could not brook the hand of violenct 
Should push him from the scaffold, pluck up cour 

age. 
And, with a desperate sort of cheerfulness, 
Take the fell plimge himself — 
Welcome then, beggars, to a beggar's feast ! 

GuL. {who has in the mean u'hile seated himself.] 
But this is more. — A better countenance, — 
Fair fall the hands that sous'd it ! — than this hog's, 
Or pettier provender than these same sausages, 
(By what good friend sent hither, shall be name- 
less, [fuse.j 
Doubtless some youth whom love hath made pro- 
[Smiling significantly at Eleanor and Flora 
No prince need wish to peck at. Long, I ween. 
Since that the nostrils of tliis house (by metaphor 
I mean the cliimneys) smell'd a steam so grateful— 
By your good leave I cannot dally longer. 

[Helps himself 
Osw. {places Durward above Gullcrammkb. ! 
Meanwhile, sir. 
Please it your faithful learning to give place 
To gray hairs and to wisdom ; and, moreover. 

If you had tarried for the benediction 

Gul. {somewhat abashed.) I said grace to myselT 
Osw. {not minding him.) — And waited for the 
company of others. 
It had been better fasliion. Time has been, 
I should have told a guest at Devorgoil, 
Bearing himself thus forward, he was saucy. 

[He seats himself, and helps the company 
and himself in dumb-show. There shonh, 
be a contrast betwixt the precision of hit 
aristocratic civility, and the rude 'under- 
breeding of Gullchammer. * 

Osw. {having tasted the dish next him,) "Why 

this is venison, Eleanor 1 
Guu Eh 1 What ! Let's see— 

[Pushes across Oswald and helps himself 
J* may be venison— 
Tm sure 'tis not beet veal, mutton, lamb, or pork 
Eke am I sure, that be it what it will, 
It is not half so good as sausages. 
Or as a sow's face sous'd. 



IHE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



tfi 



Oaw. Eleanor, -whence all this ? 

Ele. * Wait till to-morrow, 

You shall know all. It was a happy chance, 
rhat furnish'd us to meet so many guests. 

[Fills wine. 
fry if your cup be not as richly garnish'd 
K& is T ")ur trencher.' 
K AT. {apart.) My aunt adheres to the good cau- 
tious maxim 
•)f — " Eat your pudding, friend, and hold your 
tongue." 
Osw. yiastes the loine.) It is the grape of Bor- 
deaux, 
ouih dainties, once familiar to my board, 
Uaye been estranged from't long. 

[He again fills his glass, and continues to 
speak as he holds it up. 
'ill round, my friends — here is a treacherous friend 

now 
Smiles in your face, yet seeks to steal the jewel. 
Which is distinction between man and brute — 
I mean our reason — this he does, and smiles. 
Bu* are not all friends treacherous ? — one shall 

cross you 
Even in your dearest interests — one shall slander 

you— 
This steal your daughter, that defraud your 

» purse ; 
But tliis gay flask of Bordeaux wDl but borrow 
Your sense of mortal sorrows for a season. 
And leave, instead, a gay delirium. 
Metliinks my brain, unused to such gay visitants. 
The influence feels afready ! — we will revel 1 — 
Our banquet shall be loud 1 — ^it is our last. 
Katleen, thy song. 

Kat. Not now, my lord — I mean to sing to- 
night 
For this same moderate, grave, and reverend cler- 
gyman ; ^ 
ril keep my voice till then. 
Ele. Your round refusal shows but cottage 
breeding. 

; Wooden trench»rs shoald be nsed, and the qaaigh, a Scot- 
liah drinking-cup. 

" Diindee, enragev. at his enemies, and still more at his 
»A«-vJe, resolved to retire to the Highlands, and to make prepa- 
*ti.ti for civil war, bat with secrecy ; for he had been order- 
xi by James to make no pablic insurrection until Eissistance 
should be sent him from Ireland. 

" Whil* Dundee was in this temper, information was 
Drought him, whether trne or fafse is uncertain, that some of 
Jhe (Covenanters had associated themselves to assassinate him, 
•n revenge for his former severities against their party. He 
flew to the Convention and demanded justice. The Duke of 
Hamilton, who wished to get rid of a troublesome adversary, 
treated his complaint with neglect ; and in order to sting him 
in the tenderest pait, refleclefl upon that courage which could 
be alaimed by imaginary dangers. Dundee left the house in 
i rage, mounted his horse, and with a troop of fifty horsemen 
fho had }«aerted to him from his regiment in England, gal- 



Kat. Ay, my good aunt, for I was cottage nm 
tured. 
And taught, I think, to prize my own wild will 
Above all sacrifice to compliment. 
Here is a huntsman — in his eyes I read it. 
He sings the martial song my uncle loves, 
What time fierce Claver'se with his Oavahera, 
Abjuring the new change of government, 
Forcing his fearless way through timorous frieJid/^ 
And enemies as timorous, left the capital 
To rouse in James's cause the distant Highlaads 
Have you ne'er heard the song, my noble uncle ? 

Osw. Have I not heard, wench ? — It was I rod* 
next him, 
'Tis thirty summers since — rode by his rein •, 
We marched on through the alarm'd city. 
As sweeps the osprey through a flock of gulls, 
Who scream and flutter, but dare no resistance 
Against the bold sea-empress — They did murmur 
The crowds before us, in their sullen wrath. 
And those whom we had pass'd, gatheruig fresl 

courage. 
Cried havoc in the rear — we minded them 
E'en as the brave bark minds the bursting bil 

lows. 
Which, yielding to her bows, burst on her sides. 
And ripple in her wake. — Sing me that strain, 

[To Leonard 
And thou shalt have a meed I seldom tender. 
Because they're all I have to give — my thanks. 

Leo. Nay, if you'll bear with what I cannot 
help, 
A voice that's rough with hollowing to the hoimds 
I'll sing the song even as old Rowland taught me. 



SONG.* 
Air — " The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee." 

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who 

spoke, 
" Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crown* 

to be broke ; 



loped through the city. Being asked by one of his nends, whq 
stopped him, ' Where he was going?' he waved his hat, and ii 
reported to have answered. ' Wherever the spini of MoruroM 
shall direct me.' In passing under the walls of the Castle, hi 
stopped, scrambled up the precipice at a place difficult and dan- 
gerous, and held a conference with the Duke of Gordon at ? 
postern-gate, the marks of which are still to be seen, thougl 
the gate ;tself is built up. Hoping, in vain, to infuse the vigr 
of his own spirit into the Duke, he pressed him to retire witi 
him into the Highlands, raise his vassals there, who were nn 
merous, brave, and faithful, and leave the command of th« 
Castle to Winram, the lieutenant-governor, an officer on whore 
Dundee could rely. The Duke concealed his tiniiditj' nndet 
the excuse of a soldier. ' A soldier,' said he, ' cannot in hon- 
or quit the post that is assigned him.' The novelty of the ai^iii 
drew numbers to the foot of the rock upon which the confer 
ecje was held. These numbers every minute increased, ana 
ii the end, were mistaken for Dundee's adherents. The Cob 



772 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me 
vome follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

" Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Ccme saddle your horses, and call up your men ; 
]onie open the West Port, and let me gang free, 
i^d it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dun- 
dee !" 

Onadee he is mounted, he rides up the street, 

rhe bells are rung backward, the drums they are 
beat ; 

But the Provost, douce man, said, " Just e'en let 
him be, 

rhe Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dun- 
dee." 
Come fill up my cup, ifec. 

A.9 he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, 
flk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
But the young plants of grace they look'd couthie 

and slee, 
Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! 
Come fill up my cup, (fee. 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was 

cramm'd 
As if half tlie West had set tryst to be hang'd :' 
There was spite in each look, there was fear in 

each e'e. 
As they watch'd for the bormets of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, (fee. 

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, 

And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers ; 

But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway 

was free, 
At the loss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

He spurr'd to the foot of the proud Castle rock, 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; 

vention was then sitting: news were camed"thitherthat Dun- 
)ee was at the gates with an army, and had prevailed upon 
lie governor of the Castle to fire npon the town. The Duke 
if Hauiil'.on. whose intelligence was better, had the presence of 
mind, by improving the moment of agitation, to overwhelm 
ihe one party and provoke the other, by. their fears. He or- 
itired the doors of the house to be shut, and the keys to be 
laid on the table before him He cried out, ' That there was 
liimger witb'n as well as witnout doors ; that traitors must be 
l-flc' JO confinement until the present danger was over: but 
ih&i the friends of liberty had nothing to fear, for that thou- 
lands were ready to start up in their defence, at the stamp of 
ais foot.' He ordered the drums to be beat and the trumpets 
o sound Lhiongh the city. In an instant vast swarms of those 
•7ho bad been brought into town by him and Sir John Dal- 
Tmple from the western counties, and who had been hitherto 
•id m garrets and cellars, showed themselves in the streets ; not, 
"ue^. ii the proper habiliments of war, but in arms, and with 



"Let Mons Meg and her marrows Bp>8ak cw« 

words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes— 
" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose 1 
Your Grace in short space shall hear tilioga ij 

me. 
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dimdee. 
Come fill up my cup, <fec. 

" There are hiUs beyond Pentland, and lands be- 
yond Forth, 

If there's lords in the lowlands, there's chiefs in 
the North ; 

There are wild Dimiewassals three thousand time« 
three. 

Will cry hoiph ! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, <fec. 

"There's brass on the target of barken'd bull- 
hide ; 

There's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side; 

The brass shall be bumish'd, the steel shall flash 
free. 

At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fiU up my cup, <fec. 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks- 
Ere I own an usurper, I'U couch with the fox ; 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of yoni 

glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 

me!" 
Come fill up my cup, <fec. 

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets wer« 

blown, 
The kettle-drums clash'd, and the hoi-semen rode 

on, 

looks fierce and sullen, as if they felt disdain at their formei 
concealment. This unexpected sight increased the noise and 
tumult of the town, which grew loudest in the square adjoin- 
ing to the house where the members were confined, and ap- 
peared still louder to those who were within, because they 
were ignorant of the cause from which the tumult arose, and 
caught contagion from the anxious looks of each other. Aftei 
some hours, the doors were thrown open, and the Whig meiif 
hers, as they went out, were received with acclamations, and 
those of the opposite party with the threats and curses of • 
prepared populace. Terrified by the prospect of future alanoR, 
many of the adherents of James quitted the Convention, and 
retired to the country ; most of them changed sides ; only a 
very few of the most resolute continued their attendance." — 
Dalrymplb's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 305. 

1 Previous to 1784, the Grassmarket was the common piao* 
of execution at Edinburifh. 



Tm on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee, 
Died away tLs wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can. 
Come saddle the horses, and caU up the men ; 
Come open your gates, and let me gae firee, 
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! 

Ele. Katleen, do thou sing now. Thy uncle's 
cheerful ; 
We must not let his humor ebb again. 

Kat. But I'U do better, aunt, than if I sung. 
For Flora can sing blithe ; so can this huntsman, 
As he has shown e'en now ; let them duet it. 

Osw. Well, huntsman, we must give to freakish 
maiden 
rhe freedom of her fancy. — Raise the carol. 
And Flora, if she can, wiU join the measure. 

SONG. 

When friends are met o'er merry cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughing near, 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day are drown'd ; 
When puns are made, and bumpers quaff'd, 
And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft. 
And Mirth his jovial laugh has laugh' d, 

Then is our banquet crown'd, 
Ah gay. 

Then is our banquet crown'd. 

When glees are e'ong, and catches troll'd, 
And bashfulness grows bright and bold, 
And beauty is no longer cold. 

And age no longer dull ; 
When chimes are brief, and cocks do crow. 
To teU us it is time to go, 
Yet how to part we do no' know, 

Then is our feast at full. 
Ah gay, 

Then is our feast at full. 

Osw. (rises with the citp in his hand.) Devorgoil's 
feast is full — 
Drink to the pledge 1 

[-4 tremendous burst of thunder follows 
these words of the Song ; and the Light- 
ning should seem to strike the suit of black 
Armor, which falls with a crash? All 
rise in surprise and fear except Gullceam- 
MER, who tumbles over backwards and lies 
still. [roof 

Osw. That soimded like the judgment-peal — the 
Btill trembles with the volley. 



1 I Bhoald 'Jiink this may be contrived, by having a transpa- 
«Bri iijj'-7.ag n the flat-scene, immediately above the armor, 
«<iJ8iL' ar.« fry strongly illuminated. 



DuR. Happy those 

Who are prepared to meet sucfi fearful eum 

mons. — 
Leonard, what dost thou there ? 

Leo. {supporting Flo.) The duty of a man- 
Supporting innocence. Were it the final call, 
I were not misemploy'd. 

Osw. The armor of my grandsire haib '"all* 
down, 
And old saws have spoke truth. — {Musing.) Th« 

fiftieth year — 
Devorgoil's feast at fullest ! What to think of it — 
Lj£0. {lifting a scroll which had fallen n<ith th- 
armor.) This maj luiorm us. 
[Attempts to read the manuscript, shakt% 
his head, and gives it to Oswald. 
But not to eyes tmlearn'd it tells its tidings. 
Osw. Hawks, hounds, and revelling consmneJ 
the hours 
I should have given to study. 

[Looks at the manuscript. 
These characters I spell not more than thou. 
They are not of our day, and, as I think. 
Not of our language. — Where's our scholar now 
So forward at the banquet ? Is he laggard 
Upon a point of learning ? 

Leo. Here is the man of letter'd digr \ij, 
E'en in a piteous case. 

[Drags Gullorammer forwara. 
Osw. Art wakingj craven ? canst thou read thi» 
scroll ? 
Or art thou only learn'd in sousing swine's flesh. 
And prompt in eating it ? 

GuL. Eh — ah ! — oh — ho ! — Have you no bettei 
time 
To tax a man with riddles, than the moment 
When he scarce knows whether he's dead or liv- 
ing? 
Osw. Confound the pedaat ! — Can vou read tb* 
scroll. 
Or can you not, sir ? If you ^an, pronoimce 
Its meaning speedily. 

GuL. Can I read it, quotha 1 

When at om- learned University, 
I gain'd first premium for Hebrew beaming, — 
Which was a poimd of high-dried Scottish snufl^ 
And half a peck of onions, with a tn>;hel 
Of curious oatmeal, — our learn'd Principal 
Did say, " Melcliisedek, thou canst do any tliing V' 
Now comes he with his paltry scroU of parchment 
And, " Can you read it ?" — After such alfront, 
The point is, if I will. 

Osw. A point soon solved, 

Unless you choose to sleep among the frogs ; 
For look you, sir, there is the chamber winaow. 
Beneath it lies the lake. 

Ele. Kind master Gullcrammer, bfware Ml 
husband. 



?'/4 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



lie brooks no contradiction — 'tis his fault, 
Aad in liis wrath he's dangerous. 

GuL. {looks at the scroll, andmutters as if reading.) 
Uashgaboth hotch-potch — 
A suuple matter this to make a rout of — 
Ten rasher sen bacon, mish^mash venison, 
Sausaglan soused-face — 'Tis a simple catalogue 
Of our small supper — made by the grave sage 
W'liose prescience knew this night that we should 

feast 
On venison, hash'd sow's face, and sausages, 
And hung his steel-coat for a supper-bell — 
E'Ai let us to our provender again. 
For it is written we shall finish it, 
And bless our stars the Ughtning left it us. 

C/8W. Tliis must be impudence or ignorance ! — 
The spirit of rough Erick stirs within me. 
And I will knock thy brains out if thou palterest ! 
Expound the scroll to me ! 

GuL. You're over hasty ; 

And yet you may be right too — 'Tis Samaritan, 
Now I look closer on't, and I did take it 
For smiple Hebrew. 

Due. 'Tis Hebrew to a simpleton, 
That we see plainly, friend — Give me the scroll. 
GuL. Alas, good friend 1 what would you do 

with it ? 
Due. (takes it from him.) My best to read it, sir 
— The character is Saxon, 
Used at no distant date within this district ; 
And thus the tenor runs — nor in Samaritan, 
Nor simple Hebrew, but in wholesome EngUsh : — 
Devorgoil, thy bright moon waneth, 
And the rust thy harness staineth ; 
Servile guests the banquet soil 
Of the orico proud Devorgoil. 
But should Black Erick's armor fall, 
Look for guests shall scare you all ! 
Tl^ey shall come ere peep of day, — 
Wake and watch, and hope and pray. 
Kat. {to Flo.) Here is fine foolery — an old wall 
shakes 
At a loud thunder-clap — down comes a suit 
Of ancient armor, when its wasted braces 
Were all too rotten to sustain its weight — 
A beggar cries out. Miracle ! and your father, 
Weighing the importance of his name and lineage, 
Must needs beUeve the dotard !' 

^LO. Mock not, I pray you ; this may be too 

serious 
Kat, And if I live till morning, I will have 
Fne po .ver to tell a better tale of wonder 
W rought on w se Gullcrammer. I'll go prepare me. 

[JSxiu 
Fux I have not Katleen's spirit, yet I hate 

' MS. — " A begging knave cries out, a Miracle ! 

And yonrgood sire, doting on the importance 



This Gullcrammer too heartily, to stop 
Any disgrace that's hasting towards him, 

Osw. {to whom the beggar has been again reod 
iiig the scroll.) 
'Tis a strange prophecy! — I'he silter moon, 
Now waning sorely, is oiu- ancient bearing— 
Strange and unfitting guests — 

GuL. {iiderrupting him.) Ay, ay, the matttsi 
Is, as you say, all moonshine in the water. 
Osw. How mean you, sir ? [^threatening.) 
GuL. To show that I can rhym< 

With yonder bluegown. Give me breath and tim^ 
I will maintain, in spite of his pretence. 
Mine exposition had the better sense — 
It spoke good victuals and increase of cheer ; 
And his, more guests to eat what we have here—* 
An increment right needless. 

Osw. Get thee gone ; 

To kennel, hound ! 

GuL. The hound will have his bone. 

[^Takes up the platter of meat, and a fash 
Osw. Flora, show him his chamber — take him 
hence. 
Or, by the name I bear, I'U see his brains. 

GuL. Ladies, good night ! — I spare you, sir, the 
pains. 

[Exit, lighted by Ft iea with a lamp 
Osw. The owl is fled. — I'll not to bed to-night ; 
There is some change impending o'er this hous6, 
For good or ill. I would some holy man 
Were here, to counsel us what we should do ! 
Yon witless thin-faced gull is but a cassock 
Stuff 'd out with chaff and straw. 

Due. {assuming an air of dignity.) I have beec 
wont. 
In other days, to point to erring mortals 
The rock which they should anchor on. 

\^He holds %ip a Cross — the rest take a pop 
ture of devotion, and the Scene cloMt. 



ACT III— scei:f J 

A ruinous Anteroom in fh^ ^a^ lO tCnter Kat 
i,EEy, fantastically dress' d '.o pL'.y th>i f^haraoter 
of Cockledemoy, with the o'jOf 0. her hand. 

Kat. I've scarce had t'^ « to glance at my sweel 
person. 
Yet this much could I nee, with half a glance, 
My elfish dress becomes me — I'll not mask me 
Till I have seen Lance Blackthorn. Lance I I say — 

[CalU 
Blackthorn, make haste I 



Of his high birth and house, mast needs boliev* 
him.'» 



THE DOOM OF DE70RG0IL. 



77e 



Enier Blackthoun, half dressed as Owlspiegle. 

Bla. Here am I — Blackthorn in the upper half, 
Much at your service ; but my nether parts 
kie gobliiiized and Owlapiegled. I had much ado 
To get these trankums on. I judge Lord Erick 
Kept ao good houae, and starred his quondam bar- 
ber, [coming ; 

Kat Peace, ass, and hide you — Gullcrammer is 
He left the hall before, but then took fright, 
ind e'eu sueak'd back. The Lady Flora lights 

him — 
Trim occupation for her ladyship 1 
Had you seen Leonard, when she left the hall 
On such fine errand 1 

Bla. This Gullcrammer shall have a bob extra- 
ordinary 
For my good comrade's sake. — But tell me, Kat- 

leen, 
What dress is this of yours ? 

Kat. a page's, fool ! 

Bla. I'm accounted no great scholar, 

mit 'tis a page that I would fain peruse 
A httle closer. [^Approaches her. 

Kat. Put on your spectacles. 

And try if you can read it at this distance. 
For you shall come no nearer. 

Bla. But is there nothing, then, save rank im- 
posture, 
[n all these tales of gobhnry at Devorgoil ? 

Kat. My aunt's grave lord thinks otherwise, sup- 
posing 
rhat his great name so interests the Heavens, 
That miracles must needs bespeak its fall — 
I would that I were in a lowly cottage 
Beneath the greenwood, on its walls no armor 
To court the levin-bolt 

Bla. And a kind husband, Katleen, 

To ward such dangers as must needs come nigh. — 
My father's cottage stands so low and lone, 
That yDU would think it solitude itself; 
ITie greenwood shields it from the northern blast. 
And, in the woodbine round its latticed casement, 
The linnet's sure to build the earUest nest 
In all the forest. 

Kjj. Peace, you fool, they come. 

Fi-.ORA lights Gullceammee across the Stage. 

Kat. [when they have passed.) Away with youl 
0»i with your cloak — be ready at the signal. 

Bla. And shall we talk of that same cottage, 
Katl 'Jen, 
^t better leisure ? I have much to say 
In favor of my cottage. 

Kat. If you will be talking, 

Tou know I can't prevent you. 

Bla. That's enough. 

lAside.) I shall have leave, I see, to speU the page 
V little closer, when the due timf comes. 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes to Gdllcrammer's Sleeping Apart 
ment. He enters, ushered in by Floea, who siU 
on the table a flask, with the lamp. 

Flo. a flask, in case your Reverence be athirsty 
A light, in case your Reverence be afear'd ; — 
And so sweet slumber to your Reverence. 

GuL. Kind Mistress Flora, will you * — eh 1 eh 
eh! 

Flo. Will I what ? 

GuL. Tarry a little ? 

Flo. {smiling.) Kind Master Gullcrammer, 
How can you aak me aught so unbecoming ? 

GuL. Oh, fie, fie, fie ! — Believe me, Mistrea* 
Flora, 
'Tis not for that — but being guided through 
Such dreary galleries, stairs, and suites of roomt 
To this same cubicle, I'm somewhat loth 
To bid adieu to pleasant company. 

Flo. a flattering compliment ! — In plain truth 
you are frighten'd. 

Gdl. What! frighten'd? — I — I — am not tim 
orous. 

Flo. Perhaps you've heard this is our haunted 
chamber ? 
But then it is our best — Your Reverence knows, 
That in all tales which turn upon a ghost, 
Tour traveller belated has the luck 
To enjoy the haunted room — it is a rule : — 
To some it were a hardship, but to you, 
Who are a scholar, and not timorous 

GuL. I did not say I was not timorous, 
I said I was not temerarious. — 
m to the hall again. 

Flo. You'll do yom- pleasm-e. 

But you have somehow moved my father's ango». 
And you had better meet our playful Owlspie 

gle— 
So is oiu- gobUn caU'd — than face Lord Oswald. 

GuL. Owlspiegle ? — 
It is an uncouth and outlandish name, 
And in mine ear sounds fiendish. 

Flo. Hush, hush, hush 1 
Perhaps he hears us now — {in an under tone}— A 

merry spirit ; 
None of your elves that pinch folks black and blue* 
For lack of cleanliness. 

GuL. As for tbnt, Mistress Flora, 
My taffeta doublet hath been duly brush'd. 
My shirt hebdomadal put on this morning. 

Flo. Why, you need fear no goblins. But thk 
Owlspiegle 
Is of another class ; — yet has his frolic*" , 
Cuts hair, trims beards, and plays amid his anticr 
The oflice of a sinful mortal barber 
Such is at least the rumor 



GuL. He will not cut my clothes, or scar my face, 
Or draw my blood 

Flo. Enormities like these 

Were never charged against him. 
GuL. And, Mistress Flora, would you swle on 

me, 
It i^iick'd by the fond hope of your approval, 
I should endure this venture ? 

Flo. I do hope 

I shall have cause to smile. 

GuL. Well ! in that hope 

I will embrace the achievement for thy sake. 

[She is going. 
Yet, stay, stay, stay 1 — on second thoughts I will 

not — 
I've thought on it, and will the mortal cudgel 
Rather endui e than face the ghostly razor 1 
Your crab-tree's tough but blunt, — ^your razor's 

polish'd, 
But, as the proverb goes, 'tis cruel sharp. 
m to thy father, and unto his pleasure 
Submit these destined shoulders. 

Flo. But you shall not, 

BeUeve me, sir, you shall not ; he is desperate. 
And better far be trimm'd by ghost or goblin. 
Than by my sire in anger ; there are stores 
Of hidden treasur" too, and Heaven knows what, 
Buried among these ruins — you shall stay. 
Apart.) And if indeed there be such sprite as 

Owlspiegle, 
And lacking him, that thy fear plague thee not 
Worse than a goblin, I have miss'd my purpose. 
Which else stands good in either case. — Good- 
night, sir. [Exit, and double-locks the door. 
Qtjl. Nay, hold ye, hold ! — Nay, gentle Mistress 

Flora, 
Wlierefore this ceremony ? — She has lock'd me in, 
And left me to the goblin ! — {Listening.) — So, 

so, sol 
I hear her Ught foot trip to such a distance. 
That I believe the castle's breadth divides me 
From human company. I'm ill at ease — 
But if this citadel (laying his hand on his stomach) 

were better victual' d. 
It vould be better mann'd. [Sits dovm and drinks. 
Wie h»A a footstep hght, and taper ankle. 

[ Chuckles. 
Aha 1 that ankle I yet, confound it too. 
But for those charms Melchisedek had been 
inug in his bed at Mucklewhaine — I say, 
Confound her footstep, and her instep too, 
To use a cobbler's phrase. — There I was quamt. 
Now, what to do in this vUe circumstance. 
To watch or go to bed, I can't determine ; 
Were I a-bed, the ghost might catch me napping, 
And if I watch, my terrors will increase 
As ghostly hours approach. I'll to my bed 
E'en iu my taffeta doublet, shrink my head 



Beneath the clothes — leave the lamp burning thetft 

[Sets it on the tabU 
And trust to fate the issue. 

[He lays aside his cloak, and hntshes %^ 
as from, habit, starting at every motnent ; 
ties a napkin over his head : then 
shrinks beneath the bed-clotn^s. Iii 
starts once or twice, and at length seem* 
to go to sleep. A bell tolls onk. Hr 
leaps up in his bed. 
GoL. I had just coax'd myself to sweet forget- 
fulness. 
And that confoimded bell — I hate all bells, 
Except a dinner bell — and yet I lie, too, — 
I love the bell that soon shall teU the parish 
Of Gabblegoose. Melchisedek's incumbent — 
And shall the futm'e minister of Gabblegoose, 
WTiom his parishioners will soon require 
To exorcise their ghosts, detect their witches, 
Lie shivering in his bed for a pert goblin, 
Whom, be he switch'd or cocktaild, horn'd oi 

poU'd, 
A few tight Hebrew words wUl soon send packing; 
Tush ! I will rouse the parson up within me. 

And bid defiance (A distant noise.) In ihe 

name of Heaven, 
WTiat sounds are these ! — Lord 1 this come" oj 
rashness ! 
[Draws his head down under the bed-ciothcs 

Duet without, between Owlspiegle and Ck/<^£XTCD~ 

MOY. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My boy, my boy 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Here, father, here. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Now the pole-star's red and burning. 
And the witch's spindle turning. 
Appear, appear ! 

GuL. (who has again raised himself, and lisi«n» 
with great terror to the Duet.) I have heap- 
of the devil's dam before. 
But never of his child. Now, HeaA on deliver me 
The Papists have the better of us there, — 
Tliey have their Latin prayers, cut aiid uricd, 
And pat for such occasion. I caiu uuk 
On naught but the vernacular. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy I 
My boy, my boy, 

We'll <sport us here— 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 7*h 


COCKLKDEMOY. 


BOTH. 


Our gambols play, 


About, about. 


Like elve and fay ; 


Like an elvish ecout, 




The cuckoo's a gull, and we'll soon find him out 


OWLSPIEGLE. 




And domineer, 


{They search the room with mops aru. 




mows. At length Cockledemoy Jtw»;/( 


BOTH. 


on the bed. Gullcrammer raises him 


Laugh, frolic, and frisk, till the morning appear. 


self half up, supporting himself by nu 




hands. Cockledemoy does the same. 


COCKLEDEMOT. 


grins at him, then skips from the iyi^ 


Lift latch — open clasp- 


and runs to Owlspiegle. 


Shoot bolt — and burst hasp ! 




[The door opens with violence. Enter 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


Blackthorn as Owlspiegle, fantasti- 


I've found the nest. 


tally dressed as a Spanish Barber, tall, 


And in it a guest. 


thin, emaciated, and ghostly ; Katlken, 


With a sable cloak and a taffeta vest ; 


as CocKLEDEMOT, attends as his Page. 


He must be wash'd, and trimm'd, and dress'd. 


All their manners, tones, and motions, 


To please the eyes he loves the best. 


are fantastic, as those of Goblins. They 




make two or three times the circuit of 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


the Room, without seeming to see Gull- 


That's best, that's best. 


CRAMMEK. They then resume their 




Chant, or Recitative. 


BOTH. 




He must be shaved, and trimm'd, and dress'd. 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


To please the eyes he loves the best. 


Cockledemoy 1 


[They arrange shaving things on tfi£ to 


My boy, my boy, 


ble, and sing as they prepare them. 


What wilt thou do that will give thee joy f 




Wilt thou ride on the midnight owl ? 


BOTH. 




Know that all of the humbug, the bite, and th« 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


buz. 


No ; for the weather is stormy and fouL 


Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to us 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


Owlspiegle {sharpening his razor.) 


Cockledemoy I 


The sword this is made of was lost in a fray 


My boy, my boy, 


By a fop, who first bullied and then ran away ; 


IThat wUt thou do that can give thee joy ? 


And the strap, from the hide {/ a lame racer 


^ith a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat. 


sold 


Wilt thou fight a traverse with the castle cat ? 


By Lord Match, to his friend, for some hundred* 




in gold. 


COCKLEDEMOY. 




Oh, no 1 she has claws, and I like not that. 


BOTH, 




For aU of the humbug, the bite, an4 the buz. 


GuL. I see the devil is a doting father. 


Cf the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to v.f 


And spoils his children — 'tis the surest way 




To make cursed imps of them. They see me i»t — 


Cockledemoy (placing the rMpkin.) 


What will they think on next ? It must be own'd. 


knd this cambric napkin, so white and *o fair, 


rhey have a dainty choice of occupations. 


At an usurer's funeral I stole from the heir 




[Drops something from a vial, as J0t,n^ 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


to make suds. 


Cockledemoy 1 


This dew-drop I caught from one eye of his mothei 


My boy, my boy. 


Which wept while she ogled the parson witk 


What shall we do that can give thee joyi 


t'other. 


Shall we go seek for a cuckoo's nest 1 


BOTH. 


COCKLEDEMOY. 


Far all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, 


Tliat'sbert, that's best 1 
OB 


Of the make-believe world* becomes forfeit to lu 



77fl SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 


owLRPiEGLE (arranging the lather and the basin.) 


COCKLKDEMOT (sings as before) 


ily eoap-ball is of the mild alkali made, 


Hair-breadth 'scapes, and hair-breadth arjHrea, 


Which the soft dedicator employs in bia trade ; 


Hair-brain'd foUies, ventures, cares, 


A.ad 't froths with the pith of a promise, that's 


Part when father clips your hairs. 


sworn 


If there is a hero frantic, 


By a lover at night, and forgot on the mora 


Or a lover too romantic ; — 




If threescore seeks second spouse, 


BOTH. 


Or fourteen lists lover's vows. 


For &J. of the hmnbug, the ])ite, and the buz, 


Brmg them here — for a Scotch boddle, 


Of the make-believe world, becomes forfeit to us. 


Owlspiegle shall trim their noddle. 


Halloo, halloo. 


[They take the napkin from about Gui.« 


The blackcock crew. 


lceammee's neck. He makes bows of 


rL»-ice shriek'd hath the owl, thrice croak'd hath 


acknowledgment, which they rettmi fan- 


the raven. 


tastically, and sing — 


Elere, ho ! Master Gullcramraer, rise and be shaven ! 


Thrice crow'd hath the blackcock, thrice croak'd 




hath the raven. 


Da capo. 


And Master Melchisedek Gullcrammer's shaven 1 




GuL. My friends, you are too musical for me ; 


GuL. (who has been observing them.) I'll pluck a 


But though I cannot cope with you in song, 


spirit up ; they're merry goblins, 


I would, in humble prose, inquire of you, 


A.nd will deal mildly ; I will soothe their humor ; 


If that you will permit me to acquit 


Besides, my beard lacks trimming. 


Even with the barber's pence the barber's 8€^ 


[He rises from his bed, and advances with 


vice ? 


great symptoms of trepidation, but af- 


[They shake their headt. 


fecting an air of composure. Th« Gob- 


Or if there is aught else that I can do foi 


lins receive him with fantastic ceremony. 


you. 


Gentlemen, 'tis your will I should be trimm'd — 


Sweet Master Owlspiegle, or your loving child, 


E'en do your pleasure. 


The hopeful Cockle'moy ? 


{They poitit to a seat — he sits.) 




Think, howsoe'er, 


COCKLEDEMOT. 


Of me as one who hates to see his blood ; 


Sir, you have been trimm'd of late, 


riierefore I do beseech you, signior. 


Smooth's your cliin, and bald your pate ; 


Be geiitle in your craft. I know those bai-bers. 


Lest cold rheums should work you harm. 


One would have harrows driven across his visnomy, 


Here's a cap to keep you warm. 


Rather than they shovdd touch it with a razor. 




*f 


GuL. Welcome, as Fortimatus' wishing cap. 


OWLSPIEGLE shaves GULLOEAMMEE, wMle COCKLEDE- 


For't was a cap that I was wishing for. 


MOY sings. 


(There I was quaint in spite of mortal terror.) 


Father never started hair. 


[As he puts on the cap, a pair f ass's ear* 


Shaved too close, or left too bare — 


disengage themselves. 


Father's razor slips as glib 


Upon my faith, it is a dainty head-dress. 


As from courtly tongue a fib. 


And might become an alderman I- -Thanss, sweet 


Wliiskers, mustache, he can trim in 


Monsieiu", 


Fashion meet to please the women ; 


Thou'rt a considerate youtL 


Sharp's his blade, perfumed his lather 1 


[Both Goblins bow with ottemony to Gull- 


Happy those are trimm'd by father 1 


CRAMMER, who retums their salutation 




Owlspiegle descends by the trap-door 


Gl'L. That's a good boy. I love to hear a child 


CocKLEDEMOY Springs out a' a vnno'Wt 


•Stand for his father, if he were the devU. 


• 


[He motions to rise. 


SONG {without.) 


fJr&rrg your pardon, sir — Wliat 1 sit again ? 


OWLSPIEGLE. 


My hair lacks not your scissors. 


Cockledemoy, my hope, my care, 


[OwLSPiEGLK insists on his sitting. 


Where art thou now, tell me where f 


Nay, if you're peremptory, I'll ne'er dispute it, 




Nor eat the cow and choke upon the tail — 


COCKLEDEMOT, 


ETen trim me to your fashion. 


Up in the sky, 


[OwLRPiKGLE cuts Ms hoif and thavet hit 


On the bonny dragonfly, 


head, ridiculously. 


Come, father, come you too— 



THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 



779 



She has four Trir.gs and strength enow, 
And her long body has room for two. 

GuL. Cockledemoy now is a naughty brat — 
?Vould have the poor old stiff-rump'd devil, his 

father, 
Peril his fiendish necL All boys are thoughtless. 

SONG, 
OWL8PIEGLK 

Wbf ch way didst thou take ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

I have fall'n in the lake — 

Help, father, for Beelzebub's sake. 

Gdi. The imp is drown'd — a strange deat) !f*t 
a devil, — 
0, may aU boys take warning, and be civil ; 
Respect their loving sires, endure a chiding, 
Nor roam by night on di-agonflies a-riding 1 

COCKLEDEMOY (sings.) 
Now merrily, merrily, row I to shore, 
Mj bark is a bean-shell, a straw for an oar 

OWLSPIEGLE (sings.) 
My hfe, my joy. 
My Cockledemoy 1 

HuL. I can bear this no longer — thus children 
are spoil'd. 

[Strikes into the tune. 
Master Owlspiegle, hoy ! 

He deserves to be whipp'd little Cockledemoy ! 
[Their voices are heard, as if dying away. 
3uL. They're gone ! — ^Now, am I scared, or am 
I not? 
I think the very desperate ecstasy 
Of fear has given me courage.' This is strange, 

now, 
When they were here, I was not half so frighten'd 
As now they're gone — ^they were a sort of com- 
pany. 
What a strange thin^ is use ! — A horn, a claw, 
The ti] of a fieni'* 'ail, was wont to scare me. 
Now am I with the devil hand and glove ; 
His soap has lather'd, and his razor shaved me ; 
Fve joined him in a catch, kept time and tune, 
Ooxild dine with him, nor ask for a long spoon ; 
A.nd if I keep not better company, 
WTiat will become of me when I shall die ? 

* [Hxit. 

I " Cowards, npon necessity, assume 

A fearfal bravery ; thinking by this face 

To fasten in men's minds that they have courage." 

Shaksfbarb. 



SCENE IIL 

A Gothic Hall, .caste and ruinous. Tke mootiighi 
is at times seen through the shafted mndouos. 
Enter Katlekn a^id Blackthorn — They havi 
thrown off the more ludicrous parts of their 
disguise. 



fool 



so 



Kat. This way — ^this way ; was ever 

gull'dl 
Bla. I play'd the baiber better than I thought 
for. 
"Well, I've an occupation m reserve. 
When the long-bow and merry musket fail me. — 
But, hark ye, pretty Katleen. 

Kat. What should I hearken to 

Bla. &J"t thou not afraid. 
In thene wild haUs while playing leigned goblins. 
That we may meet with real ones ? 

Kat. Not a jot. 

My spirit is too light, my heart too bold. 
To fear a visit from the other world. 

Bla. But is not this the place, the very hall 
In which mon say that Oswald's grandfather. 
The black L<rd Erick, walks his penance round! 
Credit me, Katleen, these half-moulder'd col 

umns 
ilave in their t r'u something very fiendish, 
^ nd, if you'll ta-^o an honest fi-iend's advice, 
The sooner that y '>u change their shatter'd splon 

dor 
Jor the snug covta'^e that I told you of, 
"Bt I'eve me, it will prove the bhther dwelling. 
Kat. If I e'er see that eottage, honest Black- 
thorn, 
3!7*ie7e me, it shall be from other motive 
Than fear of Erick's spectre. 

[A rustling sound is heard, 
t'.iA. I heard a rustling sound— 

Utk q ray life, there's something in the haU, 
Katl ',er, besides us two 1 

Kir. A yeoman thou, 

A fon ? er, and frighten'd ! I am sorry 
I gav.i ti\e fool's-cap to poor Gullcrammer, 
And 111 thy head go bare. 

[The same rushing sound is np^^t'd, 
Bla. Why, are you mad, or hear you Qot tha 

scind? 
Kat. And if I do, I take small heed of n. 
Will you allow l maiden to be bolder 
Than you, wit^ beard on chin and srrc^-l at 
girdle f 
Bla. Nay, if I Kd my sword, I would not 
care ; 

* I have a notiot »* tk "^ e*^ be manageJ bo m to feinB> 
Rent imperfect, or fitting mi.4>nlight, <ipo& ^e plan of Vb» 
Eidophusikon. 



780 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rhough I ne'er heard of master of defence, 

So active at his weapon as to brave 

The devil, or a ghost — See I see ! see yonder 1 

[A Figure is imperfectly seen between two of 
the pillars. 
Kat. There's something moves, that's certain, 
and the moonlight, 
Chased by the flitting gale, is too imperfect 
To show its form ; but, in the name of God, 
I'll venture on it boldly. 

Bla. Wilt thou so ? 

Were I ahme, now, I were strongly tempted 
To trust my heels for safety ; but with thee. 
Be it fl«nd or fairy, I'll take risk to meet it. 
Kat It stands full in our path, and we must 
pass it, 
Or tarry here all night. 

Bla. In its vile company ? 

[As they advance towards the Figure, it is 
more plainly distinguis/ied, which might, I 
think, be contrived by raising successive 
screens of crape. The Figure is wrapped 
in a long robe, like the mantle of a Her- 
mit, or Palmer. 
Pal. Ho 1 ye who thread by night these wilder- 
ing scenes, 
In garb of those who long have slept in death. 
Fear ye the company of those you imitate ? 
Bla, This is the devU, Katleen, let us fly I 

[Runs off. 
Kat. I will not fly — why should I ? My nerves 
shake 
To look on this strange vision, but my heart 
Partakes not the alarm. — If thou dost come in 

Heaven's name, 
In Heaven's name art thou welcome 1 
Pal. I come, by Heaven permitted. Quit this 
castle : 
There is a fate on't — if for good or evil, 
Brief space shall soon determine. In that fate. 
If good, by lineage thou canst nothing claim ; 
If evil, much mayst sufifer. — Leave these pre- 
cincts. 
Kat. Whate'er thou art, be answer'd — Know, 
I wrill not 
Desert the kinswoman who train'd my youth ; 
Know, that I will not quit my friend, my Flora ; 
iinow, that I will not leave the aged man 
Whoiie roof has ehelter'd me. This is my re- 
solve — 
If evil come, I aid my friends to bear it ; 
If good, my part shall be to see them prosper, 
A. portion in their happiness from which 
flo fiend can bar me. 

Pal. Maid, before thy courage, 

Cirm built on innocence, even beings of nature 
'*f.ore powerful far than thine, give place and 
way; 



Take then this key, and wait the eveiit with coui 
age. 
[He drops the key. — He disappears gradu 
ally — the moonlight failing at the sanu 
time. 
Kat. (after a pause.) Whate'er it was, 'tis gone 
My head turns round — 
The blood that lately fortified my heart 
Now eddies in full torrent to my brain. 
And makes wild work with reason. I will haste, 
If that my steps can bear me so far safe. 
To Uving company. What if I meet it 
Again in the long aisle, or vaulted passage ? 
And if I do, the strong support that bore me 
Through this appalling interview, again 
Shall strengthen and uphold me. 

[As she steps forward sJie stumbles ovei 
the key. 
What's this ? The key ? — there may be mystery 

m't. 
I'U to my kinswoman, when this dizzy fit 
WUl give me leave to choose my way aright. 

[She sits down exhausted 

Re-enter Blackthorn, vrith a drawn sword and torch. 
Bla. Katleen 1 What, Katleen ! — What a wretch 

was I 
To leave her ! — Katleen, — I am weapon'd now, 
And fear nor dog nor devil. She replies not I 
Beast that I was — nay, worse than beast ; the 

stag. 
As timorous as he is, fights for his hind. 
What's to be done ? — I'll search this cursed castle 
From dungeon to the battlements ; if I find hei 

not, 

I'll fling me from the highest pinnacle 

Katleen (who has somewhat gathered her rpiritx, 

in consequence of his entrance, comes behinA 

and touches hiin ; he starts.) Brave sir ! 
I'll spare you that rash leap — You're a bold woods 

manl 
Surely I hope that from this night henceforward 
You'll never kill a hare, since you're akin tv 

them ; 

I could laugh — but that my head's so dizzy. 
Bla. Lean on me, Katleen — By my honest 

word, 

1 thought you close behind — I was surprised. 
Not a jot frighten' d. 

Kat. Thou art a fool to ask me to thy cottagt;, 
And then to show me at what sUght expense 
Of manhood I might master thee and it. 

Bla. I'll take the risk of that — This goblin busi 
ness 
Came rather unexpected ; the best horse 
Will start at sudden sights. Try me agam. 
And if I prove not true to bonny Katleen, 
Hang me in mine own bowstring. [^'ce^.nu 



THE DOOM OF DEVOBGOIL. 



181 



SCENE 17. 

17u Scen^ returns to the Apartment at the beginning 
of Act Second. Oswald and Dukward are dis- 
covered with Eleanor, FloRjV, and Leonard-^ 
DuRWARD shuts a Prayer-book, which lie seems 
to Jiave been reading. 

DtJR. Tis true — the difference betwixt the 
chu~cbes, 
Which zealots love to dwell on, to the wise 
<>f either flock are of far less importance 
llian those great truths to which all Christiai' men 
Subscribe with equal reverence. 

Osw. We thank thee, father, for the holy office, 
Still best performed when the pastor's tongue 
Is echo to his breast ; of jarring creeds 
It ill beseems a layman's tongue to speak. — 
Wliere have you stow'd yon prater ? [7b Flosa. 

Flo. Safe in the goblin-chamber. 

Ele. The goblin-chamber ! 

Maiden, wert thou frantic ? — if his Reverence 
Have suffered harm by waspish Owl9piegle, 
Be sure thou shalt abye it. 

Flo. Here he comes, 

Can answer for himself! 

Fnter Gullcrammer, in the fashion in which Owxs- 
PIEGLE had put him : having the fool' s-cap on his 
head, and towel about his neck, (tc. His manner 
through the scene is mid and extravagant, as if 
the fright had a little affected his brain. 

l/UR. A goodly spectacle ! — Is there such a goblin, 
To Osw.) Or has sheer terror made him such a 
figure ? 

Osw. There is a sort of wavering tradition 
Of a malicious imp who teazed all strangers ; 
My father wont to call him Owlspiegle. 

GuL. Who talks of Owlspiegle ? 
He is an honest fellow for a devil, 
So is his son, the hopeful Cockle'moy. 

(Sings.) 
" My hope, ray joy, 
My Cockledcmoy !" 

ijKO. The fool's bewiteh'd — the goblin hath fur- 
nish'd him 
A. cap which well befits his reverend wisdom. 

Flo. If I could think he had lost his slender wits, 
[ should be sorry for the trick they play'd him. 

Leo. fear him not ; it were a foul reflection 
On any fiend of sense and reputation, 
Vc filch such petty wares as his poor brains. 

DtTR. What saw at thou, sir? What heard'st 
thou ? 

GuL. What was't I saw and heard ? 
rhat whioh old giavbeards, 



Who conjure Hebrew intc Anglo-Saxon, 

To cheat starved barons with, can httle guess at. 

Flo. If he begin so roundly with my father. 
His madness is not like to save his bones. 

GtTL. Sirs, midnight came, and with it came th« 
goblin. 
I had reposed me after some brief study, 
But as the soldier, sleeping in the trench. 
Keeps sword and musket by him, so I had 
My httle Hebrew manual prompt for service. 

Flo. Sausagian sous'dface ; that much of jous 
Hebrew 
Even I can bear in memory. 

GuL. We counter'd. 

The goblin and myself, even in mid-chamber. 
And each stepp'd back a pace, as 'twere to study 
The foe he had to deal with ! — I bethought me, 
Ghosts ne'er have the first word, and so I took it 
And fired a volley of round Greek at him. 
He stood his ground, and answer'd in the Syriac ; 
I flank'd my Greek with Hebrew, and compell'i 

him 

[A noisb kfar% 

Osw. Peace, idle prater ! — Hark — what soundt 
are these ? 
Amid the growling of the storm without, 
I hear strange notes of music, and the clash 
Of coursers' trampling feet. 

Voices (without.) 
W% come, dark riders of the night, 
And flit before the dawning Ught • 
HUl and valley, far aloof. 
Shake to hear our chargers' hoof; 
But not a foot-stamp on the green 
At morn shall show where we have been. 

Osw. These must be revellers belated — 
Let them pass on ; the ruin'd halls of Devongoil 
Open to no such guests. — 

[flourish of trumpets at a distance, then nearer 
They sovmd a summons ; 
What can they lack at this dead hour of night ? 
Look out, and see their number, and their bearing 

Leo. (goes up to the windov>.) 'Tis strange — on-- 
single shadowy form alone 
Is hovering on the drawbridge — far apart 
Fht through the tempest banners, horse, and riueT^ 
In darkness lost, or dimly seen by lightning. — 
Hither the figure moves — the bolts revolve — 
The gate uncloses to him. 

Elk. Heaven protect ua 1 

The Palmer enters — Gullcramater runs off. 

Osw. Whence and what art thou ? for what end 

come hither ? 
Pai. I come from a tar land, where the ♦ptorre 

howls r ftt. 



782 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



And the sun sets not, to pronounce to thee, 
Oswald of Devorgoil, thy house's fate. 
Due. I charge thee, in the name we late have 

kneel'd to 

Pal. Abbot of Lanercost, I bid thee peace 1 
Uninterrupted let me do mine errand : 
Ba—^D of Devorgoil, son of the bold, the proud. 
The warlike and the mighty, wherefore wear'st 

thou 
The nabit of a peasant ' Tell me, wherefore 
Are thy fair halls thus waste — thy chambers bare — 
Where are the tapestrie*, where the conquer'd 

banners, 
Trophies, and gilded arms, that deck'd the walla 
Of once proud Devorgoil ? 

[He advances, and places himself where the 
Armor hung, so as to be nearly in the 
centre of the Scene. 
Dob. Whoe'er thou art — if thou dost know so 
much, 

Needs must thou know 

Osw. Peace 1 I wiU answer here ; to me he 
spoke. — 
Mysterious stranger, briefly I reply : 
A peasant's dress befits a peasant's fortune ; 
And 'twere vain mockery to array these walls 
[n trophies, of whose memory naught remains, 
Save that the cruelty outvied the valor 
Of those who ^rore them. 

Pal. Degenerate as thou art, 

Knowst thon to w^hom thou say'st this ? 

\IIe drojm his mantle, and is discovered 

armed a* nearly as may be to the suit 

which hu^*,g on tlte wall; all express 

terror. 

Osw. jt is himself— the spirit of mine ancestor 1 

Eel Tremble not, son, but hear me ! 

\_He strikes the wall ; it opens, and dis- 
covers the Treasure- Chamber. 

There lies piled 
The wealth I brought from wasted Cumberland, 
Enough to reinstate thy ruin'd fortunes. — 
Cast from thine high born brows that peasant bon- 
net, 
Throw from thy noble grasp the peasant's staff, 
y'er all, withdraw thine hand from that mean mate, 
RTiom in an hour of reckless desperation 
Thy f-^Hunes cast thee on. This do. 
Aid :)e as great as ere was Devorgoil, 
When Devorgoil was richest 1' 

Due. Lord Oswald, thou art tempted by a fiend, 
W ho doth assail thee on thy weakest side, — 
Thy pride of lineage, and thy love of grandeur. 
Stand fast — resist — contenm his fatal offers I 
Ele. Urge him not, father ; if the sacrifice 

>(M8. — ' And be as rich as ere wa« Devorgoil, 
When Devorgoil wi« fMadest." 



Of such a wasted, woe-worn wretch as I aia. 
Can save him from the abyss of misery. 
Upon whose verge he's tottering, let me wande« 
An unacknowledged outcast from his castle. 
Even to the liumble cottage I was born in. 

Osw. No, Ellen, no — it is not thus they part. 
Whose hearts and souls, disasters borne in conimou 
Have knit together, close as summer saplings 
Are twined in union by the eddying tempest,— 
Spirit of Erick, while thou bear'st his shape. 
I'll answer with no ruder conjuration 
Thy impious counsel, other than with these worda 
Depart, and tempt me not ! 

Eai. Then fate will have her course. — Fall, mas- 
sive grate, [surea, 
Yield them the tempting view of the<»e rich trea 
But bar them from possession ! 

[A portcullis falls before fhe door of th* 
IVeasure- Cham oer. 

Mortals, hear I 
No hand may ope that grate, except the Jleir 
Of plunder'd Aglionby, whose mighty wealth, 
Ravish'd in evil hour, lies yonder piled ; 
And not his hand prevails without the key 
Of Black Lord Erick ; brief space is given 
To save proud Devorgoil. — So wills high Heaven. 

[Thunder ; he disappear*. 

Due. Gaze not so wildly ; you have stood the 
trial 
That his commission bore, and Heaven designs, 
If I may spell his will, to rescue Devorgoil 
Even by the Heir of Aglionby — Behold him 
In that young forester, unto whose hand 
Those bars shall yield the treasiures of his house, 
Destined to ransom yoiu-s. — Advance, young Leon 

ard. 
And prove the adventure. 

Leo. {advances and attempts the grate.) It is fasi 
As is the tower, rock-seated. 

Osw. We will fetch other means, and prove iti 
strength. 
Nor starve in poverty with wealth before Ji 

Due. Think what the vision spoke ; 
The key — the fated key 

Enter Gullceammee. 
GuL. A key ? — I say a quay is whit we want. 
Thus by the leam'd orthographized — Q, u, a, y. 
The lake is overflow'd ! — a quay, a boat. 
Oars, punt, or sculler, is all one to me ! — 
We shall be drown' d, good people 1 ! I 

Enter Katleen and Blackthoen.. 
Kat. Deliv-«r ub 

Haste, save yourselves — the lake is rising faU..* 

* If it conld be managed to render the rising of the iMt <{• 
il'.e, it would answer well for a coup-de-thedtre. 



THE DOOM OF DEVORQOIL. 



7sa 



Bla- 'T has risen my boVs height in the last five 
minutes, 
And still 18 swelling strangely. 

Got-, [who has stood asto7iished upon seeing them.) 
We snail be drown'd without your kind assistance. 
Sweet Master Owlspiegle, your dragonfly — 
Your straw, your bean-stalk, gentle Cockle'moy ! 
Leo. {looking from the shot-hole.) 'Tis true, by 
all that's fearful ! The proud lake 
Peers, like ambitious tyrant, o'er his bounds. 
And srrjn wiU whelm the castle — even the draw- 
bridge 
18 under water now. 
Kat. Let us escape I Why stand you gazing 

ihere ? 
Due. Upon the opening ot that fatal grate 
V)epends the fearful spell that now entraps us, 
rhe key of Black Lord Erick- -ere we find it, 
i'he castle will be whelm'd beneath the waves, 
And we shall perish in it ! 

K-f. {giving the key.) Here, prove this ; 
A ehance most strange and fearful gave it me. 

[Oswald puts it into the lock, and attempts 
to turn it — a land clap of thunder. 
Flo. The lake still rises faster. — Leonard, Leon- 
ard, 
Cuist thou not save us ? 

Leonard tries the lock — it opens with a 
viole7it noise, and the Portcullii rises. 
A loud strain of vnld music. — There 
may he a chorus here. 
^Oswald enter<i tlie apartment, and brings 
out a scroll. 
Fb* Thb lake is ebbing with as wondrous haste 
A. lat>? Jt rose— +he drawbridge is left dry I 
Os^ This may explain the causu - 

I lis. — *' The storms of angry Fate are pa**— 
Constanc) voicies their blast. 
Of Devorgoil the d»«|binr % 



(GtJLLCRAMMEE offers to take it.) But soft yoc, sir, 
We'll not disturb your learning for the matter ; 
Yet, since you've borne a part in this Strang* 

drama. 
You shall not go ungU3rdon>_ ''''ise or leam'd. 
Modest or gentle, Heaven alone can make thee. 
Being so much otherwise ; but from tliis abundf^nca 
Thou shalt have that shall gild thine ignorance, 
Exalt thy base descent, make thy presumption 
Seem modest confidence, and find thee hundred* 
Ready to swear that same fool's-cap of tliine 
Is reverend as a mitre. 

GuL. Thanks, mighty baron, now no more t TiOM 
one ! — 
I will be quaint with him, for aU his quips. [^Atidt 

Osw. Nor shall kind Katleea lack 
Her portion 11 oar happiness. 

Kat. Thanks, my good lord, but Katleen'a fate 
is fix'd — 
There is a certain valiant forester. 
Too much afear'd of ghosts to sleep anights 
In his lone cottage, without one to guard him. — 

Leo. If I forget my comrade's faithful friendship 
May I be lost to fortune, hope, and love 1 

Due. Peace, all! and hear the blessing whicl 
this scroll 
Speaks unto faith, and constancy, and virtue 

No more this castle's troubled guest, 
Dark Brick's spirit hath found rest. 
The storms of angry Fate are past— 
For Constancy defies their blast. 
Of Devorgoil the daughter free 
Shall wed the Heir of Aglionby ; 
Nor ever more dishonor soil 
The rescued house of Devorgoil 1' 

StaaK wed with Dacre's injured hat 
Tte bUm moon of Devorgvi. ' 



i i r*'--~^r i rYM ii r - T a ?^ -i rri'^ "^TrTii-VVJ. «''»'a».'iB?a3,«3.»4^^ 



784 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



"l^uchinbraiti; 



THE AYRSHIRE TllAGEDl 



Cir aliqoid vidi 7 cnr noxia lamina feis 
Cnr improdenti cognita cnlpa mihi est 7 

OriDii Tristium, Liber Seeuniiu. 



- PREFACE. 

These Is not, perhaps, upon record, a tale of 
hoiTor which gives us a more perfect picture than 
is afforded by the present, of the violence of our 
incestors, or the complicated crimes into which 
they were hurried, by what their wise, but ill- 
enforced, laws termed the heathenish and accursed 
practice of Deadly Feud. The author has tried 
to extract some dramatic scenes out of it ; but he 
IS conscious no exertions of his can increase the 
horror of that which is in itself so iniquitous. Yet, 
if we look at modern events, we must not too has- 
tily venture to conclude that our own times have 
so much the superiority over former days as we 
might at first be tempted to infer. One great ob- 
ject has indeed been obtained. The power of the 
laws extends over the country universally, and if 
criminals at present sometimes escape punishment, 
tliis can only be by eluding justice, — not, as of old, 
by defying it. 

But the motives which influence modern ruffians 
lo commit actions at which we pause with wonder 
•md horror, arise, in a great measure, from the 
thirst of gain. For the hope of lucre, we liave 
seen a wretch seduced to his fate, under the pre- 
text that he was to shaie in amusement and con- 
viviality ; and, for gold, we have seen the meanest 
nf wretches deprived of life, and their miserable 
remains cheated of the grave. 

The loftier, if equally cruel, feelings of pride, 
ambition, and love of vengeance, were the idols of 
our forefathers, while the caitiffs of our day bend 
to Mammon, the meanest of the spirits who fell.' 
The criminals, therefore, of former times, drew 
their hellish mspiration from a loftier source than 
w known to modem vUlains. The fever of unsated 



— Mammon led them on: 
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
From lieavtc ' — JVIiltoa. 



ambition, the phrensy of ungratified revenge, the 
perfervidum ingenium Scotorum, stigmatized by 
our jurists and our legislators, held fife but aa 
passing breath ; and such enormities as now sound 
Uke the acts of a madman, were then the familiar 
deeds of every offended noble. With these ob 
servations we proceed to our story. 

John Miiir, or Mure, of Auchindrane, the con- 
triver and executor of the following cruelties, was a 
gentleman of an ancient family and good estate in 
the west of Scotland ; bold, ambitious, treacherous 
to the last degree, and utterly unconscientious, — a 
Richard the Third in private Ufe, inaccessible »hkt 
to pity and to remorse. His view was to raise 
the power, and extend the grandeur, of his own 
family. This gentleman had married the daugh- 
ter of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Barganie, who was, 
excepting the Earl of Cassilis, the most importafil 
person in all Carrick, the district of Ayshiie 
which he inhabited, and where the name of Ken- 
nedy held so great a sway as to give rise to th« 
popular rhyme, — 

" 'Twixt Wigton and the town of Aii, 
Portpatrick and the Cruives of Creek 
No man need think for to bide there. 
Unless he court Saint Kennedie." 

Now, Mure of Auchindrane, who haa rromiae. 
himself high advancement by means of his father 
in-law Barganie, saw, with envy and resentment, 
that his influence remained second and inferior tt 
the House of Cassilis, chief of all the Kennedys. 
The Earl was indeed a minor, but his authority 
was maintained, and his affairs well managed, bj 
his imcle, Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayoe, tha 
brother of the deceased Earl, and tutor and guard- 
ian to the present. This worthy gentleman sup- 
ported his nephew's dignity and the credit of the 
house so effectually, that Barganie's consequence 
was, much thrown into the shade, and the ambi- 
tious Auchindrane, his eon-in law, saw no better 




remedy than to remove so formidable a rival as 
/■'ullayne by violent means. 

For this purpose, in the year of God 1597, he 
■?amt with a party of followers to the town of May- 
ix)le (where Sir Thomas Kcrmetfy of CuUayne then 
•raided), and lay in ambush in an orchard, through 
'liifh he knew his destined victim was to pass, in 
■!tb/-ning homewards from a house where he was 
•jgaged to sup. Sir Thomas Kennedy came alone, 
>nd unattended, when he was suddenly fired upon 
by Auchindrane and his accomplices, who, having 
missed their aim, c^rew their swords, and rushed 
iijjon him to slay him. But the party thus as- 
sailed at disadvantage, had the good fortune to 
liide himself for that time in a rubious house, 
where he lay concealed till the inhabitants of the 
place came to his assistance. 

Sir Thomas Kennedy prosecuted Mure for this 
assault, who, finding himself in danger from the 
law, made a sort of apology and agreement with 
the Lord of CuUayne, to whose daughter he united 
liis eldest son, in testimony of the closest friendsMp 
la future. This agreement was sincere on the part 
s»l Kennedy, who, after it had been entered into, 
showed himself Auchindrane's friend and assistant 
on all occasions. But it was most false and treach- 
eroTiS on that of Mure, who continued to nourish 
the purpose of murdering his new friend and ally 
-^n the first opportunity. 

Auchindrane's iirst attempt to effect this was by 
means of the young Gilbert Kennedy of Barganie 
(for old Barganie, Auchindrane's father-in-law, was 
dead), whom he persuaded to brave the Earl of 
Cassilis, as one who usurped an undue influence 
over the rest of the name. Accordingly, this hot- 
headed youth, at the instigation of Auchindrane, 
lode past the gate of the Earl of Cassilis, without 
waiting on his chief, or sending him any message 
jf civUity. This led to mutual defiance, being 
regarded by the Earl, according to the ideas of the 
time, as a personal insult. Both parties took the 
field with tlieir followers, at the head of about 250 
men on each side. The action which ensued was 
shorter and less bloody than might have been 
expected. Young Barganie, with the rashness of 
hoadlong courage, and Auchindrane, fired by dead- 
ly enmi ty to the House of Cassilis, made a precipi- 
tate attack on the Earl, whose men were strongly 
posted and mider cover. They were received by 
a heavy fire. Barganie was slain. Mure of Au- 
chindiane, severely wounded in the thigh, became 
anable to sit his horse, and, the leaders thus slain 
or disabled, their party drew off without continu- 
ng the action. It must be particularly observed, 
that Sir Thomas Kennedy remained neuter in this 

» " No papers winch have hitherto been discovered appear 
« aflord SI striking a picture of the savage state of barbarism 
00 



quarrel, considering his connection with Auchic 
drane as too intimate to be broken even by his 
desire to assist his nephew. 

For this temperate and honorable conduct he 
met a vile reward ; for Auchindrane, in resentment 
of the loss of his relative Barganie, and the down- 
fall of his ambitious hopes, continued his practices 
against the life of Sir Thomas of CuUayne, tliough 
totaUy innocent of contributing to either. Chance 
favored his wicked purpose. 

The lijiight of CuUayne, finding limself oblig'Sd 
to go to Edinburgh on a particular day, sent a 
message by a servant to Mure, in which he told 
him, in the most vuisuspecting confidence, the pur- 
pose of liis journey, and named the road which he 
proposed to take, inviting Mure to meet liim at 
DuppiU, to the west of the town of Ayr, a place 
appointed, for the purpose of giving him any com- 
missions which he might have for Edinburgh, and 
assuring his treacherous ally he would attend to 
any business which he might have in the Scottish 
metropolis as anxiously as to his own. Sir Thomas 
Kennedy's message was carried to the town of 
Maybole, where his messenger, for some trivial 
reason, had the import committed to writing by 
a schoolmaster in that town, and dispatched it to 
its destination by means of a poor student, named 
Dalrymple, instead of carrying it to the house ol 
Auchindrane in person. 

This suggested to Mure a diabolical plot. Hav- 
ing thus received tidings of Sir Thomas Kennedy's 
motions, he conceived the infernal purpose of hav- 
ing the confiding friend who sent the information, 
waylaid and murdered at the place appointed to 
meet with him, not only in friendship, but for the 
purpose of rendering him service. He dismissed 
the messenger Dalrymple, cautioning the lad to 
carry back the letter to Mavbole, and to say tiiat 
he had not found him, Auchindrane, in his house. 
Having taken this precaution, he proceeded to 
instigate the brother of the slain Gilbert of Barga- 
nie, Thomas Kennedy of Drumurghie by name, and 
Walter Mure of Cloncaird, a kinsman of his own, 
to take this opportimity of revenging Barganie'a 
death. The fiery young men were easily induct-^ 
to undertake the crime. They waylaid the unsus- 
pecting Sir Thomas of CuUayne at the place ap- 
pointed to meet the traitor Auchindrane, and the 
murderers having in company five or six servants, 
weU mounted and armed, assaulted and cruelly 
murdered him with many wounds. They then 
plundered the dead corpse of his pmee, containing 
a thousand merks in gold, cut off the gold buttons 
which he wore on his coat, and despoUed Ib"^ body 
of some valuable rings and jewels.' 

into which that conntry must have sunk, as the followinj 
Bond by the Earl of Cassilis, to his bruibei and heir-apparent. 



7^5 



SCOTT'S POETICAL Wf»RKS. 



The revenge due for his uncle's murder T^as 
keenly pursued by the Earl of Cassilis. As the 
murderers fled from trial, they were declared 
outlaws ; winch doom, being pronounced by three 
blasts of a horn, was called " being put to the horn, 
and declared the king's rebel." Mure of Auchin- 
drane was strongly suspected of having been the 
mstigator of the crime. But he conceived there 
could be no evidence to prove his guilt if he could 
kcvp the boy Dalrymple out of the way, who de- 
livered the letter wliich made him acquainted with 
CuUayne's journey, and the place at which he 
meant to halt. On the contrary, he saw, that if 
the lad could be produced at the trial, it would 
afford ground of fatal presumption, since it could 
then be proved that persons so nearly connected 
with liim as Kennedy and Cloncaird had left his 
house, and committed the murder at the very spot 
wliich CuUayne had fixed for their meeting. 

To avoid this imminent danger. Mure brought 
Dalrymple to his house, and detained him there 
for several weeks. But the youth tiring of this 
confinement, Mure sent Mm to reside with a friend, 
Montgomery of Skelhnorly, who maintained him 
under a borrowed name, amid the desert regions 
o<" the then almost savage island of Arran. Being 
c/^nfident in the absence of this material witness, 
A;ichindrane, instead of flying, like liis agents 
Drumiugliie and Cloncaird, presented himself 
boldly at the bar, demanded a fair trial, and 
offered liis person in combat to the death against 
any of Lord CassiUs's friends who might impugn 
his innocence. This audacity was successful, and 
he was dismissed without trial. 

Still, however, Mure did not consider himself 

Hew, Master of Cassilis. The uncle of these yonng men, Sir 
Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, tutor of Cassihs, as the reader 
will recollect, was murdered, May llih, 1602, by Aachin- 
drane's accomplices. 

"The Master of Cassilis, for many years previous to that 
event, was in open hostility to his brother. During all that 
period, however, the Master maintained habits of the closest 
intimacy with Auchindrane and his dissolute associates, and 
actually joined him in various hostile enterprises against his 
brother the Earl. The occurrence of the Laird of Culzean's 
murder was embraced by their mutual friends, as a fitting 
ocporfunity to effect a permanent reconciliation between the 
iroUiers aot' (as 'the Historic of the Kennedies,' p. 59, 
quaintly mforms ns), ' the cuntry thocht that he wald not be 
cirnest ic that cause, for theauld luiff betuix him and Anchin- 
liayne.' The unprincipled Earl (whose sobriquet, and thst 
^f some of his ancestors, was Kin^ of Carrick, to denote the 
boundless sway whicli he exercised over his own vassals and 
the inhabitants of that district), relying on his b:x»ther'8 neces- 
lities, held out the infamous bribe contained in the following 
bond, to induce his brother, the Master of Cassilis, to murder 
lis former friend, the old Laird of Auchindrane. Though 
there be honor among thieves, it would seem that there is none 
tmong assassins ; for the younger brother insisted upon having 
jie price of blood assured to him by a written doenraent, 
*iawn up in the form of a regular bond I 

" JnHi^ing j* the Earl's former r.".d subsequent histary, he 



safe, SO lon^ as Dalrymple was within the realii 
of Scotland ; and the danger grew more pressing, 
when he learned that the lad had become impa 
tient of the restraint which he sustained in tht 
island of Arran, and returned to some of liis friends 
in Ayrshire. Mure no sooner heard of this Oiai, 
he agam obtained possession of the boy's persoii. 
and a second time concealed hiin at Auchindrai<e 
until he found an opportunity to transport him tc 
the Low Countries, where he contrived to havi 
liim enhsted in Buccleuch's regiment ; trusting; 
doubtless, that some one of the numerous chance;? 
of war might destroy the poor young man whose 
life was, so dangerous to him. 

But after five or six years' uncertain safety, 
bought at the expense of so much violence and 
cimning, Auchindrane's ffears were exasperated 
into phrensy, when he found tliis dangerous vnt- 
ness, having escaped from all thr perils of climate 
and battle, had left, or been discharged from, the 
Legion of Borderers, and had again acconipUshed 
his return to Ayrshire. There is ground to suspect 
that Dalrymple knew the nature of the hold which 
he possessed over Auchindrane, and was desirous 
of extorting from liis fears some better provision 
than he had found either in Arran or the Nether 
lands. But if so, it was a fatal experiment to tam 
per with the fears of such a man as Auchindrane 
who determined to rid himself effectually of thia 
unhappy young man. 

Mure now lodged liim in a house of his own, 
called Chapeldonan, tenanted by a vassal and con- 
nection of his called James Bannatyne. This man 
he commissioned to meet him at ten o'clock at 
night on the sea-sands near Girvan, and bring with 

probably thought that, in either event, his purposes would ba 
attained, by ' killing two birds with one stone.' On the other 
hand, however, it is but doing justice to the Master's acnte- 
ness, and the experience acquired under his quondam preceji- 
tor, Auchindrane, that we should likewise conjecture that, on 
his part, he would hold firm possession of the bond, to be used 
as a checkmate against his brother, should he think fit after 
wards to turn his heel upon him, or attempt to betray him int< 
the hands of justice. 

" The Ibllowing is a correct copy of the bond granted ")y th« 
Earl : — ' We, Johne, Earle of Cassillis, Lord Kennedy etc , 
bindis and oblissis ws. that howsovne our broder, Hew Ken 
nedy of Brounstoun, with his complices, taikis ths Laird o 
Anchindraneis lyf, that we sail mak guid and thankfull pay 
ment to him and thame, of the sownie of tueltf hundrcti 
merkis, yeirlie, togidder with come to sex horsis, ay and qnhill' 
we ressaw* thame in honshald with our self: Beginninsr thr 
first payment immediatlie efter thair committing of the said 
deid. Attour,3 howsovne we ressaw thame in houshald, w« 
Ball pay to the twa serwing gentillmen the feis, yeirlip. as ooi 
awin honshald serwandis. And heirto we obliss ws, vponj 
our honour. Snbscryvit with onr hand, at Maybole. '.he feW 
day of September, 1602. 

' JOHNt ErLE off CaJSILLI^.' 

Pjtcairn'b Criminal Trials of Scotland, vol. iii. p. 8B 



1 Avp acd uDtiJ. 



• Rt'.eiTe. 



t Moreover 



AUCHiJN'DRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE IRAGEDY. 



rw i 



Bim the unfortunate Dalrymple, the object of hia 
&.ar and dread. The victim seems to have come 
(dth Bannatyne without the least suspicion, though 
lach might have been raised by the time and place 
appointed for the meeting. When Bannatyne and 
Dalryiaple came to the appointed spot, Auchin- 
(liane met them, accompanied by his eldest son, 
Stuueg. Old Auchiuchane, having taken Bannatyne 
iside,. imparted his bloody purpose of ridding him- 
*elj of Dahymple for ever, by murdering him on 
the rti)ot. His own life and honor were, he said, 
jnJangered by the manner in wliich this inconve- 
nient witness repeatedly tlu-ust himself back into 
Ayrwliire, and nothing could secure liis safety but 
taking the lad's life, in which action he requested 
James Bannatyne's assistance. Bannatyne felt 
some compunction, and remonstrated against the 
cruel expedient, saying, it would be better to 
transport Dalrymple to Ireland, and take precau- 
tions against liis return. While old Auchindrane 
neemed disposed to Usten to this proposal, his son 
concluded that the time was come for accomplish- 
ing the p)ji"pose of their meeting, and, without 
waiting the termination of his father's conference 
with Bannatyne, he rushed suddenly on Dalrym- 
ple, beat him to the grotmd, and, kneehng down 
on him, with his father's assistance accomplished 
the crime, by strangling the unhappy object of 
their fear and jealousy. Bannatyne, the witness, 
aud partly the accomphce, of the murder, assisted 
them in their attempt to make a hole in the sand, 
with a spade which they had brought on puj-pose, 
b order to conceal the dead body. But as the 
tide was coming in, the holes which they made 
filled with water before they could get the body 
buried, and the ground seemed, to their terrified 
consciences, to refuse to be accessory to concealing 
theu' crime. Despairing of hiding the corpse in 
the manner they proposed, the murderers carried 
it out into the sea as deep as they dared wade, 
and there abandoned it to the billows, trusting 
that a wind, which was blowing off the shore, 
would drive these remains of their crime out to 
sea, where they would never more be heard of 
But the sea, as well as the land, seemed unwilling 
to conceal their cruelty. After floating for some 
hours, or days, the dead body was, by the wind 
and tide, again driven on shore, near tfte very spot 
where the murder had been committed. 

This attracted general attention, and when the 
corpse was known to be that of the same William 
Dalrymple whom Aucliindrane had so often spir- 
ited out of the country, or concealed when he was 
in it, a strong and general suspicion arose, that this 
foung person had met with foul play from the 
^)old bad man who had shown hunself so much in- 
lerested in his absence. It was always said or 
apposed, tliat the dead body had bled at the ap- 



proach of a grandchild of Mure of Auchindrane, ■ 
ghl who, from curiosity, had come to look at a 
sight which others crowded to see. The bleedint; 
of a murdered corpse at the touch of the murder ei 
was a thing at that time so much beheved, that it 
was admitted as a proof of guilt ; but J know ik. 
case, save that of Aucliindrane, in whicl 'he phe 
nornenon was supposed to be extended to the ap } 
proach of the innocent kindred : nor do I think th«} ! 
the fact itself, though mentioned by ancient law 
yers, was ever admitted to proof in the proceedingi 
against Auchindrane. 

It is certain, however, that Auchindrane fouu', 
himself so much the object of suspicion from ths 
new crime, that he resolved to fly from justice, acd 
suffer himself to be declared a rebel and outlaw 
rather than face a trial. But his conduct in pre 
paring to cover his flight with another motive than 
the real one, is a curious picture of the men and 
manners of the times. He knew well that if h" 
were to shun his trial for the murder of Dalryj^^ile. 
the whole coimtry would consider liim 3'. a man 
guilty of a mean and disgraceful criroi in putting 
to death an obscure lad, against T^-hom he had no 
personal quarrel. He knew, bcoides, that his pow- 
erful friends, who woi'ld have interceded for him 
had his offence been merely burning a house, or 
killing a neighbor, would not plead for or stand by 
him in so pi+*'al a concern as the slaughter of this 
wetched wanderer. 

Accordmgly, Mure sought to provide himself 
with some ostensible cause for avoiding law, witli 
which the feeUngs of his kindred and friends might 
sympathize ; and none occurred to him so natural 
as an assault upon some friend and adherent of 
the Earl of Cassilis. Should he kill such a one, it 
would be indeed an tmlawful action, but so fax 
from being uifamous, would be accounted the nat 
ural consequence of the avowed quarrel betwecE 
the families. With this purpose, Mure, with the 
assistance of a relative, of whom he seems always 
to have had some ready to execute his worst pur 
poses, beset Hugh Kennedy of Garriehorne, a fol 
lower of the Earl's, against whom they had especia 
iU-will, fired their pistols at him, and used otl'«i 
means to put liim to death. But Garriehornf.. « 
stout-hearted man, aud well armed, defended hio 
self in a \ fry difitrent manner from the unfortt 
nate Knigl t of Cullayne, and beat off the assaiTantj 
wounding young Auchmdrane in the righ.' h.uid 
so that he wellnigh lost the use of it. 

But though Auchindrane's purpose did not en 
tirely succeed, he availed himself of it to circulatt 
a report, that if he could obtain a pardon for firin."-; 
upon his feudal enemy with pistols, weapons dc 
clared unlawful by act of Parliament, he woul 
willingly stand liis trial for the death of Dalrympk; 
respecting which he protested his total innocen*'' 



fho K.iiig, however, was decidedly of opinion that 
liie Mures, both father and son, were alike guilty 
• 'f both crimes, and used intercession with the Earl 
•)f Abercoru, as a person of power in those western 
rouutie«i, as well a^ in Ireland, to arrest and trans- 
!ait tl» m prisoner" to Edinburgli. In consequence 
)f t'le Eail's exertions, old Auchindrane was made 
(iwsoner. and lodged in the tolbooth of Edinburgh. 

Y oung Auchindi-ane no sooner heard that his fa- 
rhei was in custody, than he became as apprehen- 
;ire of Baniiatyne, the accomplice in Dalrymple's 
murder, telling tales, as ever his father had been 
)f Dalrymple. He, therefore, hastened to him, 
xad prevailed on him to pass over for a while to 
the neighboring coast of Ireland, finding him money 
.ind means to accomplish the voyage, and engaging 
ia the mean tune to take care of his affairs m Scot- 
land. Secure, as they thought, in tliis precaution, 
)Id Auchindrane persisted in his innocence, and his 
•iun found security to stand his trial. Both ap- 
peared with the same confidence at the day ap- 
< 'ointed, and braved the public justice, hoping to 
be put to a formal trial, in which Auchindrane 
reckoned upon an acquittal for want of the evi- 
dence which he had removed. The trial was, 
I.owever, postponed, and Mure the elder was dis- 
iuissed, under high security to return when called 
for. 

But King James, being convinced of the guilt of 
lie accused, ordered young Auchindrane, instead 
)f being sent to trial, to be examined under the 
orce of torture, in order to compel him to tell 
whatever he knew of the things charged against 
jm. He was accordingly severely tortured ; but 
:he result only served to' show that such examina- 
tions are as useless as they are cruel. A man of 
weak resolution, or of a nervous habit, would prob- 
ibly have assented to any confession, however 
.alse, rather than have endured the extremity of 
tr^ar and pain to which Mure was subjected. But 
young Auchmdrane, a strong and determined ruf- 
iian, endured the torture with the utmost firmness, 
iind by tne constant audacity with which, in spite 
>f the intolerable pain, he continued to assert his 
■nnocence, he spread so favorable an opinion of his 
case, that the detaining him in prison, instead of 
bringing liim to open trial, was censured as severe 
and oppressive. James, however, remained firnily 
persuaded of his guilt, and by an exertion of au- 
ihority quite inconsistent with our present laws, 
commanded young Auchindrane to be still de- 
tained in close custody till further Ught could be 
ihrown on these dark proceedings. He was de- 
laiued accordingly by the King's express personal 
fommand, and against the opinion even of his privy 
;oun.<ellors. This exertion of authority was much 
nmnnured against. 

In the )nt>an while, old Auchindrane, being, as 



we have seen, at liberty on pledges, skulked aboul 
in the west, feeling how httle security he had 
gained by Dalrymple's murder, and that he had 
placed himself by that crime in the power of Ban 
natyne, whose evidence concerning the death of 
Dalrymple could not be less fatal than what Dal- 
rymple might have told concerning Auchindrane'e 
accession to the conspiracy agjdnst Sir Thomae 
Kennedy of Cullayne. But though the event had 
shown the error of his wicked policy, Auchindiane 
could think of no better mode in this case than 
that which had failed in relation to Dalrymple. 
When any man's life became mconsistent with hia 
own safety, no idea seems to have occurred to this 
inveterate ruffian, save to murder the person by 
whom he might tumself be in any way endangered. 
He therefore attempted the hfe of James Banna- 
tyne by more agents than one. Nay, he had nearly 
ripened a plan, by which one Pennycuke was to be 
employed to slay Bannatyue, while, after the deed 
was done, it was devised that Mure of Auchnull, s 
connection of Bannatyne, should be instigated tc 
slay Pennycuke ; and thus close np this train of 
murders by one which, flowuig in the ordinary 
course of deadly feud, should have nothing in it so 
particular as to attract much attention. 

But the justice of Heaven would bear this com- 
plicated train of iniquity no longer. Bannatyne, 
knowing with what sort of men he had to deal, 
kept on his guard, and, by his caution, disconcerted 
more than one attempt to take his life, while an- 
other miscarried by the remorse of Pennycuke, the 
agent whom Mure employed. At length Banna 
tyne, tiring of this state of insecurity, and in de- 
spair of escaping such repeated plots, and also 
feehng remorse for the crime to wliich he had been 
accessory, resolved rather to submit liimself to the 
severity of the law, than remain the object of the 
iwincipal criminal's practices. He surrendered 
himself to the Earl of Abercorn, and was trans- 
ported to Edinburgh, where he confessed before, 
the King and council all the particulars of the mur- 
der of Dalrymple, and the attempt, to hide his 
body by committing it to the sea. 

When Bannatyne was confronted with the two 
Mures before the Privy Council, they denied with 
vehemence every part of the evidence he had 
given, ancL affirmed that the witness had been 
bribed to destroy them by a false -tale. Banna- 
tyne's behavior seemed sincere and simple, that 
of Aucliindrane more resolute and crafty. The 
wretched accomplice fell upon his knees, invoking 
God to witness that all the land in Scotland could 
not have bribed him to bring a false accusation 
against a master whom he had served, loved, and 
followed in so many dangers, an 1 calling upon Au- 
chindrane to honor God by confessing the crim4 
he had committed. Mure the elder, on tiv .-iitn 



AUCHINURAI^; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEL'i'. 



781. I 



nand. boldly replied, that he hoped God would not 
•o far forsake him as to permit him to confess a 
trijne of which he was innocent, and exhorted 
Bannatyne in his tm'n to confess the practices by 
;i'hich lie had been induced to devise such false- 
Hoods against him. 

The two Mures, father and son, were therefore 
put u])on their solemn trial, along with Bannatyne, 
b 1611, and, after a great deal of evidence had 
been brought in support of Bannatyne's confession, 
all three were found guilty.' The elder Auchin- 
drane was convicted of counselling and directing 
the murder of Sir Thomas Kennedy of CuUayne, 
and also of the actual murder of the lad Dalrymple. 
Bannatyne and the younger Mure were found 
guilty of the latter crime, and all three were sen- 
tenced to be beheaded. Bannatyne, however, the 
accomplice, received the King's pardon, in conse- 
quence of his voluntary surrender and confession. 
The two Mures were both Executed. The younger 
was affected by the remonstrances of the clergy 
who attended him, and he confessed the gmlt of 
which he was accused. The father, also, was at 
length brought to avow the fact, but in other re- 
spects died as impenitent as he had hved ; — and 
BO ended this dark and extraordinary tragedy. 

The Lord Advocate of the day, Sir Thomas 
Hamilton, afterwards successively Earl of Melrose 
and of Haddington, seems to have busied himself 
much in drawing up a statement of this foul trans- 
action, for the purpose of vindicating to the people 
of Scotland the severe coiu-se of justice observed 
by King James VI. He assumes the task in a 
high tone of prerogative law, and, on the whole, 
Beems at a loss whether to attribute to Providence, 
or to his most sacred Majesty, the gi'eatest share 
In bringing to light these mysterious villanies, but 
rather inchnes to the latter opinion. There is, I 



1 " Efter prontinceing and declairing of the quhilk determi- 
nation and delj uerance of the saidis persones of Assyse, ' The 
>asiice, in respect thairof, be the mouth of Alexander Ken- 
■ijdie, dempster of Court, decernit and adindget the saidis 
lonnne Mure of Auchindrane elder, James More of Auchin- 
irane younger, his eldest sone and appeirand iiir, and James 
Bannatyne called of Chapel-Donane, and ilk ane of thame, 
to he tane to the mercat croce of the burcht of Edinburgh, 
and thair, upon ane scaffold, their heidis to be strukin frome 
thair bodeyis ; And all thair landis, heritages, takis, steidingis, 
ro*mes, possessioues, teyndis, coirnes, cattell, insicht plenis- 
ling, guidis, geir, tjlillis, proifeitis, commoditeis, and richtis 
quhatsumeuir, direetlie or inriirectlie pertening to thame, or 
ony of tliame, at the committing of the saidis tressonabill Mur- 
rtiouris, or sen?yne ; or to the qnilkis thay, or ony of thame, 
iad richt, claim, or actioan, to be forfalt, escheit, and inbrocht 
to our eouerane lordis vse ; as culpable and convict of the saidis 
tressonabill crymes.' 

" ftuhilk was pronnncet for Dome." 

Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. iii. p. 156. 

' See an a-ticle in the Quarterly Review, February, 1831, 

D Mr. Pitcairn's valuable collection, where Sir Walter Scott 

"lartisilarly dwelU on the original documents connected witii 



believe, no printed copy of the intended tract 
which seems never to have been publishett , but 
the curious will be enabled to judge of it, as it ap 
pears in the next fasciculus of Mr. Robert Pitcairn'* 
very interesting pubUcations from the Scottish 
Criminal Record." 

The family of Auchindrane did not become ex 
tinct on the death of the two homicides. Tht 
last descendant existed in the eighteenth ceutuiy 
a poor and distressed man. The following a.^ <. 
dote shows that he had a strong; feeling of Lis sif 
uation. 

There was in front of the old castle a huge a.^l 
tree, called the Dule-tree {mourning-tree) of Aucl 
indrane, probably because it was the p^ace where 
the Baron executed the criminals who fell under 
his jurisdiction. It is described as having been 
the finest tree of the neighborhood. This last rep- 
resentative of the family of Auchindrane had the 
misfortime to be arrested for payment of a small 
debt; and, unable to discharge it, was piepared to 
accompany the messenger (baiUff) to the jail of 
Ayr. The servant of the law had compassion for 
his prisoner, and offered to accept of this remark 
able tree as of value adequate to the discharge oi 
the debt. "What!" said the debtor, "sell tht 
Dule-tree of Aucliindrane ! I will sooner die ii' 
the worst dungeon of yoiu- prison." In this luck . 
less character the line of Auchindrane endeil. The 
family, blackened with the crimes of its predeces- 
sors, became extinct, and the estate passed i"t. 
other hands. 



DRAMATIS PERSON iE. 

John Mure of Auchindrane, an Ayrshire Baron 
He has been a follower of the Regent, Earl oj 



the story of Auchindrane ; and where Mr. Pitcairn's important 
services to the history of his profession, and of Scotland, are 
justly characterized. (1833.) 



" Sir Walter's reviewal of the early parts of Mi. Pitt;:iirn'j 
Ancient Criminal Trials had, of course, much gratiried ihc 
editor, who sent him, on his arrival in Edinburgh, tlie proof 
sheets of the N'lmber then in hand, and directed his att/--tlo« 
particularly to »ts details on the extraordinary case of M r% oi 
Auchindrane, a. d. 1' 11. Scott was so much interested w.tl 
these documents, that \ie resolved to found a dramatic sket:t 
on their terrible story , and the result w.^s a composition f« 
superior to any of his previous attempts ot that nature. Id 
deed, there are several passages in his 'Ayrshire Tragedy'— 
especially that where the murdered corpse floats uprignt in th« 
wake of the assassin's bark — (an incident suggested by a la 
mentable chapter in L jrd Nelson's hi.story) — which insv btai 
comparison with any thing but Shakspeare. Yet I oub' 
whether the prose nt -rative of 1 de preface be not, on thl 
whole, more dramatic than the veisified scenes. It contain* 
by tlie way, some very striking allusions to the recent atHK 
cities of Gill's Hill and the West Port.' — ! ockhabt v» 
ix. p. 3.14 



90 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Morton during tlie Civil Wars, and hides an 
oppressive, ferocious, and imscrupulous disposi- 
tion, under some pretences to strictness of life and 
doctrine, which, however, never injiiience his con- 
duct. He is in danger from the law, owing to 
his having been formerly active in the assassina- 
tion of the Earl of Cassilis. 

'hilip MfEE, his Son, a wild, debauched Profligate, 
professing and practising a contempt for his 
Fathers hypocrisy, while he is as fierce and licen- 
tious as Auchindrane himself. 

ItIffoed, their Relation, a Courtier. 

QuENViN Blane, a Youth, educated for a Clergy- 
man, but sent by Auchindeane to serve in a 
Band of Auxiliaries in the Wars of the Nether- 
lands, a.cd lately employed as Clerk or Comptrol- 
ler to the Regiment — Disbanded, however, and on 
his return to his native Country. He is of a 
mild, gejitle, and rather feeble character, liable to 
be infuenced by any person of stronger mind who 
will tak"- th^ trouble to direct him. He is some- 
what of a nervous temperament, varying from 
sadness to gayety, according to the impulse of the 
moment ; an amiable hypochondriac. 

lIiLDEBEAND, a stout old Englishman, who, by feats 
of courage, has raised himself to the rank of Ser- 
geant-Major {then of greater consequence than at 
present). He, too, has been disbanded, but can- 
not bring himself to believe that he has lt)st his 
co^nma7id over his Regiment. 

' Privates dismissed frmn the same 
Regiment in which Quentin and 
HiLDEBRAND had Served. These are 
mutinous, and are much disposed 
to remember former quarrels with 
their late Officers. 

NiEL MacLellan, Keeper of Auchindrane Forest 
and Oame. 

Eael of Dunbar, commanding an Army as Lieu- 
tenant of James I. for execution of Justice on 
Offenders. 

Chiards, Attendants, dec. dec. 

Marion, Wife of Niel MacLellan. 

Isabel, their Daughter, a Girl of six years old. 

Other Children and Peasant Women. 



Abeaham, 
Williams, 
Jenkin, 
And Others, 



^ucl)mbrane ; 

OR, 

THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



ACT I.— SCENE L 

4k rocky Bay on the Coast of Carrick, in Ayrshire, 
not ;ar from the Prnnt of Turnberry. The Sea 



comes in upon a bold rocky 5h\ re. The remai'.u 
of a small half -ruined Tmoer a'a seen on the right 
hand, overhanging the Sea. There is a vessel at 
a distance in the offing. A Boat at the bottom oj 
the Stage lands eight or ten Persons, dressed likt 
disbanded, and in one or two casr'i like disabled 
Soldiers. They come straggling forward vr,th 
their knapsacks and bundles. Fildebeanu, thi 
Sergeant, belonging to the Party a stout eldirh 
man, stands by the boat, as if siip-'rint ending tkt 
disembarcation. Quentin remain* apart. 

Abraham. Farewell, the flats oi Holland, and 
right welcome 
The cliffs of Scotland! Fare the-* well, black 

beer 
And Schiedam gm ! and welcome tw<^penny, 
Oatcakes, and usquebaugh ! 

Williams {who wants an arm.) F-rewell, the 
gallant field, and • Forward, pikemen !" 
For the bridge-end, the suburb, and the lane ; 
And, " Bless your honor, noble gentleman, 
Remember a poor soldier !" 

Abe. My tongue shall never need to smoofli 
itself 
To such poor soimds, wliile it can boldly say, 
" Stand and deliver !" 

Wil. Hush, the sergeant hears you ! 
Abe. And let him hear ; he makes a bustle yen 
der. 
And dreams of his authority, forgetting 
We are disbanded men, o'er wl om his halberd 
Has not such influence as the beadle's batoij. 
We are no soldiers now, but every one 
The lord of liis own person. 

Wil. a wretched lordship — and our freedt V 
such 
As that of the old cart-horse, when the owner 
Turns him upon the common. 1 for one 
Will still continue to respect the sergeant. 
And the comptroller, too, — wliile the cash lasts. 
Abe. I scorn them both. I am too stout a Scota 
man 
To bear a Southron's rule an instant longer 
Than discipline obliges ; and for Quentin, 
Quentin the quillman, Quentin the comptroller. 
We have no regiment now ; or, if we had, 
Quentin's no longer clerk to it. 

Wil. For shame ! for shame I What. sJ^ll u^ 
comrades jar thus. 
And on the verge of parting, and lor ever-' - 
Nay, keep thy temper. A.braham, though \ bad 

one. — 
Good Master Quentin, let thy song last night 
Give us once more our welcome to old ScotLmrt 
Abe. Ay, they sing light whose task is tell ig 
money. 
When dollars cUuk for cV jrus. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



Qui;. I've doue with counting silver,' honest 
Abraham, 
A.8 thou, I fear, witli pouching thy small share on't. 
But lend your voices, lads, and I will sjjQg 
A.S blithely yet as if a town were •»on; 
A 8 if upon E field of battle gain'd. 
Our banners waved victorious. 

[_IIe iings. and the rest bear chorus, 

SONG. 

Hither we come. 

Once slaves to cbp irum, 
Bui* .m longer we Kst to its rattle • 

Adieu to the wars, 

With their slashes and scars, 
The march, and the storm, and the battle. 

There are some of us maim'd, 

And some that are lamed, 
And some of old athes are complainmg ; 

But we'll take up the tools, 

Which we flung by like fools, 
Giinst Don Spauiard to go a-campaigning. 

Dick Hathorn doth vow 

To return to the plough. 
Jack Steele to his anvil and haromer ; 

The weaver shall find room 

At the wight-wapping loom, 
And your clerk shall teach writing and grammar. 

iBE. And this is all that thou canst do, gay 
Queutin ? 
To swagger o'er a herd of parish brats. 
Out cheese or dibble onions with thy poniard, 
..^d trjm the sheath into a ferula ? 

Q^E. I am the prodigal in holy writ ; 
I cannot work, — to beg I am ashamed, 
'ieiides, good mates, I care not who may know it, 
I'm e'en as fairly tired of this same fighting, 
A.8 the poor cnr that's worried in the shambles 
By all the mastiff dogs of all the butchers ; 
Wherefore, farewell sword, poniard, petronel, 
Vnd welcome poverty and peaceful labor. 

Abe. Clerk Quentin, if of fighting thou art tired, 
Bv my good word, thou'rt quickly satisfied, 
b'or thou'st seen but little on't. 

WiL. Thou dost beUe him — I have seen hitn 
fight 
Bravely enough for one in his condition. 

Abe. What, he ? that counter-casting, smock- 
faced boy ? 
What was he but the colonel's scribbling drudge, 
With men of straw to stuff the regiment roll ; 
With cipl.erings unjust to cheat his comrades, 
And cloak false musters for our noble captain ? 

MS. — " I've done with counting dollan," &o. 



He bid farewell to sword und petronel 1 

He should have said, farewell my pen and stan 

dish. 
These, with the rosin used to hide erasures. 
Were the best friends he left in camp behind him 

Que. The sword you scoff at is not far, but scornj 
The threats of an unmanner'd matineer. 

See. {interposes.) We'll have no brawling — 
Shall it e'er be said. 
That being comrades six long years together. 
While gulping down the frowsy fogs of Holland, 
We tilted at each other's throats so soon 
As the fii'st draught of native air refresh'd them ? 
No ! by Saint Duastan, I forbid the combat. 
You all, metliinks, do know this truety lialberd ; 
For I opiae, that every back amongst you 
Hath felt the weight of the tough ashen st.aff. 
Endlong or overthwart. Who is iti* vrishes 
A remembrancer now ? 

[^liaises his halhera. 

Abe. Comrades, have you ears 

To hear the old man bully ? Eyes to see 
His staff rear'd o'er your heads, as o'er the houndi 
The huntsman cracks his whip ? 

WiL. Well said — stout Abraham has the right 
on't.— 
I tell thee, sergeant, we do reverence thee. 
And pardon the rash humors thou hast caught, 
Like wiser men, from thy authority. 
'Tis ended, howsoe'er, ana we'U not suffer 
A word of sergeantry, or halberd-staff, 
Nor the most petty threat of discipline. 
If thou wilt lay aside thy pride of office. 
And drop thy wont of swaggering and commanding, 
Thou art our comrade still for good or evil. 
Else take thy course apart, or with the clerk 

there — 
A sergeant thou, and he being all thy regiment. 

See. Is't come to this, false knaves ? And think 
you not. 
That if you bear a name o'er other soldiers, 
It was because you follow'd to the charge 
One that had zeal and skill enough to lead you 
Where fame was won by danger ? 

WiL. We grant thy skiU in leading, noble sei 
geant ; 
Witness some empty boots and sleeves amongst ue\ 
Which else had still been tenanted wiUi limbs 
In the full quantity ; and for the arguments 
With which you used to back our resolution, 
Om- shoulders do record them. At a word, 
Will you conform, or must we part our company ? 

See. Conform to you ? Base dogs 1 I would out 
lead you 
A bolt-flight farther to be made a general. 
Mean mutineers 1 when you swiU'd off the dregs 
Of my poor sea-stores, it was, " Noble Sergeant- 
Heaven bless old Hildebrand— we'U follow iiiav 



At least, until we safel) see him lodged 
Within the merry bounds of his own England !" 
Wit,. Ay, truly, sir ; but, mark, the ale was 
mighty. 
And the Geneva potent. Such stout hquor 
Makes violent protestations. Skink it round. 
If you have any left, to the same tune, 
Aihl we may find a chorus for it still. 

Ask,. Wt loae our time. — Tell us at once, old 

man, 

if thou wilt march with us, or stay with Quentin ? 

Ser. Out, mutineers ! Dishonor dog your heels ! 

Abr. Wilful will have his way. Adieu, stout 

Hildebrand ! 

[The Soldiers go off laughing, and taking 

leave, with mockery, of the Sergeant 

and Quentin, who remain on the Stage. 

Ser. {after cf pause.) Fly you not with the rest ? 

— fail you to follow 

Yon goodly fellowship and fair example ? 

Come, take your wild-goose flight. I know you 

Scots, 
Like your own sea-fowl, seek your course to- 
gether. 
Qt'E. Faith, a poor heron I, who wing my flight 
In loneliness, or with a single partner ; 
And right it is that I should seek for sohtude. 
Bringing but evil luck on them I herd with. 
Ser. Tliou'rt thankless. Had we landed on the 
coast. 
Where our course bore us, thou wert far from 

home ; 
But the fierce wind that drove us round the isl- 
and, 
Barring each port and inlet that we aira'd at, 
Hath wafted thee to harbor ; for I judge 
Tliis is thy native land we disembark on. 

Que. True, worthy friend. Each rock, each 
stream I look on, 
Each bosky wood, and every frowning tower, 
Awakcis some young dream of infancy. 
Yet such is my hard hap, I might more safely 
Have look'd on Indian cliffs, or Afric's desert, 
Than on my native .shores. I'm like a babe, 
Doom'd to draw poison from my nurse's bosom. 
Ser. Tliou dream'st, young man. Unreal terrors 
haunt. 
As I hav^ Lioted, giddy brains like thine — 
Fiighty poetic, and imaginative — 
To whom a mu.strel whim gives idle rapture, 
Am, when it fades, fantastic misery. 

Que. But mine is not fantastic. I can tell thee, 
^nce I have kno^vn thee still mj faithful friend. 
In part it least the dangerous plight I stand in. 

• MB. — ' Quentin. My short tale 

Grows mystic now. Among the deadly feuds 
Which cnrse our country, something ouce it 
chanced 



Ser. And I will heai thee willingly, the ratbei 
That I would let these vagabonds march on. 
Nor join their troop agfin. Besides, good sooth, 
I'm wearied with the tcil of yesterday. 
And revel of last night. — And I may aid thee 
Yes, I may aid thee, comrade, and perchance 
Thou may'st advantage me. 

Que. May it prove well for both !- -But note mj 
friend, 
I can but intimate my mystic story. 
Some of it lies so secret, — even the winds 
That wliistle round us must not know the whole— 
An oath ! — an oath ! 

Ser. That must be kept, of cours* 

I ask but that which thou may'st freely tell. 

Que. I was an orphan boy, and first saw light 
Not far from where we statd — my lineage low, 
But honest in its poverty. A lord, 
The master of the soil for many a mile. 
Dreaded and powerful, took a kindly charge 
For my advance in letters, and the qualities 
Of the poor orphan lad drew some applause. 
The knight was proud of me, and, in his halla, 
I had such kind of welcome as the great 
Give to the humble, whom they love to poLot to 
As objects not unworthy their protection, 
Whose progress is some honor to their patron — 
A cure was spoken of, which I might serve, 
My manners, doctrine, and acquirements fitting 

Ser. Hitherto thy luck 
Was of the best, good friend. Few lords had ca'-ed 
If thou couldst read thy granunar or thy psalter. 
Thou hadst been valued couldst thou scoiu a hai 

ness. 
And dress a steed distinctly. 

Que. My old masle. 

Held different doctrine, ai least it seem'd so- — 
But he was mix'd in many a Jeadly feud — 
And here my tale grows mystic. I became, 
Unwitting and unwilling, the depositary 
Of a dread secret, and the knowledge on't 
Has wreck'd my peace for ever. It became 
My patron's will, that I, as one who knew 
More than I should, must leave the realm of S(»^ 

land. 
And live or die within a distant land.' 

Ser. Ah ! thou hast done a fault in somo wil'i 
raid. 
As you wild Scotsmen call them. 

Que. Comrade, naj , 

Mine was a peaceful part, and happ'd bj- chance 
I must not tell you more. Enough, tny preseiic* 
Brought danger to my benefactor's house. 
Tower after tower conceal'd me, willing still 

That I unwilling and unwitting, witneas'd; 

And it became my benefactor's will, 

That I should breathe the air of other oliiact. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



79S 



To hide my ill-<»men'd face with owls and ravens,' 

And let my patron's safety be the purchase 

Of my severe and desolate captivity. 

Bo thought I, when dark Arran, with its walla 

Of native rock, enclosed me. There I lurk'd, 

A peaceful stranger amid armed clans, 

Without a friend to love or to defend me, 

Where all baside were link'd by close aUiances. 

At length I made my option to take service 

Ir. that same legion of auxiharies 

In which we lately served the Belgian. 

Our leader, stout Montgomery, hath been kind 

Through fuU six years of warfare, and assign'd me 

More peaceful tasks than the rough front of war, 

For which my education little suited me. 

Ser. Ay, therein was Montgomery kind indeed ; 
Nay, kinder than you tliink, my simple Quentin. 
The letters which you brought to the Montgomery, 
Pointed to thrust thee on some desperate service, 
Which should most likely end thee. 

Que. Bore I such letters ? — Surely, comrade, no. 
Full deeply was the writer bound to aid me. 
Perchance he only meant to prove my mettle ; 
And it was but a trick of my bad fortune 
That gave his letters ill interpretation. 

See. Ay, but thy better angled wrought for good, 
Whatever ill thy evil fate designed thee. 
Montgomery pitied thee, and changed thy service 
In the rough field for labor in the tent, 
More fit for thy green years and peaceful habits. 

Que. Even there his well-meant kindness injured 
me. 
My comrades hated, undervalued me. 
And whatsoe'er of service I could do them, 
They guerdon'd with ingratitude and envy — 
Such my strange doom, that if I serve a man 
At deepest risk, he is my foe for ever ! 

Sek. Hast thou worse fate than others if it were 



so ' 



Worse even than me, thy friend, thine officer, 
Whom yon ungrateful slaves have pitch'd ashore. 
As wild waves heap the sea-weed on the beach, 
And left him here, as if he had the pest 
Or leprosy, and death were in his company ? 

Que They think at least you have the worst of 
plagues, 
rh; worst of leprosies, — they think you poor. 

See. They think like lying villains then, I'm rich. 
And they too might have felt it. I've a thought — 
But stay — what plans your wisdom for yourself? 

Quj;. My thoughts are wellnigh desperate. But 
I purpose 
Heturc to my stern patron — there to tell him 



. clefta 



> The MS. here adds • 

Scieiifl 
walla 
Of naked rock received me ; till at last 
100 



That wars, and winds, and waves, have cross'd hk 

pleasure. 
And cast me on the shore from whence he banishM 

me. 
Then let him do his will, and destine for me 
A dungeon or a grave. 

See. Now, by the rood, tliou art a simple fool 
I can do better for thee. Mark me, Queutin. 
I took my license from the noble regiment. 
Partly that I was worn with age and warfare, 
Partly that an estate of yeomanry. 
Of no great purchase, but enough to live on. 
Has caU'd me owner since a kinsman's death. 
It lies in merry Yorksliire, where the wealth 
Of fold and furrow, proper to Old England, 
Stretches by streams which walk no sluggish pace 
But dance as light as yours. Now, good friend 

Quentin, 
This copyhold can keep two quiet inmates. 
And I am childless. Wilt thou be my son ? 

Que. Nay, you can only jest, ray worthy friend 
What claim have I to be a burden to you ? 

See. The claim of him that wants, and is in dan 
ger. 
On him that has, and can afford protection : 
Thou would'st not fear a foeman in my cottage, 
Where a stout mastiff sluniber'd on the heartli. 
And this good halberd hung above the chimney ? 
But come^I have it — thou shalt earn thy bread 
Duly, and honorably, and usefully. 
Our village schoolmaster hath left the parish, 
Forsook the ancient schoolhouse with its yew-tref.Si 
That lurk'd beside a church two centuries olde' - 
So long devotion took the lead of knowledge 
And since his httle flock ai • shepherdless, 
'Tis thou shalt be promoted in his room ; 
And rather than thou wantest scholars, mau. 
Myself will enter pupil. Better late, 
Our proverb says, than never to do well. 
And look you, on the holyday> I'd tell 
To all the wondering boors and gaping children. 
Strange tales of what the regiment did in Flanderc 
And thou sliouldst say Amen, anvl be my wan-ant 
That I speak truth to them 

Que. Would I might takt thy offer ! But, alaa 
Thou art the hermit who compell'd a pilgrim. 
In name of Heaven and heavenly charity. 
To share his roof and meal, but found too late 
That he had drawn a curse on him and his. 
By sheltering a wretch foredoom'd of heav p ' 

See. Thou talk'st in riddles to me. 

Que, If I dc 

'Tis that I am - riaole to mysel£ 



I yielded to take aervice in the legion 
Which lately has discharged us. 8tou< Moi's^ ^ipn 
Oor colonel, hath been kind thiough five yeiva' wa^ 
fare." 



794 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



rhtiu know'st I am by nature bom a friend 
To glee and merriment ; can make wild verses ; 
The jest or laugh has never stopp'd with me, 
When once 'twas set a-roUing. 

See. I have known thee 

A blithe companion still, and wonder now 
Thou shouldst become thus crest-fallen. 

Que. Does the lark sing her descant when the 
falcan 
Scalo.i the blue vault with bolder wing than hers, 
And meditates a stoop ? The mirth thou'st noted 
Was all deception, fraud — Hated enough 
For other causes, I did veil my feelings 
Beneath the mask of mirth, — laugh' d, sung, and 

caroll'd, 
To gain some interest in my comrades' bosoms, 
Although mine own was bursting. 

See. Thou'rt a hypocrite 

Of a new order. 

Que. But harmless as th* innoxious snake, 
Which bears the adder's form, liu-ks in his haunts. 
Yet neither hath his fang-teeth nor his poison. 
Look you, kind Hildebrand, I would seem merry, 
Lest other men should, tiring of my sadness. 
Expel me from them, as the hunted wether 
Is driven from the flock. 

See. Faith, thou hast borne it bravely out. 
Had I been ask'd to name the merriest fellow 
Of all our muster-roll — that man wert thou. 

Que. See'st thou, my friend, yon brook dance 
down the valley, 
And sing bhthe carols over broken rock 
And tiny waterfall, kissing each shrub 
And each gay flower it nurses in its passage, — 
Where, think'st thou, is its source, the bonny 

brook ? — 
rt flows from forth a cavern, black and gloomy, 
Sullen and sunless, like this heart of mine, 
Whicli others see in a false glare of gayety, 
Which I have laid before you in its sadness. 

See. If such wild fancies dog thee, wherefore 
leave 
The trade where thou wert safe 'midst others' 

dangers, 
And venture to thy native land, where fate 
lies on the watch for thee ? Had old Montgomery 
Been with the regiment, thou hadst had no cong6. 

Que. No, 'tis most Hkely — But I had a hope, 
A poor vain hope, that I might Hve obsciu-ely 
In some far corner of my native Scotland, 
Which, of all others, splinter'd into districts. 
Differing in manners, famiUes, even language, 
Seeni'd a safe refuge for the humble wretch, 
Whose highest hope was to remain unheard of. 
But fiite has baffled me — the winds and waves, 
With force resistless, have impell'd me hither — 
Have driven me to the clime most dang'roua to me ; 
And I obey the call, like the h'lrt deer. 



Wliich seeks instincti'^elv bv native lair. 
Though his heai-t >,elis ^^ it is but to die thc^e. 

See. 'Tis f Jae, bj Tiea / en, young wan i ThU 
same Q^^jair 
Though ahoT/i'ig resi^jnation in its banner 
Is but a kind of covert c'^wardice. 
Wise men have said, that though our stars IncliiM, 
They cannot force us — Wisdom is th'i pilot, 
And if he caimot cross, he may e^ ade theni. 
You lend an ear to idle auguries. 
The fruits of our last revels — still most sad 
Under the gloom that follows boisterous mirth, 
As earth looks blackest after brilliant simshine. 

Que. No, by my honest word. I join'd the reve^ 
And aided it with laugh, and song, and shout, 
But my heart revell'd not ; and, when the mirth 
Was at the loudest, on yon galliot's prow 
I stood uimiark'd, and gazed upon the land. 
My native land — each cape and cUff I knew. 
" Behold me now," I said, " your destined victim I" 
So greets the sentenced criminal the headsman, 
Who sloiv approaches with his hfted axe. 
" Hither I come," I said, " ye kindred hills, 
Wbosti darksome outline in a distant land 
HatUited mj'- alumbers ; here I stand, thou ocean, 
Wliose hoarse voice, murmm^ing in my dreams, re 

quired me ; 
See me now here, ye winds, whose plaintive wai), 
On yonder distant shores, appear'd to call me — 
Summon'd, behold me." And the winds and wavee^ 
And the deep echoes of the distant mountain. 
Made answer, — " Come, and die 1" 

See. Fantastic all ! Poor boy, thou art distracted 
With the vain terrors of some feudal tyrant, 
Whose frown hath been from infancy thy bugbear 
Why seek his presence ? 

Que. Wherefore does the motli 

Fly to the scorching taper ? Why the bird. 
Dazzled by lights at midnight, seek the net ? 
Why does the prey, which feels the fascination 
Of the snake's ghu^ing eye, drop in his jaws ? 

See, Such wild examples but refute themsdvc*. 
Let bird, let moth, let the coil'd adder's Jirey, 
Resist the fascination and be safe 
Thou goest not near this Baron — if thou goest, 
I will go with thee. Known in many a liold. 
Which he in a whole hfe of petty feud 
Has never dream' d of, I will teach the knight 
To rule him in this matter — be thy warrant, 
That far from him, and from his petty loi Jship, 
You shall henceforth tread English land, and never 
Thy presence shall alarm his conscience more 

Que. 'Twere desperate risk for both. I will far 
rather 
Hastily guide thee through this dangerous proniioe 
And seek thy school, thy yew-trees, and ihy chuict' 

yard ;— 
The last, perchance, will be the flrst I fin L 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



lyt 



fcEE. I would rather face him, 
Like a bold EngUsliman that knows his right, 
A.nd will stand by his friend. And yet 'tis folly — 
Fancies Like these are not to be resisted ; 
Tis better to escape them. Many a presage, 
Too rashly braved, becomes its own accomplish 

ment. 
rben lei us go — but whitlier ? My old head 
As little knows where it shall he to-night, 
As yonder mutineers that left their officer, 
As reckless of liis quarters as these billows, 
■^Jiat leave the withered sea-weed on the beach, 
And care not where they pile it. 

(iuE Think not for that, good friend. We are 
m Scotland, 
And i/ it »8 not varied from its wont. 
Each cot, that sends a curl of smoke to heaven, 
Will yield a stranger quarters for the night, 
Simply because he needs them. 

See. Bulfere there none within an easy walk 
Give lodgings here for hire ? for I have left 
Some of the Don's piastres (though I kept 
The secret from yon gulls), and I had rather 
Pay the fair reckoning I can well afford, 
And my host takes with pleasure, than I'd cum- 
ber 
Some poor man's roof with me and all my wants, 
And tax his charity beyond discretion. 

Que. Some six miles hence there is a town and 
hostelry — 
But you are wayworn, and it is most hkely 
Our comrades must have fill'd it. 

See. Out upon them ! — 

Were there a friendly mastiff who would lend me 
Half of his supper, half of his poor kennel, 
I would help Honesty to pick his bones. 
And share his straw, far rather than I'd sup 
On jolly fare with these base varlets ! 

Que. We'll manage better; for our Scottish 
dogs. 
Though stout and trusty, are but ill-instructed' 
In hospitable rights. — Here is a maiden, 
A little maid, will tell us of the country. 
And sorely is it changed since I have left it, 
at we should fail to find a harborage. 

Enter Isabel ^MacLellan, a girl of about six years 
old, hearing a milk-pail on her head ; she stops 
on seeing the Sergeant a7id Quentin. 
Que. There's something in her look that doth 
remind me — 

But 'tis not wonder I find recollections 

In all that here I look on. — Pretty maid 

See. You're slow, and hesitate. I will be 
spokesman. — 

Uood e>en, my pretty maiden — canst thou teU ufl, 

* Md " Gallant and grim, may be bat ill-mstxocted " 



Is there a Christian house would render stranger* 
For love or guerdon, a night's meal and lodging f 
IsA. Full surely, sir ; we dwell in yon old house 
Upon the cliff — they call it Chapeldonan. 

[Points to the building 
Our house is large enough, and if our supper 
Chance to be scant, you shall have half of mine. 
For, as I think, sir, you have been a soldier. 
Up yonder Ues uur house ; I'll trip before. 
And teU my mother she has guests a-comiiig ; 
The path is something steep, but you shall see 
I'U be there first. I must chain up the dogs, t^x) 
Nunrod and Bloodylass are cross to strangers. 
But gentle when you know them. 

[Exit, and is seen partially asce>>ding U 
the Castle, 
See. You have spoke 

Yolu- country folk aright, both for the dogs 
And for the people. — We had luck to Ught 
On one too young for cunning and for seliisb 

ness. — 
He's in a revery — a deep one sure. 
Since the gibe on his country wakes him not. — 
Bestir thee, Quentin 1 

Que. 'Twas a wondrous likenea* 

See. Likeness ! of whom ? I'll warrant thee ol 

one 
Whom thou hast loved and lost. Such fantasies 
Live long in brains like thine, which fashion 

visions 
Of woe and death when they are cross'd in love. 
As most men are or have been. 

Que. Thy guess hath touch'd me, though it is bu< 

shghtly, 
'Mongst other woes : I knew, in former days, 
A maid that view'd me with some glance of favor 
But my fate carried me to other shores, 
And she has since been wedded. I did think on'l 
But as a bubble burst, a rainbow vanish'd ; 
It adds no deeper shade to the dark gloom 
Wliich chQls the springs of hope and fife within me 
Our guide hath got a trick of voice and feature 
Like to the maid I spoke of — that is aU. 

See. She bomids before us Hke a gamesome io^ 
Or rather as the rock-bred eaglet soars 
Up to her nest, as if she rose by will 
Without an efitort. Now a Netherlander, 
One of our Frogland friends, viewing the scene. 
Would take his oath that tower, and rock, and 

maiden, 
Were forms too light and lofty to be real. 
And only some delusion of the fancy, 
Such as men dream at sunset. I myself 
Have kept the level ground so many years, 
I have wellnigh forgot the art to climb 
Unless assisted by thy younger arm. 

[They go off as if to ascend to ehe TotMt 
the Seegeant leanlnq upon Qusitttx 



/96 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



aCENE II. 

Bctrte changes to Jie Front of the Old Tower. Isa- 
bel cowc* forward with her Mother, — Maeion 
speaking as they advance. 

Mar. I blame thee not, my child, for bidding 
wanderers 
Uome share cm- food and shelter, if thy father 
Were here to welcome them ; but, Isabel, 
He waits upon his lord at Auchindrane, 
And comes not home to-night. 

IsA. What then, my mother ? 

The travellers do not ask to see my father ; 
Food, shelter, rest, is all the poor men want, 
And we can give them these without my father. 

Mah. Thou canst not understand, nor I explain, 
Wliy a lone female asks not visitants 
What tmie her husband's absent. — (Apart.) My 

poor child. 
And if thou'rt wedded to a jealous husband, 
Thou'lt know too soon the cause. 

IsA. (partly overhearing what her mother says.) 
Ay, but I know already — Jealousy 
Is, when my father chides, and you sit weeping. 

Mar. Out, little spy ! thy father never chides ; 
Oi, if he does, 'tis when his wife deserves it. — 
But to our strangers ; they are old men, Isabel, 
That seek this shelter ? are they not ? 

IsA. One is old — 

Old as this tower of ours, and worn like that. 
Bearing deep marks of battles long since fought. 
Mah. Some remnant of the wars ; he's welcome, 
surely, 
bringing no quality along with him 
Which can alarm suspicion. — Well, the other ? 
LsA. A yoimg man, gentle-voiced and gentle- 
eyed, [frown'd on ; 
Who looks and speaks like one the world has 
But smil js when you smile, seeming that he feels 
Joy in yoiu- joy, though he himself is sad. 
Brown hair, and downcast looks. 
Mae. (alarmed.) 'Tis but an idle thought — it can- 
not be I [Listens. 
I hear his accents — It is all too true — 
My terrors were prophetic 1 

m compose myself, 
knd then accost liim firmly. Thus it must oe. 

[She retires hastily into the Tower. 
[The voices of the Sergeant and Quentin 
are heard ascending behind the Scenes. 
Que. One effort more — we stand upon the level 
Fve seen thee work thee up glacis and cavalier 
Steeper than this ascent, when cannon, culverine, 
Muflket, and hackbut, shower'd their shot upon thee, 
And form'd, with ceaseless blaze, a fiery garland 
Round the defences of the post you storm'd. 

{They come on the Stage, and at the same 
time Mabion re-eiders from the Tower. 



Ser. Truly thou speak' st. I am the tardier 
That I, in cUmbing hither, miss the fire, [ing.— 
Which wont to tell me there was death in loiter 
Here stands, methinks, our hostess. 

[He goes forward to address Marion. Ql E1» 
TIN, struck on seeing her, keeps back. 

See. Kind dame, yon little lass hatii briugli< 
you strangers, 
Willing to be a trouble, not a charge U you. 
We are disbanded soldiers, but have mejus 
Ample enough to pay our journey homeward. 

Mae. We keep no house of general entertain 
ment. 
But know our duty, sir, to locks like yours, 
Wliiten'd and thinn'd by many a long caiupaign. 
lU chances that my husband should be absent — 
(Apart.) — Courage alone can make me struggl« 

through it — 
For in your comrade, though he hath forgot me, 
I spy a friend whom I have known in sftiool-days. 
And whom I tliink MacLeUan well remembers. 

[She goes up to Quentin. 
You see a woman's memory 
Is faithfuller than yours ; for Quentin Blane 
Hath not a greeting left for Marion Harkness. 

Que. (with effort.) I seek, indeed, my native 
land, good Marion, 
But seek it like a stranger. — All is chan^d. 
And thou thyself 

Mar. You left a giddy maiden. 

And iind on your return, a wife and mother. 
Tliine old acquaintance, Quentin, is my mate — 
Stout Niel MacLellan, ranger to our lord. 
The Knight of Auchindrane. He's absent now, 
But ^vill rejoice to see his former comrade, 
If, as I trust, you tarry his ret'irn. 
(Apart.) Heaven giant he uu-ierstand my wordi 

by contraries ! 
He must remember Niel and ht were rivals : 
He must remember Niel and he were foes ; 
He must remember Niel is warm cf temper. 
And think, instead of welcome, I would blithely 
Bid him, God speed you. But he is aa simple 
And void of guile as ever. 

Que. Marion, I gladly rest witL'n your cotta^ 
And gladly wait return of Niel MacLellan, 
To clasp his hand, and wish him happiness. 
Some rising feelings might perhaps prevent thi»— 
But 'tis a peevish part to grudge our friends 
Their shaie of fortune because we have miss'd it 
I can wish others joy and happiness, 
Though I must ne'er partake them. 

Mar. But if it grieve you [of hop« 

Que. No ! do not fear. The brightest gleami 
That shine on me are such as are reflected 
F;jm those which shine on others. 

[The Skegeant atid Quentin tnter th4 
Tower with the little Girl. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE Ai^RSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



791 



Mab. {cmnes forward, and speaks in agitation.) 
Even 80 ! the simple youth has miss'd my meaning. 
I shame to make it plainer, or to say, 
[p one brief word, Pass on — Heaven guide the bark, 
Por we are on the breakers 1 {Exit into the Tower. 



ACT II.— SCEIO: I, 

A unihdraw'ng Apartment in the Castle of Auch- 
indrane. Servants place a Table, with a flask of 
T^ine and Drinking-eups. 

Enter Mure of Acuhinde;ine, with Albert Gif- 
FORD, his Relation and Visitor. They place 
themselves by the Table after some compliment- 
ary ceremony. At sonie distance is heard the 
noise of revelling. 

AucH. "We're better placed for confidential talk, 
ITian in the hall fiU'd with disbanded soldiers. 
And fools and fiddlers gather'd on the highway, — 
The worthy guests whom Phihp crowds my hall 

with, 
And with them spends his evening. 

GiF. But think you not, my friend, that your son 
Philip 
Should be participant of these our councils, 
Being so deeply mingled in the danger — 
Your house's only heir — your only son ? 

AucH. Kind cousin Gilford, if thou lack'st good 
counsel 
L'. race, at cockpit, or at gambling-table. 
Or any freak by which men cheat themselves 
As well of life, as of the means to hve, 
Call for assistance upon Philip Mure ; 
But in all serious parley spare invoking him. 

GiF. You speak too Ughtly of my cousin Philip ; 
All name him brave in arms. 

AucH. A second Bevis ; 

But I, my youth bred up in graver fashions. 
Mourn o'er the mode of life in which he spends, 
Oc rather dissipates, his time and substance. 
No vagabond escapes his search — The soldier 
Spurn'd from the service, henceforth to be ruffian 
Upon liis own account, is Philip's comrade ; 
The fiddler, whose crack'd crowd has still three 

stiings on't ; 
The balladeer, whose voice has still two notes left ; 
Whate'er is roguish and whate'er is vile. 
Are welcome to the board of Auchindrane, 
And Phihp will return them shout for shout. 
And pledge for jovial pledge, and song for song, 
Until the shamefaced sun peep j'.t oui windows, 
&jid aik, " What have we here ? 



GiF. Ton take such revel deeply — we are Scots 

men, 
Far known for rustic hospitality 
That mind not birth or titles in our guests ; 
Tlie harper has his seat beside our hearth. 
The wanderer must find comfort at our board. 
His name unask'd, his pedigree unknown ; 
So did our ancestors, and so must we. 

AucH. All this is freely granted, worthy kins 

man; 
And prithee do not think me churl enough 
To count how many sit beneath my salt. 
I've wealth enough to fill my father's haU 
Each day at noon, and feed the guests who crowd it 
I am near mate with those whom men call Lord, 
Though a rude western knight. But mark vat. 

cousin, 
Although 1 feed wayfaring vagabonds, 
I make them not my comrades. Such as I, 
Who have advanced the fortunes of my Une. 
And swell'd a baron's tm-ret to a palace. 
Have oft the curse awaiting on our thrift. 
To see, while yet we Uve, things which must be 
At our decease — the downfall of our family. 
The loss of land and lordship, name and knigh* 

hood. 
The wreck of the fair fabric we have built, 
By a degenerate heir. Philip has that 
Of inborn meanness in liim, that he loves not 
The company of betters, nor of equals ; 
Never at ease, unless he bears the bell. 
And crows the loudest in the company. 
He's mesh'd, too, in the snares of every fem>tl«> 
Who deigns to cast a passing glance on him — 
Licentious, disrespectful, rash, and profligate. 
GiF. Come, my good coz, think we too have beeii 

young, 
And I will swear that in your father's lifetime 
You have yourself been trapp'd by toys hke thesa 
AucH. A fool I may have been — but not a mad 

man; 
I never play'd the rake among my followers. 
Pursuing this man's sister, that man's wife ; 
And therefore never saw I man of mine. 
When summon'd to obey my best, grow restive. 
Talk of his honor, of his peace desti >y'd. 
And, while obeying, mutter threats of veugeaiici 
But now the humor of an idle youth. 
Disgusting trusted followers, sworn dependf,iiiB, 
Plays football with his honor and my safety. 

GiF. I'm sorry to find discord in your houso, 
For I had hoped, while bringing you cold news, 
To find you arm'd in union 'gainst the danger. 
AucH. What can man speak that I would shi-iut 

to hear. 
And where the danger I would deign to shun ? 

\_He rint* 
What should appal a man inured to perils, 



Liki the bold climber on the crags of Ailsa ? 
<Vii.ds whistle past him, billows rage below, 
Tlie sea-fowl sweep around, with shriek and clang, 
One single slip, one unadvised pace, 
One quabn of giddiness — and peace be with him ! 
But he wliose gra^p is sure, whose step is firm, 
WTu/»3 oriii: 'i constant — he makes one proud rock 
The nip.ans to scale another, till lie stand 
^nnmpliant on the peak. 

OiF. And so I trust 

rhou wilt 8urnv)unt the danger now approaching. 
Which scarcely can I frame my tongue to tell you, 
Though I rode here on purpose. 

Aucp. Cousin, I think thy heart was never coward, 
And strange it seems thy tongue should take such 

eemblance. 
I've heard of many a loud-mouth'd, noisy braggart, 
Wliose hand gave feeble sanction to his tongue ; 
But thou art one whose heart can think bold things. 
Whose hand can act them — but who shrinks to 
speak them ! 

GiF. And if I speak them not, 'tis that I shame 
To tell thee of the calumnies that load thee. 
Tilings loudly spoken at the city Cross — 
Things closely whisper'd in our Sovereign's ear — 
Things which the plumed lord and flat-capp'd cit- 
izen 
Do circulate amid theii* different ranks — 
Things false, no doubt; but, falsehoods while I 

deem them. 
Still honoring thee, I shun the odious topic. 

AucH. Shun it not, cousin; 'tis a friend's best 
office 
To bring the news we hear unwillingly. 
The sentinel, who tells the foe's approach. 
And wakes the sleeping camp, does but his duty : 
Be thou as bold in telling me of danger, 
As I shall be in facing danger told of. 

GiF. I need not bid thee recollect the death-feud 
That raged so long betwixt thy house and Cassilis ; 
I need not bid thee recollect the league, 
When royal James himself stood mediator 
Between thee and Earl Gilbert. 

A"CH. Call you these news ? — You might as well 
ha- 3 fold me 
riat old Kmg Coil is dead, and graved at Kylesfeld. 
ni help thee out — King James commanded us 
Henceforth to live in peace, made us clasp fcands too. 
0, e,_', whon such an union hath been made, 
fn heart and hand conjoining mortal foes. 
Under a monarch's royal mediation, 
The leag'ie is not forgotten. And with this 
VVTiat is there to be told ? The king commanded — 
Be friends." No doubt we were so — Who dares 
doubt it ? 

GiF. You speak but half the tale. 

Adch. Bj good Saint Trimon, but FU tell the 
whole J 



There is no terror in the tale for me — ' 

Go speak of ghosts to children ! — This Earl Gilberl 

(God sain him) loved Heaven's peace as well as 1 

did. 
And we were wondrous friends whene'er we mel 
At chm-ch or market, or in burrows town. 
Midst this, our good Lord Gilbert, Earl of Cassilis. 
Takes purpose he would journey iorih tc Edui 

burgh. 
The King was doling gifts of abbey-lands, 
Good things that thrifty house was wont to fish fof 
Our mighty Earl forsakes his sea-wash'd castlu. 
Passes our borders some four miles from hence ; 
And, holding it unwholesome to be fasters 
Long after sum-ise, lo 1 The Earl and train 
Dismount, to rest their nags and eat their breakfas" 
The morning rose, the small birds caroll'd sweetly 
The corks were drawn, the pasty brooks incision— 
His lordship jests, his train are choked with laugh 

ter ; 
Whe , — wondrous change of cheer, and most ue 

look'd for. 
Strange epilogue to bottle and to baked meat !— 
Flash'd from the greenwood half a score of cara 

bines. 
And the good Earl of Cassilis, in his breakfast, 
Had nooning, dinner, supper, all at once. 
Even in the morning that he closed his journey ; 
And the grim sexton, for his chamberlain. 
Made him the bed which rests the head for ever. 
GiF. Told with much spirit, cousin — some there 

are 
Would add, and in a tone resembling triumpL 
And would tliat with these long-establish'd facts 
My tale began and ended ! I must tell you. 
That evil-deeming censures of the events. 
Both at the time and now, throw blame on thee — ■ 
Time, place, and circumstance, they say, proclaim 

thee, 
Alike, the author of that morning's ambush. 

AucH. Ay, 'tis an old belief in Carrick here, 
Where natives do not always die in bed. 
That if a Kennedy shall not attain 
Methuselah's last span, a Mure has elain him. 
Such is the general creed of all their clan. 
Thank Heaven, that they're bound to prove tha 

charge 
They are so prompt in making. They have clamord 
Enough of tliis before, to show their malice. 
But what said these coward pickthanks when I 

came 
Before the King, before the Justicers, 
Rebuttbg all their calumnies, and daring them 
To show that I knew aught of Cassilis' journey— 
Which way he meant to travel — where to halt— 



' " There is ne terror Oassiua in yo'ir threats." 

SHAKSPC&ml 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



in 



Without which knowledge I possess'd no means 
To dress an ambush Jbr him ? Did I not 
Defy the assembled clan of Kennedys 
To show, by proof direct or inferential, 
Wherefore they slander'd me wi*Ji this foul 

charge ? 
My gaantleb rimg before them in the court, 
And I did dare the best of them to hft it, 
And prove such charge a true one — Did I not ? 
(i^ I saw your gauutlet lie before the Ken- 
nedys, 
W ho look'd on it as uen do on an adder, 
Longmg to crush, and yet afraid to grasp it. 
Not an eye sparkled — not a foot advanced — 
No arm was stretch'd to Uft the latal symbol. 
AocH. Then, wherefore do the hildings murmur 
now? 
Wish they to see again, how one bold Mure 
Can baffle and defy their assembled vi.lor ? 
GiF. No ; but they speak of evidence suppress' d. 
Aucu. Suppress'd ! — what evidence ? — by whom 
suppress'd ? 
What Will-o'-Wisp — what idiot of a witnens, 
Is he to whom they trace an empty voice. 
But cannot show his person ? 

GiF. They pretend, 

With the King's leave, to bring it to a trial ; 
Averring that a lad, n^med Quentin Blane, 
Brought thee a letter from the murder'd Eaii, 
With friendly greetings, telling of his journey, 
The hour which he set forth, the place he halted at 
Aifordjng thee the means to form the ambush, 
Of wlJ''h yom- hatred made the application. 
AucH. A prudent Earl, indeed, if such his prac- 
tice. 
When dealing with a recent enemy 1 
And what shoiJd he propose by such strange con- 
fidence 
In one who sought it not ? 
GiF. His purposes were kindly, say the Ken- 
nedys — 
Desiring you would meet him where he halted, 
Offerijig to undertake whate'er commissions 
You listed trust him with, for court or city: 
And, Aius apprised of CassiUs' purposed journey, 
And of his halting-place, you placed the ambush, 

Prepared the homicides 

AuoH. They r 3 free to say their pleasure. They 
are men 
Of the new court — and I am but a fragment 
Of stout old Morton's faction. It is reason 
That such as I be rooted from the earth. 
That they may have full room to spread their 

branches. 
No doubt, 'tis easy to find strolling vagrants 
To prove whate'er they prompt. This Quentin 

Blane — 
thi you not call him so ? — \^hy comes he now ? 



And wherefore not before ? This must J.e ansT.*r'd 

— {abruptly) — 
Where is he how ? 

GiF. Abroad — they say — ki^Jns^pp'd, 

By you kidnapp'd, that he might clie in ^Isjidera. 
But orders have been sent for liis discharge, 
A— d his transmission hither. 

ADOH. [assimung an air of composure^ When 
they pro-luce such witness, Cousm Giffora, 
"We'll be prepared to meet it. In the m'^aii wnQ< 
The King doth ill to throw his royal sceptre 
In the accuser's scale, ere he can know 
How justice shall inchne it. 

GiF. Our sage prmce 

Resents, it may be, less the death of CassOis, 
Than he is angry tbfet the feud should burn, 
After his royal voice had said, " Be quench'd :" 
Thus urging prosecution less for slaughter, 
Than that, being done against the King's com 

mand, 
Treason is mix'd with homicide. 

AucH. Ha ! ha ! most true, my couaijD. 

Why, well consider'd, 'tis a crime so great 
To slay one's enemy, the Kmg forbidding it, 
Like parricide, it should be held impossible. 
'Tis just as if a wretch retain'd the evil, 
Wlien the King's touch had bid tlie sores be heal'd 
And such a crime merits the stake at least. 
WHiat ! can there be within a Scottish bosom 
A feud so deadly, that it kept its ground 
When the King said. Be friends ! It is not credible 
"Were I Kmg James, I never would believe it : 
I'd rather tliink the story all a dream, 
And that there was no friendsliip, feud, nor journey 
No halt, no ambush, and no Earl of Cassilis, 
Than dream anointed Majesty has wrong ! — 

GiF. Speak within door, coz. 

AucH. 0, true — {aside) — I shall bi tray myself 
Even to tliis half-bred fool. — I must have room, 
Room for an instant, or I suffocate. — 
Cousin, I prithee call our PhiUp hither — 
Forgive me ; 'twere more meet I summon'd him 
Myself; but then the sight of yonder revel 
Would chafe my blood, and I have need of cocl 
ness. 

JiF. I understand thee — I will bring hic; 
straight. 

[£xii 

AacH. And if thou dost, he's lost his ancient 
trick 
To fathom, as he wont, his five-pint flagons. — 
This space is mine — for the power to fill it 
Instead of senseless rage and empty curses, 
With the dark spell which witches learn fron 

fiends. 
That smites the object of their hate afar. 
Nor leaves a token of its mystic action, 
Stealing the soul from out the unscatheC bodv 



800 



JSCOrrS POETICAL WORKS. 



Aj3 lightning melts the blade, nor harms the scab- 
bard I 
— Tis vain to wish for it — Each curse of mine 
Falls to the groimd as harmless as the arrows 
Which cliildren shoot at stars! The time for 

thought, 
[f thi^dght could aught avaU me, melts away, 
Like to a snowball in a schoolboy's hand, 
Diat melts the faster the more close he grasps 

it:— 
If I had time, this Scottish Solomon, 
Uliora some call son of David the Musician,' 
ilight find it perilous work to march to Carrick. 
There's many a feud still slumbering in its ashes. 
Whose embers are yet red. Nobles we have. 
Stout as old Graysteel, and a#hot as Bothwell ; 
'^ere too are castles look from crags as high 
On §683 as wide as Logan's. So the King — 
J^shaw ! He is here again — 

Enter Giffoed. 
GiF. I heard you name 

The King, my kinsman ; know, he comes not liither. 
AucH. {affecting indifference) Nay, then we need 
not broach our barrels, cousin, 
ror purcha3e us new jerkins. — Comes not PhiUp ? 
GiF. Yes, sir. He tarries but to drink a service 
To his good friends at parting. 

AccH. Friends for the beadle or the sheriff-officer. 
Well, let it pass. WTio comes, and how a1 tended, 
Since James designs not westward ? 

GiF. you shall have, instead, his fiery func- 
tionary, 
George Home that was, but now Dimbar's great 

Earl ; 
He leads a royal host, and comes to show you 
tf aw he distributes justice on the Border, 
'Vhere judge and hangman oft reverse their office, 
And the noose does its work before the sentence. 
But I have said my tidings best and worst. 
None but yourself can know what course the time 
And peril may demand. To Uft yo'u- banner. 
If I might be a judge, were despei'ate game : 
Ireland and Galloway offer you convenience 
For fliglit, if flight be thought the better remedy ; 
To face the court requires the consciousness 
And confidence of innocence. You alone 
Dan judge if you possess these al tributes. 

[A noise behind the scenes. 
Aucu. Pliihp, I tliink, has broken up his revels ; 
liis ragged regiment are dispersing them. 
Well Ucjuor'd, doubtless. They're disbanded sol- 

ditrs, 
l)r some such vagabonds. — Here comes the gallant. 
[^Enter Philip. He has a buff-coat and 

> The caiamr.ioas tale which ascribed the birth of James 
VI. U> an intrigue of Q.ueea Mary with Rizzio: 



head-piece, wears a sword and dagger, witk 
pistols at his girdle. He appears to b» 
affected by liquor, but to be by i.o meant 
intoxicated 
AucH. You scarce have been made known to 
one another, 
Although you sate together at the board. — 
Son PhiUp, know and prize our cousin Gifford. 
Phi. {tastes the wine on the table.) If you b«d 
prized him, sir, you had been loth 
To have welcomed liim in bastard Alicaut : 
rU make amends by pledging his good journey 
In glorious Burgundy.- -The stirrup-cup, hoi 
And bring my cousin's horsvs to the court 

AucH. {draws him aside.) The sturup-cup? He 
doth not ride to-night — 
Shame on such churlish conduct to a kinsman 1 
Phi. {aside to his father.) I've news of pressing 
import. 
>Send the fool off. — Stay, I wiU start him for you. 
(To GiF.) Yes, my kind cousin. Burgundy is better 
On a night-ride, to those who thread our moors, 
And we may deal it freely to our friends. 
For we came freely by it. Yonder ocean 
Rolls many a purple cask upon our shore, 
Rough with embossed shells and shagged sea-weej 
When the good skipper and his carefid crew 
Have had their latest eartUy draught of brine, 
And gone to quench, or to endui*e then thu-st, 
Wliere nectar's plenty, or even water's scarce, 
And filter'd to the parched crew by dropsfull. 
AucH. Thou'rt mad, son Philip! — Gilford's no 
intruder. 
That we should rid him hence by such wild rants ; 
My kinsman liither rode at liis own danger. 
To tell us that Dimbar is hasting to us. 
With a strong force, and with the Kmg's com- 
mission. 
To enforce against our h nise a hateful charge, ' 
With every measure of ixtremity. 

Phi. And is tliis all that our good cousm tellj 
us? 
I can say more, thanks to the ragged regimerit, 
With whose good company you have upbraided ma. 
On whose authority, I teU thee, cousin, • 
Dunbar is here already. 

GiF. Already ? 

Phi. Yes, gentle coz. And j^ou, my siro, be 
hasty 
In what you think to do. 

Auch. I think thou darest n.t jest on such s 
subject. 
Where hadst thou these fell tidings ? 

Phi. WTiere you, too, might have hedxd them, 
noble father. 
Save that your ears, nail'd to our kinsman's lips, 
Would list no coarser accents. 0, my soldiers, 
My merry crew of vagabocds, for >ver I 



AUCHINDRAJNE, OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRALrEDY. 



80 i 



Sciun of the Netherlands, and -wash'd ashore 

tlpon this coast like unregarded sea-weed, 

Thej had not been two hours on Scottish land, 

When, lo ! they met a military friend, 

A.n ancient fourier, known to them of old, 

Who, wa-vm'd by certain stoups of searching wine, 

fnform'd his old companions that Di/nbar 

Left Glasgow yesterday, comes here to-morrow ; 

Himself, he said, was sent a spy before. 

To viiiw what preparations we were making. 

AccH. {to GiF.) If this be sooth, good kinsman, 
thou must claim 
To take a part with us for life and death. 
Or speed from hence, and leave us to our fortune. 

. GiF. In such dilemma. 
Believe me, friend, I'd choose upon the instant — 
But I lack harness, and a steed to charge on, 
For mine is overtired, and, save my page. 
There's not a man to back me. But I'll hie 
To Kyle, and raise my vassals to your aid, 

Phi. 'Twill be when the rats, 
That on these tidings fly tliis house of ours. 
Come back to pay their rents.i — {Apart) 

AucH. Courage, cousin — 
Thou goest not hence iU mounted for thy need : 
Full forty coursers feed in my wide stalls. 
The best of them is yours to speed your joiu-ney. 

Phi. Stand not on ceremony, good our cousin. 
When safety signs, to shorten courtesy. 

GiF. {to AucH.) FareweU. then, cousin, for my 
tarrying here 
Were ruin to myself, small aid to you ; 
Yei loving well your name and fauiilj, 
I'd fain 

Phi. Be gone ? — that is our object, too — 
t£insman, adieu. 

[^Exit GiFFOED. Philip calli after hinn. 
You yeoman of the stable. 
Give Master Gifford there my fleetest steed, 
Yon cut-tail'd roan that trembles at a spear. — 

[Trampling of the horse heard going off. 
Hark ! he departs. How swift the dastard rides, 
To shim the neighborhood of jeopardy 1 

[He lays aside the appearatice of Lniitv 
which he has hitherto worn, and says 
very seriously, 

And now, my father — 

AtoH. And now, my son — thou'st ta'en a peril- 
ous game 
Into tliine hands, rejecting elder counsel, — 
How dost thou mean to play it ? 

Phi. Sir, good gamesters play not 
Till they review the cards which fate has dealt them, 
Computing thus the chances of the game ; 
And woefully they seem to weigh against us. 

AucH. Exile's a passing iU, and may be borne ; 

^d when Dunbar and all his myrmidons 

Ai"e eastward tiu-n'd. we'll seize our own again. 
101 



Phi. Would that were all the risk we had to 

stand to ! 
But more and worse, — a doom of treason, forfeiture. 
Deatli to ourselves, dishonor to our house, 
Is what the stern Justiciary menaces ; 
And, fatally for us, he hath the means 
To make his threatenings good. 

AucH. It cannot be. I teU thee, there's no foro 
In Scottish law to raze a house like mine. 
Coeval with the time the Lords of Galloway 
Submitted them unto the Scottish sceptre, 
Renoimcing rights of Tanistry and Brehon. 
Some dreams they have of evidence ; somt sun 

picion. 
But old Montgomery knows my purpose well, 
And long before their mandate reach the camp 
To crave the presence of this mighty witness, 
He will be fitted with an answer to it. 

Phi. Father, what we call great, is often rum'«* 
By means so ludicrously disproportion'd, 
They make me think upon the gunner's linstock, 
Which, yielding forth a light about the size 
And semblance of the glow-worm, yet applied 
To powder, blew a palace into atoms, 
Sent a young King — a young Queen's mate at 

least — 
Into the air, as high as e'er flew night-hawk, 
And made such wild work in the realm of Scotland, 
As they can tell who heard, — and you were one 
Who saw, perhaps, the night-flight which began ii. 
AucH. If thou hast naught to speak but drunken 

foUy, 
I cannot listen longer. 

Phi. I will speak brief and sudden. — Tliiere u 

one 
Whose tongue to us has the same perilous fjf ce 
Which BothweU's powder had to Kii'k of Field ; 
One whose least tones, and those but peasaLii ao 

cents, 
Could rend the roof from off our fathers' castle. 
Level its tallest turret with its base ; 
And he that doth possess this wondrous pownr 
Slt>eps this same night not five miles distant from 

as. 
AuoH. {who had looked on Philip with much ap 
• pearance of astonishment and doubt, f?a 

claims,) Then tliou art mad indeed 1- - Ha ! 

ha ! fm glad on't. 
I'd piu-chase an escape from what I dread. 
Even by the phrensy of my only son ! 

Phi. I thank you, but agree not to the bargaia 
You rest on what yon civet cat has said : 
Yon silken doublet, stuff 'd with rotten straw, 
Told you but half the truth, and knew no mora. 
But my good vagrants had a perfect tale : 
They told me, httle judging the importance. 
That Quentm Blane had been discharged witA 

them. 



802 



SCOTT'S I'OETICAL WORKS. 



They told me, that a quarrel happ'd at landing, 
Axxd that the youngster and an ancient sergeant 
Had left their company, and taken refuge 
111 Chapeldonan, where our ranger dwells ;' 
Tliey saw liim scale the cliff on wliich it stands, 
iire tliey were out of sight ; the old man with him. 
And theicfore laugh no more at me as mad ; 
3ut laugh, if thou hast list for merriment, 
To v£iml: lie stands on the same land with us. 
Whose absence tfcou wouldst deem were cheaply 

pmxhased 
With thy soul's ransom and thy body's danger. 

AucH. Tis then a fatal trutli 1 Thou art no yelper. 
To open raslily on so wild a scent ; 
Thourt the young bloodhound, which careers and 

' springs, 
Frolics and fawns, as if the friend of man, 
But seizes on his victim like a tiger. 

Phi. No matter what I am — I'm as you bred me ; 
So let that pass till there be time to mend me. 
And let us speai: hke men, and to the purpose. 
This object of our fear and of our dread. 
Since such our pride must own liim, sleeps to-night 
Within our power : — to-morrow in Dunbar's, 
And we are then his victims.^ 

AucH. He is in ours to-night.' 

?Hi. He is. I'll answer that MacLellan's trusty. 

AucH. Yet he replied to you to-day full rudely. 

Phi. Yes ! the poor knave has got a handsome 
wife. 
And is gone mad with jealousy. 

AucH. Fool ! — When we need ^he utmost faith, 
allegiance. 
Obedience, and attachment in our vassals, 
Thy wild intrigues pour gall into their hearts, 
And titrn their love to hatred ! 

Phi Most reverend sire, you talk of ancient 
morals, 
Preich'd on by Knox, and practised by Glen- 
cairn ;* 
Respectable, indeed, but somewhat musty 
In these our modern nostrils. In our days, 
'^f a young baron chance to leave his vassal 
The sole possessor of a handsome wife, 
*Ti» sign he loves his follower ; and, if not, 
He Icves his follower's wife, which often proves 
the surer bond of patronage. Take either case : 
PdTor flows in of course, and vassals rise. 

> JW. — " In the old tower where Niel MacLellan dwells. 
And therelore laugh no more," &c. 

2 M?. — " And we are then in his power." 

8 M.I. — " He's in our power to-night." 

« Alexander, fifth Earl of Glencairn, for distinction called 

The Good Earl," was among the first of the peers of Scot- 
dnd who concurred in the Reformation, in aid of which he 
tcted a oonapicnons part, in the employment both of his 
■word ard pen. In a remonstrance with the Queen Regent, 
k« tskd hef, t «t " if she violated the engagements which slip 



AucH. Philip, tliis is infamous. 
And, what is worse, impolitic. Take 'example ; 
Break not God's laws or man's for each temptatini 
Tliat youth and blood suggest. I am a man — 
A weak and erring man ; — full well thou know'rl 
That I may harcUy term myself a pattern 
Even to my son ; — yet thus far -vrill I say, 
I never swerved from my integrity, 
Save at the voice of strong necessity. 
Or such o'erpowering view of high advantage 
As wise men liken to necessity. 
In strength and force compulsive. No one sawmt 
Exchange my reputation for my pleasure, 
Or do the Devil's work without his wages. 
I practised prudence, and paid tax to virtue, 
By following her behests, save where strong reasoii 
CompeU'd a deviatioa Then, if preachers 
At times look'd sour, or elders shook their hea/k. 
They could not term my walk UTegular ; 
For I stood up stUl for the worthy cause, 
A pillar, though a flaw'd one, of the altar, 
Kept a strict walk, and led three himdred horse. 

Phi. All, these three hundred horse in sucA 
rough times 
Were better commendation to a party 
Than all your efl"orts at hypocrisy, 
Betray'd so oft by avai'ice and ambition. 
And dragg'd to open shame. But, righteous fatbei 
When sire and son unite in mutual crime, 
And join their efforts to the same enormity, 
It is no time to measure other's faults, 
Or fix the amount of each. Most moral father, 
Think if it be a moment now to weigh 
The vices of the Heir of Auchindrane, 
Or take precaution that the ancient house 
Shall have another heir than the sly courtier 
That's gaping for the forfeiture. 

AucH. We'U disappoint him, Phihp, — 
We'll disappoint liim yet. It is a foUy, 
A wilful cheat, to cast our eyes behind. 
When time, and the fast flitting opportunity, 
Call loudly, nay, compel us to look forward: 
Why are we not already at MacLellan's, 
Since there the victim sleeps ? 

Phi. Nay, ^ft, I pray tiftr 

I had not made your piety my confessor, 
Nor enter'd in debate on these sage comicila, 
Which you're more like to give than I to profit ij 

had come nndei to her subjects, they wonld consif er them 
selves as absolved from tlieir allegiance to her." He WM 
author of a satirical poem against the Roman Catholic*, en- 
titled "The Hermit of Allareit" (Loretto).— See SibbaLo'* 
Chronicle of Scottish Poetry. — He assisted the Reformen 
with his sword, when they took arms at Perth, in 1559 ; had 
a principal command in the army embodied against Qveea 
Mary, in June, 1567 ; and demolished the altar, broke th« 
images, tore down the pictures, &c., in the Chapel-royal ol 
Holyrood-house, after the dueen was conducted to L«ch.e*ei 
He died in 1574. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



S'Ji 



Could I have used the time more usefully • 
But first an interval must pass between 
The fate of Quentin and the little ai'tifice 
That shall detach liim from his comrade, 
The stout old soldier that I told you of 

AuoH. How work a point so difficult — so danger- 
ous 3 

Phl 'Tia cared for. Mark, my father, the con- 
venience 
-rising from mean company. My agents 
Are at my hand, like a good workman's tools. 
And if i mean a mischief, ten to one 
That they anticipate the deed and guilt. 
Well knowing tliis, when first the vagrant's tattle 
Save me the hint that Quentin was so near us. 
Instant I sent MacLellan, with strong charges 
To stop him for the night, and bring me word, 
Like an accomplish'd spy, how all things stood. 
Lulling the enemy into security. 

AucH. There was a prudent general ! 

Phi. MacLellan went and came within the hour. 
The jealous bee, which buzzes in his nightcap, 
Had humm'd to liim, this fellow, Quentin Blane, 
Had been in schoolboy days an humble lover 
Of his own pretty wife 

AucH. Most fortunate I 

Tlie knave will be more prompt to serve our pur- 
pose. 

Phi. No doubt on't. 'Mid the tidings he brought 
back 
Was one of some importance. The old man 
Is flush of dollars ; this I caused him tell 
,Among his comrades, who became as eager 
To have him in their company, as e'er 
rhey had been wild to pert with him. And in 

brief space, 
A letter's framed by an old hand amongst them, 
Familiar with such feats. It bore the name 
And character of old Montgomery, [tance, 

Whom he might well suppose at no great dis- 
Commanding his old Sergeant Hildebrand, 
By all the ties of late authority, 
Conjuring him by ancient soldiership, 
To liasten to his mansion instantly. 
Oil business of liigh import, with a charge 
To come alone 

AucH. Well, he sets out, I doubt it not, — ^what 
follows t 

Phi. I am not curious into others' practices, — 
So far I'm an economist in guilt, 
As you ray sire advise. But on the road 
To old Montgomery's he meets his comrades, 
Tliey nourish grudge against him and his dollars, 
And things may hap, which counsel, learn'd in law, 
DaU Robbery and Murder. Should he hve, 
U 8 has seen naught that we woula hide from him. 

Acch. Who carries the forged letter to the 
votfiran ? 



Pm. Why, Niel MacLellan, who, retuin'd agait 
To his own tower, as if to pass the night there. 
They pass'd on him, or tried to pass, a st Dry, 
As if they wish'd the sergeant's company, 
Without the young comptroller's — that is Quer 

tin's, 
And he became an agent of their plot, 
That he might better carry on our own. 

Auch. There's life in it — yes, there is life in't 
And we wQl have a mounted party ready 
To scour the moors in quest of the banditti 
That kiU'd the poor old man — they shall die in 

stantly. 
Dunbar shall see us use sharp justice here, 
As well as he in Teviotdale. You are sure 
You gave no hint nor impulse to their purpose ? 

Phi. It needed not. The whole pack oped al 
once 
Upon the scent of dollars. — But time comes 
When I must seek the tower, and act with Niel 
What farther's to be done. 

Auch. Alone with him thou goest not. He bean 
grudge— 
Tliou art my only son, and on a night 
When such wild passions are so free abroad, 
When such wUd deeds are doing, 'tis but natural 
I guarantee thy safety. — I'U ride with thee. 

Phi. E'en as you wUl, my lord. But, pardor 
me, — 
If you will come, let us not have a word 
Of conscience, and of pity, and forgiveness ; 
Fine words to-morrow, out of place to-nighi. 
Take counsel then, leave all this work to m«! , 
Call up your household, make fit preparation, 
In love and peace, to welcome this Earl Justiciar 
As one that's free of guilt. Go, deck the castle 
As for an honor'd guest. Hallow the chapel 
(If they have power tohaUow it) with thy prayers 
Let me ride forth alone, and ere the sun 
Comes o'er the eastern hill, thou shalt accost hita 
" Now do thy worst, thou oft-returning spy, 
Here's naught thou canst discover." 

Auch. Yet goost thou not alone with that Ma<» 
Lellan ! 
He deems thou bearest wiU to injure him. 
And seek'st occasion suiting to such will. 
Philip, thou art irreverent, fierce, ill-nm-ture .1, 
Stain'd with low vices, which disgust a father; 
Yet ridest thou not alone with yonder man, — 
Come weal, come woe, myself will go with thee 
[£ dt, and calls to horse behind the scent 

Phi. {alone.) Now would I give my fleetest horw 
to know 
What sudden thought roused this paternal care, 
And if 'tis on his own account or mine : 
'Tis true, he hath the deepest share in all 
That's hkely now to hap, or which has happen'd 
Yet strong: through Nature's umversal kSko 



rhe link which binds the parent to the offspring : 
The she-wolf knows it, and the tigress owns it. 
So that dark man, who, shunning what is vicious, 
N'e'er turn'd aside from an atrocity. 
Hath still some care left for his helpless offspring. 
I'herefjre 'tis meet, tliough wayward, hght, and 

stubborn. 
That I should do for him all that a son 
Jan do for sire — and his daj-k wisdom join'd 
To influence my bold coiu-ses, 'twill be hard 
fti break our mutual piu-pose. — Horses there ! 

[Exit. 



ACT in— SCENE I. 

Tt is moonlight. The scene is the Beach be7>eaih the 
Tower which was exhibited in the Jirst scene, — 
the Vessel is gone frmii her anchorage. Auch- 
INDRANE and Philip, as if dismounted from their 
horses, cmne forward cautiously,. 

Phi. The nags are safely stow'd. Their noise 
might scare him ; 
Let them be safe, and ready when we need them, 
The business is but short. We'll call MacLellan, 
To wake him, and in quiet bring him forth, 
If he be so disposed, for here are waters 
Knough to drown, and sand enough to cover him. 
I Jilt if he hesitate, or fear to meet us, 
By heaven, I'll deal on him m Chapeldonan 
With my own hand ! — 

AucH. Too furious boy ! — alarm or noise undoes 
us. 
Our practice must be silent as 'tis sudden. 
[Rethink thee that conviction of this slaughter 
Confirms the very worst of accusations 
Our foes can bring against us. Wherefore should 

we, 
■Vho by our birth and fortime mate with nobles, 
.Vnd are allied with them, take this lad's life, — 
His peasant life,— unless to quash his evidence, 
Taking such pains to rid liim from the world. 
Who would, if spared, have fix'd a crime upon us ? 

Phi. Well, I do own me one of those wise folks, 
^Tio think that when a deed of fate is plann'd, 
Hie execution cannot be too rapid. 
Rut do we still keep purpose ? Is't determined 
fie sails fo' Ireland — and without a wherry ? 
Salt water is his passport — is it not so ? 

AucH. I would it could be otherwise. 
Higbt he not go there wliile in life and limb, 
And breathe his span out in another air ? 
Many seek Ulster never to return — 
>Vhy might this wretched youth not harbor there ? 

Vm. With all my heart. It is small honor to me 



To be the agent in a work like this. — 

Yet this poor caitiff, having thrust himself 

Into the secrets of a noble house. 

And twmed himself so closely with oiu- safety, 

That we must perish, or that he must die, 

I'll hesitate as httle on the action, 

As I would do to slay the animal 

Whose tlesh supplies my dinner. 'Tis as hannlesi 

That deer or steer, as is this Quentin Blare. 

And not more necessary is its death 

To our accommodation — so we slay it, 

Without a moment's pause or hesitation. 

AucH. 'Tis not, my son, the feeling OAll'd re 
morse. 
That now lies tugging at this heart of miue. 
Engendering thoughts that stop the lifted hand. 
Have I not heard John Knox pour forth xiis thuD 

ders 
Against the oppressor and the man of blood, 
In accents of a minister of vengeance ? 
Were not his fiery eyeballs turn'd on me, 
As if he said expressly, " Tliou'rt the man ?" 
Yet did my solid purpose, as I listen'd,. 
Remain unshaken as that massive rock. 

Phi. Well, then, I'll understand 'tis not r» 
morse, — 
As 'tis a foible little known to thee, — 
That interrupts thy purpose. Wliat, then, is it ? 
Is't scorn, or is't compassion ? One thing's certain 
Either the feeling must have free indulgence, 
Or fully be subjected to your reason — 
Tliere is no room for these same treacherous courses 
Which men call moderate measures. 
We must confide in Quentin, or must slaj him 

AucH. In Ireland he might live afar from u«. 

Phi. Among Queen Mary's faithful partisans, 
Your ancient enemies, the haughty Hamiltons, 
The stern MacDonnells, the resentful Grcemes — 
With these around him, and with Cassilis' death 
Exasperating them against you, tliink, my father, 
What chance of Quentin's silence. 

AucH. Too true — too true. He is a silly youth, 
too. 
Who had not wit to shift for his own livin? — 
A bashful lover, whom his rivals laugh'd at — 
Of pliant temper, which companions play'd on— 
A moonlight waker, and a noontide dreamer— 
A torturer of phrases into sonnets, — 
Whom all might lead that chose to : raise hit 
rhymes. 

Phi. I marvel that your memory has room 
To hold so much on such a worthless subject. 

AucH. Base in himself, and yet so strangely link'd 
With me and with my fortunes, that I've studied 
To read him through and through, as I would read 
Some paltry rhyme of vulgar prophecy, 
Said to contain the fortunes of iny house ; 
And, let me speak him truly — He is grateful. 



AUCHINDRANE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



805 



Kind, tractable, obedient — a child 

Miglit lead him by a thread — He shall not die ! 

Phl Indeed 1 — then have we had our midnight 
ride 
To wondrous little purpose. 

AacH By the blue heaven, 

Thou (shalt not murder him, cold selfish sensualist I 
Ton pure vault speaks it — yonder summer moon, 
I Wi<Ji its ten million sparklers, cries. Forbear ! 
I rbe deep earth sighs it forth — Thou shalt not 
murder ! — 
Thou shalt not mar the image of thy Maker 1 
Thou shalt not from thy brother take the life. 
The precious gift which God alone can give ! — 

Phi. Here is a worthy guerdon now, for stuffing 
His memory with old saws and holy sayings 1 
They come upon him in the very crisis, 
And when his resolution should be firmest, 
They shake it like a palsy — Let it be, 
He'll end at last by yielding to temptation. 
Consenting to the thing which must be done. 
With more remorse the more he hesitates. — 

[To his Father, who has stood fixed after 
his last speech. 
Well, sir, 'tis fitting you resolve at last, 
How the young clerk shall be disposed upon ; 
Unless you would ride home to Auchindrane, 
And bid them rear the Maiden in the court-yard, 
That when Dunbar comes, he have naught to do 
But bid us kifs the cushion and tne headsman. 

Auctt It IS too true — There is no safety for us, 
Consistent with the unhappy wretch's life 1 
In Ireland he is sure to find my enemies. 
Arran I've proved — the Netherlands I've tried, 
But wilds and wars return him on my hands. 

Phi. Yet fear not, father, we'll make surer work ; 
The land has caves, the sea has whirlpools. 
Where that which they suck in returns no more. 

AucH. I will know naught of it, hard-hearted boy ! 

Phi. Hard-hearted ! Why — my heart is soft as 
yours ; 
But then they must not feel remorse at once, 
We can't afford such wasteful tenderness : 
I can mouth forth remorse as well as you. 
Be executioner, and I'U be chaplain, 
And say as mild and moving things as you can ; 
But one of us must keep his steely temper. 

AucH. Do thou the deed — I cannot look on it. 

Phl So be it — walk with me — MacLellan brings 
him. 
The boat lit s moor'd within that reach of rock, 
And 'twill require our greatest strength combined 
To launch it from the beach. Meantime, MacLellan 
Brings our man hither. — See the twinkling light 
That glances in the tower. 

adch. Let us withdraw — for should he spy us 
suddenly, 
fte may sutpect us, and alarm the family. 



Phi. Fear not, MacLellan has his trust and con 
fidence, 
Bought with a few sweet words and welcomes 
home. 
AucH. But think you that the Ranger may bo 

trusted ? 
Phi. I'll answer for him, — Let's go float thn 
shallop. 

[They go off, and as they leave the Stag: 

MacLellan is seen descending f^oin tht 

Tower with Quentin. The former bears c. 

dark lantern. They con'< ewponthe Stage. 

Mac. {showing the light) So — bravely done — 

that's the last ledge of rocks. 

And we are on the sands. — I have broke your 

slumbers 
Somewhat untimely. 

Que. Do not think so, friend. 

These six years past I have been used to stir 
When the reveille rung ; and that, believe mo. 
Chooses the hours for rousing me at random, 
And, having given its summons, yields no license 
To indulge a second slumber. Nay, more, I'll telJ 

thee. 
That, like a pleased child, I was e'en too happy 
For sound repose. 

Mac. The greater fool were you. 

Men should enjoy the moments given to slumbei 
For who can tell how soon may be the waking 
Or where we shall have leave to sleep again ? 
Que. The God of Slumber comes not at com 
mand. 
Last night the blood danced merry thi'ough mj 

veins : 
Instead of finding this our land of Carrick 
The dreary waste my fears had apprehended, 
I saw thy wife, MacLellan, and thy daughter. 
And had a brother's welcome ; — saw thee, too, 
Renew'd my early friendship with you both, 
And felt once more that I had friends »nd country 
So keen the joy that tingled through my system, 
Jom'd with the searching powers of yonder wiap. 
That I am glad to leave my feverish lair, 
Although my hostess smooth'd my couch herself 
To cool my brow upon this mo.-^nlight heacli. 
Gaze on the moonlight dancing on the waves. 
Such scenes are wont to soothe me into melanchtij 
But such the hurry of my spirits now. 
That every tiling I look on makes me laugh. 
Mac. I've seen but few so gamesome, Mastei 
Quentin, 
Being roused from sleep so suddably as you were 
Que. Wby, there's the jest on't. Your old ca» 
tie's haunted. 
In vain the host — in vain the lovely hostess, 
In kind addition to all means of rest, 
Add their best wishes for our sound repose. 
When some hobgoblin brings a pressmg message 



Moutgomeij presently must see Lis sergeant, 
Ajid lip gets Hildebranci, and off he trudges. 
I can't but laugh to think upon the grin 
With wh<ch he doff d the kerchief he had twisted 
A.round liis brows, and put his morion on — 
Ila! ha! ha! ha! 

Mac. Fm glad to see you merry, Quentin. 

Que. Why, faith, my spirits are but transitory, 
*.nd you may live with me a month or more, 
Ajid never see me smile. Then some such trifle 
.\s yonder Uttle maid of yours would laugh at, 
Will serve me for a theme of merriment — 
Kven now, I scarce can keep my gravity ; 
We were so snugly settled in our quarters, 
VN'ith full intent to let the sun be high 
En^ we should leave our beds — and first the one 
Anil then the other's summon'd briefly forth. 
To the old tune, " Black Bandsmen, up and march !" 

Mac. Well ! you shall sleep anon — rely upon it — 
And make up time misspent. Meantime, metliinks. 
You are so merry on your broken slumbers. 
You ask'd not why I call'd you. 

QtTE. I can guess. 

You lack my aid to search the web- for seals, 
You lack my company to stalk a deer. 
Tliink you I have forgot your silvan tasks, 
'^Tiich oft you have permitted me to share, 
Till days that we were rivals ? 

Mac. You have memory 

Of that too ?— 

Que. Like the memory of a dream, 

Delusion far too exquisite to last. 

Mac. You guess not then for what I call you forth. 
It was to meet a friend — 

Que. Wliat friend ? Thyself excepted, 
The good old man who's gone to see Montgomery, 
And one to whom I once gave dearer title, 
I know not in wide Scotland man or woman 
Whom I could name a friend. 

Mac. •' Thou art mistaken. 
There is a Baron, and a powerful one 

Que. There flies my fit of mirth. You have a 
grave 
And alter'd man before you. 

Mac. Compose yourself, there is no cause for 
fear, — 
He will and must speak with you. 

Que. Spare me the meetuig, Niel, I cannot see 
him. 
Say, I'm just landed on my native earth; 
Say, that I Trill not cimiber it a day ; 
Say, that my wretched thread of poor existence 
Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile, 
Where never memory of so mean a thing 
Again shall cross his path — but do not ask me 
To see or spsak again with that dark man ! 

Mao. Ycur fears are now as foolish as yoor 
uiirth- • 



TVTiat should the powerful Knight of Auchindrau* 
In common have with such a man as thou ? 

Que. No matter what — Enough, I will not see 

bun. 
Mac. He is thy master, and he clauns obedience. 
Que. My master? Ay, my task-master — EveJ 
since 
I could write man, his hand hath been upon me ; 
No step I've made but cumber'd with his chain. 
And I am weary on't — I will not see him. 

Mac. You must and shall — there is no remedy 
Que. Take heed that you compel me not to tiD4 
one. 
I've seen the wars since we had strife togethei 
To put my late experience to the test 
Were something dangerous — Ha, I'm betray'd 1 

[ While the latter part of this dialogue it 
passing, Auchindrane and Philip en 
ter on the Stage fro^n behind, and Slid- 
denly present ihetnselves. 
AucH. What says the runagate ? 
Que. {laying aside all appearance of re-iistancej' 
Nothing, you are my fate ; 
And in a shape more feai-fully resistless, 
My evil angel could not stand before me. 

AucH. And so you scruple, slave, at my com 
maud. 
To meet me when I deign to ask thy presence ? 
Que. No, sir ; I had forgot — I am your bond 
slave ; 
But sure a passing thought of independence. 
For which I've seen whole nations doing battle, 
Was not, in one who has so long enjoy'd it, 
A crime beyond forgiveness. 

AucH. We shall see : 

Thou wert my vassal, born upon my land. 
Bred by my bounty — It concern'd me highly. 
Thou know'st it did — and yet against my charge 
Again I find thy worthlessness in Scotland. 

Que. Alas ! the wealthy and the powerful know 
not 
How very dear to those who have least snare jtfl^ 
Is that sweet word of country ! The poor exile 
Feels, in each action of the varied day. 
His doom of banishment. The very air 
Cools not his brow as in his native land ; 
The scene is strange, the food is loathly to him ; 
The language, nay, the music jars his ear.' 
Why should I, guiltless of the slightest criiiie, 
Suffer a punishment which, sparing hfe 
Deprives that life of all which men holi dear f 

AucH. Hear ye the serf I bred, begb. to recktw 
Upon his rights and pleasure ! Who am I — 
Thou abject, who am I, whose will thou thwartesl 
Phi. Well spoke, my pious sire. There goes re 
morse I 

> MS. — "The Btraias of foraigo niiMcjaf falt«u." 



AUCfllNDRAXE ; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



807 



Lot once thy ])recious pride take fire, and then, 
MacLellan, you and I may have small trouble. 

Que. Your words are deadly, and your power 
resistless ; 
I'm in y ; . r hands — but, surely, less than life 
May giic you the security you seek. 
Without commission of a mortal crime. 

AtJC"3 Who is't would deign to think upon thy 
life? 
, but require of thee to speed to Irelaud, 
Where thou may'st sojourn for some little space, 
Having due means of living dealt to thee. 
A.nd when it suits the changes of the times, 
Permission to reiura 

Que. Ncble my lord, 

1 am too weak to combat with your pleasure ; 
'i'et, 0, for mercy's sake, and for the sake 
Of that dear land which is our common mother, 
Let me not part in darkness from my country 1 
Pass but an hour or two, and every cape, 
Headland, and bay, shall gleam with new-born 

light, 
And I'll take boat as gayly as the bu"d 
Iliat soars to meet the morning. 
Grant me but this — to show no darker thoughts 
Are on your heart than those your speech ex- 



presses 



Phi. a modest favor, friend, is tliis you ask I 
Are we to pace the beach like watermen. 
Waiting youi worship's pleasure to take boat ? 
No, by my faith ! y^u go upon the instant. 
The boat lies ready, and the ship receives you 
Vear to the point of Turnberry. — Come, we wait 

you; 
Bestir you ! 

Que. I obey. — Then farewell, Scotland, 

And Heaven forgive my sins, and grant that mercy, 
Which mortal man deserves not ! 

AucH. (speaks aside to his Son.) What signal 
Shall let me kcow 'tis done ? 

Phi. When the light is quench'd. 

Your fears for Quentin Blane are at an end. — 
(To Que.) Come, comrade, come, we must begin 
our voyage. 
QiTE. But when, when to end it ! 

[He goes off reluctantly with Philip and 
MacLellan. Auchindeane stands look- 
ing after tl^em. The moon becomes over- 
clouded, mid the Stage dark. Auchin- 
DRANE, who has gazed fixedly and eagerly 
after those who have left the Stage, be- 
"Kimei animated, and speaks. 
AucH It is no fallacy ! — The night is dark, 
Wie nioou has sunk before the deepening clouds ; 



iMS,- 



' my antipathy, 



Strong source of inward hate, arose within me, 
Seeing its ob Kt was within my reach, 
AaA scarcs'y nnld forbear." 



I cannot on the muiky beach distinguish 

The shallop from the rocks which Ue beside it 

I cannot see tall Philip's floating plume. 

Nor trace the sullen brow of Niel MacLellau ; 

Yet still that caitiff's visage is before me, 

With chattering teeth, mazed look, and bmtlinj 

hair. 
As he stood here this moment ! — Have I changed 
My human eyes for those of some night prowler, 
The wolf 's, the tiger-cat's, or the hoarse bird's 
That spies its prey at midnight ? I can see 'urn- 
Yes, I can see him, seeing no one else, — 
And well it is I do so. In his absence, 
Strange thoughts of pity mingled with my pui-pose, 
And moved remorse within me — But they vanish'd 
Wliene'er he stood a living man before me ; 
Then my antipathy awaked within me. 
Seeing its object close within my reach. 
Till I could scarce forbear him.' — How thoy Unger ' 
The boat's not yet to sea ! — I ask myself. 
What has the poor wretch done to wake my ha 

tred — 
Docile, obedient, and in sufferance patient ?- 
As well demand what evil has the hare 
Done to the hound that courses her in sport. 
Instinct infallible supplies the reason — 
And that must plead my cause. — The vision's goae 
Their boat now walks the waves ; a single gleam, 
Now seen, now lost, is all that marks her course ; 
That soon shall vanish too — then all is over I — 
Would it were o'er, for in this moment lies 
The agony of ages !" — Now, 'tis gone — 
And all is acted ! — no — she breasts again 
The opposing wave, and bears the tiny sparkle 
Upon her crest — 

[A faint cry heard as from, seo.ward 
Ah ! there was fatal evidence, 
All's over now, indeed ! — The light is quench'd 
And Quentin, source of all my fear, exists not. 
The morning tide shall sweep his corpse to sea. 
And hide all memory of this stern night's work. 

[He walks in a slow and deeply nieditafivt 
manner towards the side of the Stage, 
and suddenly meets Marion, the vAf". oj 
MacLellan, who has descended f^fjm 
the Castle. 
Now, how to meet Dunbar — Heaven guard mj 

senses ! 
Stand ! who goes there ? — Do spirits walk the earti 
Ere yet they've left the body ! 

Mar. Is it you. 

My lord, on this wild beach at such an hour 1 

AucH. It is MacLellan's wife, in search of hii» 
Or of her lover — of the murderer, 



1 '• In that moment, o'er his soul 

Winters of memory seem'd to roll." 

Byron- 



TtuCh*»m 



Or of the murder'd man. — Go to, Dame Marion, 
Men have their hunting-gear to give an eye to, 
Their snares and trackings for their game. But 

women 
Should shim the night air. A young wife also, ' 
Still more » handsome one, should keep her pillow 
Till the BUD gives example for her wakening. 
Come, dame, go back — back to your bed again. 
Mar. Hear me, my lord I there have been sights 
and sounds 
That terrified my child and me — Groans, screams, 
A? if of dying seamen, came from oceat. — 
A corpse-light danced upon the crested waves 
For several minutes' space, then sunk at once. 
When we retired to rest we had two guests. 
Besides my husband Niel — I'U tell your lordship 

Who the men were 

AucH. Pshaw, woman, can you think 

That I have any interest in your gossips ? 
Please your own husband, and that you may please 

him. 
Get thee to bed, and shut up doors, good dame. 
Were I MacLellan, I should scarce be satisfied 
To find thee wandering here in mist and moonlight; 
When silence should be in thy habitation, 
•Vnd sleep upon thy pillow. 

Mae. Good my lord, 

This is a holyday. — By an ancient custom 
Our children seek the shore at break of day 
And gather shells, and dance, and play, and sport 

them 
In honor of the Ocean. Old men say 
The custom is derived from heathen times. Our 

Isabel 
Is mistress of the feast, and you may think 
She is awake already, and impatient 
To be the first shall stand upon the beach, 
And bid the sun good-morrow. 

AucH. Ay, indeed ? 

Linger such dregs of heathendom among you ? 
And hath Knox preach'd, and Wishart died, in 

vain? 
Fake notice, I forbid these sinful practices. 
And will not have my followers min gle in them. 
Mak. If such your honor's pleasure, I must go 
And lock the door on Isabel ; she is wilful. 
And voice of mine will have small force to keep her 
From the amusement she so long has dream'd of 
But I must teU your honor, the old people, 
That were survivors of the former race, 
Prophesied evil if this day should pass 
Without due homage to the mighty Ocean. 

Aucn. Folly and Papistry — Perhaps the ocean 
Hath had his morning sacrifice already ; 
Or can you think the dreadful element, 
Whose frown is death, whose roar the dirge of 

navies, 
Will miss the idle pageant you prepare for ! 



Tve business for you, too — the dawn ad ranees— 
I'd have thee lock thy httle child in safety. 
And get to Auchindrane before the sun rise • 
Tell them to get a royal banquet ready. 
As if a king were coming there to feast him. 
Mae. I wiU obey your pleasure. But my hiis 

band 

AucH. I wait him on the beach, anc Vrjip, 'rtJTri i» 
To share the banquet. 

Mae. But he ha£ a ira^A, 

Whom it would iU become him to int' ii'.d 
Upon your hospitality. 
AucH. Fear not ; his friend shall b» made wel 
come too. 
Should he return with Niel. 

Mae. He must — he will return — he has no op 

tion. 
AucH. (Apart.) Thus rashly do we deem of 
others' destiny — 
He has indeed no option — but he comes not. 
Begone on thy commission — I go this way 
To meet thy husband. 

[Marion goes to her Tower, and o.fter en 
tering it, is seen to come out, lock tht 
door, and leave the Stage, as if to executt 
Auchindeane's commission. He, ap 
parently going off in a different direc 
tion, has watched her from, the side oj 
the Stage, and on her departure speaks. 
AucH. Fare thee well, fond woman, 
Most dangerous of spies — thou^prying, prating, 
Spying, and telling woman ! I've cut short 
Thy dangerous testimony — hated word 1 
What other evidence have we cut short, 
And by what fated means, this dreary morning ! — 
Bright lances here and helmets ? — I must shift 
To join the others. [Exit 

Enter from the other side the Sergeant, accompa 
nied with an Officer and two Pikemen. 

See. 'Twas in good time you came ; a minute 
later 
The knaves had ta'en my dollars and my life. 

Off. You foughi most stoutly Two of iheu 
were down 
Ere we came to your d. 

See. Gramercy. halber- 

And well it happens, since your leader seeks 
This Quentin Blane, that you have fall'n on me ; 
None else can surely tell you wher<j he hides, 
Being in some fear, and bent to quit this province 

Off. 'Twill do our Earl good service. He hai 
sent 
Dispatches into Holland for this Quentin. 

See. I left him two hours since in y< nder towei 
Under the guard of one who smoothly epoke. 
Although he look'd but roughly — I -wall chide bun 
For bidding me go forth with yonder traitor. 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



801 



Off. Assure yourself 'twas a concerted strata- 
gem. 
Montgomery's been at Holyrood for months, 
And can have sent no letter — 'twas a plan 
On you and on yom- doUars, and a base one. 
To which this Ranger was most likely privy ; 
Such men as he hang on oior fiercer barons, 
The ready agents of their lawless will ; 
Boy* of the belt, who aid their master's pleasures, 
And in liie moods ne'er scruple his injunctions. 
But haste, for now we must unkennel Quentin; 
Tve strictest charge concerning him. 

See. Go up, then, to the tower. 
Tou've younger Umbs than laiue — there shall you 

find him 
Lounging and snoring, like a lazy cur 
Before a stable door ; it is his practice. 

\_The Officer goes up to the Tower, and 
after knocking without receiiKtig an 
answer, turns the key which Marion 
had left in the lock, and enters ; Isabel, 
dressed as if for her dance, runs out 
and descends to the Stage ; the Officer 
follows. . 

Off. Tliere's no one in the house, this little 
maid 

Elscepted 

IsA. And for me, I'm there no longer, 

And will not be again for three hours good : 
I'm gone to join my playmates on the sands. 
Off. {detaining her.) You shall, when you have 
told to me distinctly 
Where are the guests who slept up there last night. 
IsA. Why, there is the old man, he stands beside 
>you, 
The merry old man, with th-a glistening hair ; 
He left the tower at midnight, for my father 
Brought liim a letter. 

Ser. In ill hour I left you, 

1 wish to Heaven that I had stay'd with you ; 
There is a nameless horror that comes o'er me. — 
Speak, pretty maiden, tell us what chanced next, 
And thou shalt have thy freedom. 

Ig.A. After you went last night, my father 
Grew moody, and refused to doff his clothes, 
Or go to bed, as sometimes he will do 
When theie is aught to chafe him. Until past 

midnight. 
He wauder'd to and fro, then call'd the stranger. 
The gay young man, that sung such merry songs, 
Fet ever look'd most sadly whilst he sung them, 
And forth they went together. . 

Off. And you've seen 

VI heard naught of them since ? 

IsA. Seen surely nothing, and I («uinot think 
That they have lot or share in what I heard. 
I h 3ard my mother praying, for the corpse-lights 

W« re dancing on the waves ; and at one o'clock, 
103 



Just as the Abbey steeple toU'd the knell. 
There was a heavy plunge upon the waters, 
And some one cried aloud for mercy ! — mercy 
It was the water-spirit, sure, which promised 
Mercy to boat and fisherman, if we 
Perform'd to-day's rites duly. Let me go— 
I am to lead the ring. 

Off. {to Ser.) Detain her not. She camiot tell 

us more ; 
To give her liberty is the sure way 
To Im-e her parents homeward. — Stral.an, lake twt 

men. 
And should the father or the mother come, 
Arrest them both, or either. AuchinJrane 
May come upon the beach ; arrest him also, 
But do not state a cause. I'll back again, 
And take directions from my Lord Dunbar. 
Keep you upon the beach, and have an eye 
To all that passes there. 

[Exeunt sepdrateln 



SCENE IL 

Scene changes tc a remote and rocky part of tm 
Sea-beac/i. 

Enter Auchindrane, meeting Philip. 

AtJOH. The devil's brought his legions to ttui 
beach. 
That wont to be so lonely ; morions, lances. 
Show in the morning beam as thick as glow 

worms 
At summer midnight. 

Phi. I'm right glad to see them, 

Be they whoe'er they may, so they are mortal • 
For I've contended with a Ufeless foe. 
And I have lost the battle. I would give 
A thousand crowns to hear a mortal steel 
Ring on a mortal harness. 

AucH. How now ! — Art mad, or hast thou done 
the turn — 
The turn we came for, and must Uve or die by t 

Phi. 'Tis done, if man can do it ; but I doubt 
If this unhappy wretch ha^e Heaven's purmissiMj 
To die by mortal hands. 

AucH. Where is he ? — where,* MacLellan * 

Phi. In the deep- 

Both in the deep, and what's immortal of them 
Gone to the judgment-seat, where we must me&« 
them. 

AucH. MacLeUan dead, and Quentin too \ — tx 
be it 
To all that menace ill to Auchindrane, 
Or have the power to injure him ! — Thy word* 
Are full of comfort, but thine eye and look 



810 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Ha-.e in ihio pallid gloom a ghastliness, 
\V]:ioh contradicts the tidings of thy toague,* 

['ill. Hear me, old man. — There is a heaven 
■above us. 
As you have heard old Knox and Wishart preach, 
riiough little to your boot. The dreaded ■witness 
Is slain, and silent. But his misused body 
(^omes ri^lit ashore, as if to cry for vengeance ; 
It rides the waters like a living thing,' 
Erect, as if he trode the waves which bear him. 

Aucn. Thou speakest phrensy, when sense is 
most required. 

Phi. Hear me yet more ! — I say I did the deed 
With all the coolness of a practised liunter 
When dealing with a stag. I struck him over- 
board, 
And with MacLellan's aid I held his head 
Under the waters, while the Ranger tied 
The weiglits we had provided to his feet. 
We cast him loose when hfe and body parted, 
A.nd bid him speed for Ireland. But even then, 
As in defiance of the words we spoke, 
rhe body rose upright behind our stern, 
One half in ocean, and one half in air, 
And tided after as in chase of us.' 

AucH. It was enchantment! — Did you strike at 
it? 

Phi. Once and again. But blows avail'd no more 
Tlian on a wreath of smoke, where they may break 
The column for a moment, which unites 
And is entire again. Thus the dead body 
Sunk down before my oar, but rose unhai'm'd, 
And dogg'd us closer still, as in defiance. 

AtJCH. 'Twas Hell's own work ! 



Phi. 



MacLellan then grew restive 



A.nd desperate in his fear, blasphemed aloud, 

Cursing us both as authors of his ruin. 

Myself was wellnigh frantic while pursued 

By this dead shape, upon whose ghastly features 

The changeful moonbeam spread a grisly light ; 

A.nd, baited thus, I took the nearest way* 

To ensure his silence, and to quell his noise ; 

" This man's brow, like to a title leaf, 



Foretells the nature of a tragic volume ; 

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek 

Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand." 

2d King Henry IV. 

' • Walks the waters like a thing of life." 

Byron — The Corsair. 

• Thii passage was probably suggested by a striking one in 
Southey's Life of Nelson, touching the corpse of the Neapoli- 
laa Prince Caraccioli, executed on board the Foudroyant, then 
•Jie great British Admiral's flag-ship, in the bay of Naples, in 
■799. The circumstances of Caraccioli 's trial and death form, 
* is almost needless to observe, the most unpleasant chapter in 
jord Nelson's history : — 

"The body," says Southey, "was carried out to a con- 
riderable disiance and sunk m the bay, with three double- 
headed shut, weighing two t>^ndred and fifty pounds, tied to 



I used my dagger, and I flung him overboard, 

And half expected his dead carcass also 

Would join the chase — but he simk down at once 

AucH. He had enough of mortal sin about him, 
To sink an argosy. 

Phi. But now resolve you what defence to mak^ 
If Quentin's body shall be recognized . 
For 'tis ashore already ; and he bears 
Marks of my handiwork ; so does MacLeUan. 

AucH. The concourse thickens still — Away 
away ! 
We must avoid the multitude. 

[They rush out 



SCENE III. 

Scene changes to another part of the Beach. ChU' 
dren are seen dancing, and Villagers looking on, 
Is.vBEL seems to take the management of thi 
Dance. 

Vn. WoM. Ho'^ well shp '•■..ee' ^ it, the brave 

little maiden ! 
ViL. Ay, they all qu^Pi it fi-t^n their very 
cradle, 
These willing slaves of V.a^nty Auchindrane. 
But now I hear the old Hiaii's reign is ended ; — 
'Tis well — he has been ^yraut long enough. 

Second Vil. Finlay, speak low, you interrupt 

the sports. 
Third Vil. Look out to sea — There's something 
coming yonder. 
Bound for the beach, will scare us from our tnirth. 
Fourth Vil. Pshaw, it is bui a sea-guU on the 
wing. 
Between the wave and sky. 

Third Vil. Thou art a fool, 

Standing on sohd land — 'tis a dead body. 

Second Vil. And if it be, he bears him like a 
Uve one, 

its legs. Between two or three weeks aftervirds, when the 
King (of Naples) was or Doard the Fo:;Jroyatit,^ Neapolitan 
fisherman came to t^e ship and so'cmr.ly declared, ;ha*. 
Caraccioli had risen f^o 1 'lie bo'.iom of the sea, and wa« com 
ing as fast as he or.'' to Nap'cs, swimming half out cl the 
water. Such an • j* •"■»t was listened to like a tale of idle 
credulity. The o*/ V.ng fair, Nelson, to please the Kmg, 
stood out to sea ; t>a* t'.e ship had not proceeded far before a 
body was distine'ijr »:en, upright in the water, and annroach- 
ing them. It "/ja recognized, indeed, to be the curjjse of 
Caraccioli, which had risen and floated, while the great 
weights attached --• the .egs kept the body in a position like 
that of a living man. A fact so extraordinary astonished ths 
King, and perhaps excited some feelings of superstitious fear 
akin to regret. He gave permission for the body to be taken o« 
shore, and receive ChrisOan burial. *- Life of A^ehon, chap 
vi. 
* MS — *' And, baited by mv slava I usol mv dt^gtr " 



AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 



8r 



Not prone and ■weltering like a drowned corpse, 
But bolt erect, as if he trode the waters, 
And used them as his path. 

Fourth Vil. It is a merman, 

And nothing of this earth, alive or dead. 

[By degrees all the Dancers break off 
from, their sport, and stand gazing to 
eeaward, while an object, imperfectly 
seen, drifts towards the Beach, and at 
length arrives among the rocks which 
border the tide. 
Third Vil. Perhaps it is some wretch who needs 
assistance ; 
Jasper, make in and see. 

Second Vil. Not I, my friend ; 

E'en take the risk yourself, you'd put on others, 

[HiLDEBRAXD has entered, and heard the 
two last words. 
Ser. What, are you men? 
Fear ye to look on what you must be one day ? 
[, wlio have seen a thousand dead and dying 
Within a flight-shot square, will teach you how in 

war 
We look upon the corpse when hfe has left it. 

[He goes to the back scene, and seems at- 
tempting to turn the body, which has 
cmne ashore with its face downwards. 
Will none of you come aid to turn the body ? 
IsA. You're cowards all. — I'll help thee, good old 
man. 

\_8he goes to aid the Sergeant with the 
body, and presently gives a cry, and 
faints, HiLDEBRAND comes forward. 
All crowd round him ; he speaks with 
an expression of horror. 
Ser. 'Tis Quentin Blane 1 Poor youth, his gloomy 
bo dings 
Have been the prologue to an act of darkness ; 
His feet are manacled, liis bosom stabb'd. 
And he is foully murder'd. The proud Knight 
And his dark Ranger must have done this deed, 
For which no common ruffian could have motive. 
A Pea. Caution were best, old man — Thou art 
a stranger, 
fhe Knight is great and powerful 

S'iR. Let it be so. 

UaU'd on by Heaven to ?tand forth an avenger, 
2 Kill not blench for fear of mortal man. 
Bive I not seen that when that innocent 

I MS — "His unblooded wooads." &o. 

s"The poet, in his play (K A .ichindrano, displayed real 
ttagic power, and sootlied all those who cried out before f>r a 
noie diiect story, and less of the retrospective. Several o' the 
toenes ait conceived and executed with all the powers af the 



Had placed her hands upon the murder'd body, 
His gapuig woimds,* that erst were scak'd witb 

brine. 
Burst forth with blood as ruddy as the cloud 
Which now the aim doth rise on ? 

Pea. What of that ? 

Ser. Nothing that can affect the innocent chUd, 
But murder's guilt attaching to her father. 
Since the blood musters in the victim's veins 
At the approach of what holds lease from hitj 
Of aU that parents can transmit to cliildren. 
And here comes one to whom I'll vouch the cir 
cumstance. 



The Earl of Dunbar enters with Soldiers and oth 
ers, having Auchindrane and Philip prisoners. 
Dun. Fetter th« young ruffian and his trait'roiii 
father I 

[They are made secur* 
AucH. 'Twas a lord spoke it — I have known t 
knight, 

Sk George of Home, who had not dared to say so 
Dun. 'Tis Heaven, not I, decides upon your guilt 
A harmless youth is traced within your power. 
Sleeps in your Ranger's house — his friend at mid 

night 
Is spirited away. Then lights are seen, 
And groans are heard, and corpses come ashore 
Mangled with daggers, while (to Philip) your daff 

ger wears 
The sanguine livery of recent slaughter : 
Here, too, the body of a murder'd victim 
(Whom none but you had interest to remove) 
Bleeds on the child's approach, because the daughtel 
Of one the abettor of the wicked deed. 
All this, and other proofs con'oborative. 
Call on us briefly to pronoimce the doom 
We have in charge to \xiUiv. 

AucH. If my house perish. Heaven's wiU be done 
I wish not to survive it ; but, Philip, 
Would one could pay the ransom for us both I 

Phi. Father, 'tis fitter that we both should di« 
Leaving no heir behind. — The piety 
Of a bless'd saint, the morals of au anchoi-j'te, 
Could not atone thy dark hypocrisy, 
Or the wild proffigacy I have practised. 
Ruin'd our house, and shatter'd be our lower« 
And with them end the curse our sins hav,> mei \ 
ited!* 

best parts of ' Wave-ley.' The verse, too, is mor" rough, DatB- 
ral, and nervous, than that of ' Ilalidon Hill , but, noble ai 
the efi'ort was, it was eclipsed so much by his splendid •oman 
ces, that the public still complained that he ^^^ -jOX. aone bii 
best, and that his genius was not dramatic." — Allam Cc» 
NlNOHAlt. — jithcnaum. lith Dec. 1833. 



812 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



^[)t §0U0e of^speu. 



A TRAGEDY. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

This aiit/mpt at dramatic composition was exe- 
cuted nearly thirty years since, when the magnifi- 
cent works of Goetbe and Schiller were for the 
first time made known to the British public, and 
received, as many now alive must remember, with 
universal enthusi'^im. What we admire we usually 
attempt to imitate ; and the author, not trusting 
to his own eflfortp, borrowed the substance of the 
story and a pari of the diction from a dramatic 
romance called " Der Heilige Vehm6" (the Secret 
Tribunal), wliich 511s the sixth volume of the " Sa- 
gen der Vorzeil" (Tales of Antiquity), by Beit 
Weber. The drcma must be termed rather a rifa- 
cimento of the original than a translation, since the 
whole is compressed, and the incidents and dia- 
logue cjcasionally much varied. The imitator is 
ignorant of the real name of his ingenious contem- 
porary, and has been informed that of Beit Weber 
is fictitious." 

The late Mr. Tohn Kemble at one time had some 
desire to bring out the play at Drury-Lane, then 
idorned by himself and his matcbiess sister, who 
were to have supported the characters of the un- 
happy son and mother : but great objections ap- 
peared to this proposaL There was danger that 
the main-spring of the story, — the binding engage- 
ments formed by members of the secret tribimal, — 
might not be sufficiently felt by an EngUsh audi- 
ence, to whom the natm-e of that singularly mys- 
terious uistitution was unknown from early associ- 
ation. There was also, according to Mr. Kembie's 
experienced opinion, too much blood, too much of 
the dire catastrophe of Tom Thumb, when all die 
DC the stage. It was, besides, esteemed perilous to 
[>lace the fifth act and the parade and show of the 
secret conclave, at the mercy of imderlings and 
fcene-shifters, who, by a ridiculous motion, gesture, 
or accent, might turn what should be grave into 
farce. 

The author, or rather the translator, wiUingly 
icquiesced in this reasoning, and never aftei'warda 

' George Wftchter, who pablished vsriooB works under the 
paend }ny m of > Ht IVeber, was born ia 1763, and died in 1637. 
-Ed 



made any attempt to gain the honor of the busKiB 
The German taste also, caricatured by a numbei 
of imitators who, incapable of copying the sublim- 
ity of the great masters of the school, supplied its 
place by extravagance and bombast, fell into dis- 
repute, and received a coup de grace from the joint 
eftbrts of the late lamented Mr. Canning and Mr. 
Frere. The eff"ect of their singularly happy piece 
of ridicule called " The Rovers," a mock play which 
appeared in the Anti-Jacobin, was, that the Ger 
man school, with its beauties and its defects, passed 
completely out of fashion, and the following scenes 
were consigned to neglect and obscurity. Very 
lately, however, the writer chanced to look them 
over with feelings very difi"erent from tho&e of the 
adventurous period of his literary hfe during which 
they had been written, and yet with such as per- 
haps a reformed libertine might regard the ille- 
gitimate production of an early amour. There is 
sometliing to be ashamed of, ca tainly ; but, after 
aU, paternal vanity whispers that the child has a 
resemblance to the father. 

To this it need only be added, that there are in 
existence so many manuscript copies of the follow- 
ing play, that if it should not find its way to the 
pubUc soon«r, it is certain to do so when the author 
can no more have any opportunity of correcting 
the press, and consequently at greater disadvantage 
than at presenit. Being of too small a size or con- 
sequence for a separate pubhcation, the piece is 
Rtjnt as a contribution to the Keepsake, where its 
demerits may be hidden amid the beauties of more 
valuable articles.' 

Abbotsfoed, \st April, 1829. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS 



vss. 



RcDiGKE, Baron of Aspen, an old German tcomor 

Geoeqe of Aspen, ) ^ r> j- 

. > sons to Kudtqer. 

Henet of Aspen, S 



« See Life of Scott, voi. 
ii.208. 



ii. pa^t* 18, 3l\ 73; U • 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEJS. 



8iv 



RooERic, Count of Maltingen, chief of a department 
of the Invisible Tribunal, and the hereditary ene- 
my of the family of Aspen. 

William, Baron of Wolf stein, ally of Count Rod- 
eric. 

Beftram of Ebeksdoef, brother to the former hus- 
band of the Baroness of Aspen, disguised as a 
minstrel. 

Oi"i. OF Bavaeia. 

•V^IfKEED, ) . „ . , rr , A 

„ > followers of the House of Aapen. 

RjrNOLD, y •' J -r 

L/0>'EAD, Page of Honor to Henry of Aspen. 

Maetin, Squire to George of Aspen. 

Hugo, Squire to Count Rodcric. 

Petee, an ancient domestic of Rudiger. 

Fathee Ludovic, Chaplain to Rudiger. 

WOMKI^. 

Isabella, formerly married to A^nolf of Ebersdorf, 

now wife of Rudiger. 
CtEETEUDE, Isabellds niece, betrothed to Henry. 

Soldiers, Judges of the Invisible Tribunal, 
dec. d'c. 

Hcene.—The ^Mstle of Eh',rsdorf in Bavaria, the 
ruins of (friefenhaus, atd the adjacent country. 



^\)t (5oQS£ of Tlapm. 



ACT L— WCENE I. 

An amcient Gothic chamber in the Castle of Ebers- 
dorf Spears, crossbows, and arms, with the horns 
of buffaloes and of deer, are hicng round the wall. 
An antique buffet with beakers and stone bottles. 

RuDiGEE, Baron of Aspen, and his lady, Isabella, 
are discovered sitting at a large oaken table. 

RuD. A plague upon that roan horse ! Had he 
not stumbled with me at the ford after our last 
skirmish, I had been now with my sons. And 
yonder the boys are, hardly tliree miles off, bat- 
tling with Count Roderic, and their father must 
Lie here like a worm-eaten manuscript in a convent 
abrary ' Out upon it ! Out upon it ! Is it not hard 
that a warrior, who has travelled so many leagues 
to display the cross on the walls of Ziou, should be 
now unable tv> uft a spear before his own castle 
gate 1 

IsA Dear husband, your anxiety retards your 
recovery. 

RuD. May be so ; but not less than your silence 
tnd melancholy , Here have I sate this month, 



and more, since that cursed fall ! Neither himtinp 
nor feasting, nor lance-breaking for me I And m> 
sons — George enters cold and reserved, as if he 
had the weight of the empu"e on his shoulders, ut- 
ters by syllables a cold " How is it with you ?" ana 
shuts himself up for days in his solitary chamber- 
Henry, my cheerful Henry — 

Isa. Surely, he at least — 

Run. Even he forsakes me, and skips up the 
tower staircase like Ughtning to join your fair 
ward, Gertrude, on the battlements. I canuut 
blame him ; for, by my knightly faith, were I in 
his place, I think even these bruised bones woulc 
hardly keep me from her side. Still, however 
here I must sit alone. 

Isa. Not alone, dear husband. Heaven krows 
what I would do to soften your confinement. 

Run. Tell me not of that, lady. "When I first 
knew thee, Isabella, the fair maid of Arnlieim was 
the joy of her companions, and breathed life where 
ever she came. Thy father married thee to Arnoli 
of Ebersdorf — not much with thy will, 'tis true — 
{she hides her face^ Nay — forgive me, Isabella— 
but that is over — he died, and the ties between u& 
which thy marriage had broken, were renewed- 
but the simshine of my Isabella's fight heart i% 
turned no more. 

Isa. {weeping.) Beloved Rudiger, you search my 
very soul ! Why will you recaU past times — dayi 
of spring that can never return ? Do I not lore 
thee more than ever wife loved husband ? 

Rto. {stretches out his arms — she embraces Aim.) 
And therefore art thou ever my beloved IsabeUa. 
But stiU, is it not true ? Has not thy cheerfulness 
vanished since thou hast become Lady of A spen I 
Dost thou repent of thy love to Rudiger ? 

Is. Alas ! no 1 never 1 never ! 

Run. Then why dost thou herd with monks and 
priests, and leave thy old knight alone, when, foi 
the first time in his stormy fife, he has rested foi 
weeks within the waUs of his castle ? Hast thou 
committed a crime from which Rudiger's lovo 
cannot absolve thee ? 

Isa. O manyj many 1 

Run. Then be this kiss thy penance. And tell 
me, Isabella, hast thou not founded a convent, aad 
endowed it with the best of thy late husbana* 
lands ? Ay, and with a vineyard which I co'ilc 
have prized as weU as the sleek monks. Dost 
thou not daily distribute alms to twenty pfigrstw ( 
Dost thou not cause ten masses U. be sung eacto 
night for the repose of thy late husband's soui ? 

Isa. It will not know repose. 

Run. Well, well — God's peace be witn Arnoli 
of Ebersdorf; the mention of him makes thee ever 
sad, though so many years have passed smce hi# 
death. 

Isa. But at present, dear husband, hive I n«l 



S14 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



the most just cause for anxiety ! Are not Henry 

and Gw.rge, our beloved sons, at this very moment 
perhaps engaged in doubtful contest with our he- 
reditary foe, Count Roderic of Maltingen ? 

Run. Now, there lies the difference : you sorrow 
that they are in danger, 1 tliat I camiot share it 
w^itn tliem. — Hark ! I hear horses' feet on the 
drawbrulge. Go to the window, Isabella. 

IsA. (t; the windoiv.) It is Wickerd, yom* squire. 

lin Then shall we have tidings of George and 
Httirv {Enter Wickerd.) How n'^w, Wickerd ? 
Have you come to blows yet ? 

Wio. Not yet, noble sir. 

Rod. Not yet ? — shame on the boys' dallying — 
wliat wait they for ? 

Wig. The foe is strongly posted, sir knight, upon 
the "Wolfsjiill, near the ruins of Gnefenhaus ; there- 
fore your noble son, George of Aspen, gretts you 
well, and requests twenty more men-at-arms, and, 
after they have joined him, he hopes, with the aid 
of St. Theodore, to send you news of victory. 

Run. {atteinpts to rise hastily.) Saddle my black 
barb , I will head them myself {Sits down.) A 
murrain on that stumbling roan ! I had forgot my 
disk)cated bones. Call Reynold, Wickerd, and bid 
him take all whom he can spare from defence of 
the castle — (Wickerd is going) and ho ! Wick- 
erd, carry with you my black barb, and bid George 
charge upon him. {Exit Wickerd.) Now see, 
Isabella, if I disregard the boy's safety ; I send 
him the best horse ever knight bestrode. When 
we lay before Ascalon, indeed, I had a bright bay 
Persian — Thou dost not heed me. 

IsA. Forgive me, dear husband ; are not our 
sons in danger ? Will not our sins be visited upon 
them ? Is not thek present situation 

Run. Situation ? I know it well : as fair a field 
for open fight as I ever hunted over : see here — 
[makes lines on the table) — here is the ancient cas- 
tle of Griefenhaus in ruins, here the WolfshiU ; and 
here the marsh on the right. 

IsA. The marsh of Griefenhaus ! 

RuD. Yes ; by that the boys must pass. 

IsA. Pass there ! {Apart.) Avenging Heaven ! 
*hy liand is upon us 1 [Exit hastily. 

Rod. Whither now ? Whither now ? She is 
gone. Thus it goes. Peter 1 Peter 1 {Enter Pe- 
fER.) Help me to the gallery, that I may see 
them on horseback. [^Exit, leaning on Peter. 



SCENE IL 

Phe tniwr court of the Castle of Ebersdorf; a quad- 
rangle, nirrounded loith Gothic buildings ; troop- 
ers, follmners of Rcdiger, pass and repass in 
\* zte, as if preparing for an excursion 



Wickerd comes forward. 
Wio. What, ho 1 Reynold ! Reynold 1 — By cm 
Lady, the spirit of the Seven Sleepers is upoi 
him — So ho ! not moimted yet 1 Reynold I 

Enter Reynold. 

Ret. Here ! htre ! A devil choke thy oawling 
think'st thou old Reynold is not as ready for ,» ■jkir 
mish as thou * 

Wic. Nay, nay: I did but jest; but, by my so<>th. 
it were a shame should our youngsters have yoked 
with Count Roderic before we graybeards come. 

Ret. Heaven forefend ! Our troopers are but 
saddling their horses ; five minutes more, and we 
are in our stirrups, and then let Count Roderic sit 
fast. 

Wic. a plague on him ! he has ever lain hard 
on the skirts of our noble master. 

Rey. Especially since he was refused the hand 
of our lady's niece, the pretty Lady Gertrude. 

Wig. Ay, marry ! would nothing less serve the 
fox of Maltingen than the lovely lamb of our young 
Baron Henry ! By my sooth, Reynold, when 1 
look upon these two lovers, they make me full 
twenty years younger ; and when I meet the man 
that would divide them — I say nothing — but let 
him look to it. 

Rey. And how fare our yomig lords ? 

Wig. Each well in his humor. — Baron George 
stern and cold, according to his wont, and his 
brother as cheerful as ever. 

Rey. Well ! — Baron Henry for me. 

Wig. Yet George saved thy life. 

Rey. True — with as much indifference as if he 
had been snatching a chestnut out of the fire 
Now Baron Henry wept for my danger and my 
wounds. Tlierefore George shall ever command 
my life, but Henry my love. 

Wig. Nay, Baron George shows his gloomy spirit 
even by the choice of a favorite. 

Rey. Ay — Martin, formerly the squire of Arnob 
of Ebersdorf, liis mother's first husband. — I marvel 
he could not have fitted himself with an attendant 
from among the faithful followers of his worthy 
father, whom Arnolf and his adherents used lo 
hate as the Devil hates holy water. But Martin 
is a good soldier, and has stood toughly by George 
in many a hard brunt. 

Wio. The knave is sturdy enough, but so sulky 
withal — I have seen, brother Reynold, tliat ^'heu 
Martin showed his moody visage at the banquet 
our noble mistress has dropped the wine she wm 
raising to her hps, and exchanged her smiles for a 
ghastly frown, as if sorrow W€nt by sympathy, aa 
kissing goes by favor. 

Rey. His appearance reminds her of her first 
husband, and thou hast well seen that makes hei 
ever sad. 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



81t 



Wio. Dost thou marvel at that ? She was mar- 
ried to Arnolf by a species of force, and they saj 
thit before his death he compelled her to swear 
never to espouse Rudiger. The priests wiU not 
absolve hei for the breach of that vow, and there- 
f( re she is troubled in mind. For, d'ye mark me, 
R€jT»ld [Bugle sounds. 

P.EV. A truce to your preaching 1 To horse 1 
•ad a blessing on our arms 1 

Wia St. George grant it 1 [Ilxeunt. 



SCENE IIL 

fl'Ae gallery of the Castle, terminating tn u large 
balcony cmnmanding a distant prospect. — Voices, 
bugle-horns, kettle-drums, trampling of horses, &€., 
are heard tvithaut. 

KduTger, leaning on Petee, looks fro>n the balcony. 
Gertrude and Isabella are near him. 

RuD. There they go at length — look, Isabella ! 
look, my pretty Gertrude — these are the iron- 
handed warriois who shall tell Roderic what it 
will cost him to force thee from my protection-r- 
[Flourish without — Rudigek stretches his arms 
from the balcony.) Go, my cliildren, and God's 
blessing with you. Look at my black barb, Ger- 
trude. That horse shall let daylight in throiigh a 
phalanx, were it twenty pikes deep. Shame on it 
that I cannot mount him ! Seest thou how fierce 
oW Reynold looks ? 

Gee. I can hardly know my friends in their armor. 
[The bugles arid kettle-drums are heard 
as at a greater distance. 

Run. Now I could tell every one of their names, 
even at this distance ; ay, and were they covered, 
as I have seen them, with dust and blood. He on 
the dapple-gray is Wickerd — a hardy fellow, but 
somewhat given to prating. That is young Con- 
rad who gallops so fast, page to thy Henry, ray girl. 
[Bugles, (kc, at a greater distance still. 

Gee. Heaven guard them. Alas 1 the voice of 
war that calls the blood into your cheeks chiUs and 
freezes mine. 

Rud. Say not so. It is glorious, my gu-1, glori- 
ous ! See how their armor glistens as they wind 
rouT.d yon hill ! how their spears gUmmer amid 
the long train of dust. Hark ! you can still hear 
the faint notes of their trimipets — [Bugles very 
faint.) — And Rudiger, old Rudiger with the iron 
arm. a^ the crusaders used to oaU me, nr'ist remain 
oehmd with the priests and the wonvft Well I 
»ell 1 — {Sings.) 

*■ It was a knight to battle rod«*. 
And '18 his war-horse he bestrode.' 



FiU me a bowl of wine, Gertrude ; and do thon 
Peter, call the minstrel who came hither last night 
— {Sings.) 

" Off rode the horseman, dash, sa, sal 
And stroked liis whiskers, tra, la, la."^ 

(Peter goes out. — Rudiger sits down, and Geb- 
teude helps him with wine.) Thanks, my love It 
tastes ever best from thy hand. Isabella, here v 
glory and victoiy to our boys — {Drinks^ — Wilt 
thou not pledge me ? 

IsA. To their safety, and God grant it \— {Drinks.) 

Enter Beeteam as a minstrel, with a boy bearing 
his harp. — Also Peter. 

Rud. Thy name, minstrel ? 

Bee. Minhold, so please you. 

Rud. Art thou a German ? 

Bee. Yes, noble sir ; aiid of this province. 

Rud. Sing me a song of battle. 

[Beetram sings to the harp 

Rud. Thanks, minstrel: well sung, and lustily 
What sayest thou, Isabella ? 

IsA. I marked him not. 

Rud. Nay, in sooth you are too anxious. CheeJ 
up. And thou, too, my lovely Gertrude : in a few 
hours, thy Henry shall return, and twine his lau 
rels into a garland for thy hair. He fights fot 
thee, and he must conquer. 

Gee. >lasl must blood be spilled for a siU^ 
maiden ? 

Rud. Surelj • for what should knights breal 
lances but for honor and ladies' love — ha, minstrel ' 

Bee. So please you — also to punish crimes. 

Rud. Out upon it 1 wouldst have us execution 
ers, minstrel ? Such work would disgrace om 
blades. We leave malefactors to the Secret Tri 
bunal. 

IsA. Merciful God 1 Thou hast spoken a word. 
Rudiger, of dreadful import. 

Gee. They say that, imknown and invisible 
themselves, these awful judges are ever present 
with the guilty, that the past and the present 
misdeeds, the secrets of the confessional, nay, the 
very thoughts of the heart are before them ; tha* 
theh' doom is as sure as that of fate, the meWU 
and executioners imknown. 

Rud. They say true ; the secrets of that ass(j 
ciation, and the names of those who compose it, 
are as inscrutable as the grave : we only know 
that it has taken deep root, and spread ita branches 
wide. I sit down each day in my hall, aor know 
I how many of these secret judges may surround 
me, ^U bound by the most solemn vow to a.venge 

[guilt. Once, and but once, a knight, at the earne.ti 
request and inquiries of the emperor, liintcd that 
I he belonged to the society : the next morning b« 



816 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



w&B loand slain in a forest : the poniard was left in 
Hie wound, and bore this label — " Thus do the in- 
visible judges punish treachery." 

Gee. Gracious ! aunt, you grow pale. 

Lha a slight indisposition only. 

RcD. And what of it aU ? We know our hearts 
we open to our Creator : shall we fear any eartlily 
insoection ? Come to the battlements ; there we 
fhiill soonest descry the return of our warriors. 

[l!.'xit RuDiGEE, with Gertrude and Peter. 

IsA. Minstrel, send the chaplain hither. {Sxit 
liEETRAJi.) Gracious Heaven! the guQelf-ss inno- 
t^once of my niece, the manly lionesty oi ray up- 
right-hearted Rudiger, become dady tortures to 
•^.. While he was engaged in active and stormy 
exploits, fear for his safety, joy when he rtturned 
to liis castle, enabled me to disguise my inward 
anguish from others. But from myself — Judges 
of blood, that lie concealed in noontide as in mid- 
night, who boast to avenge the liidden guUt, and 
* J penetrate the recesses of the human breast, how 
blind is your penetration, how vain your 'agger, 
»nd your cord, compared to the conscience ^ the 
sinner I 

Enter Fai-her Ludoviq 

LuD. Peace be with you, lady ! 

IsA. It is not with me : it is thy ofhce to bring it. 

LuD. And the cause is the absence of the young 
n)ights ? 

IsA. Their absence and their danger. 

LuD. Daughter, thy hand has been stretched out 
ii. bounty to the sick and to the needy. Thou hast 
not denied a shelter to the weary, nor a tear to 
the afliicted. Trust in their prayers, and in those 
of the holy convent thou hast founded; perad- 
venture they wiU bring back thy children to thy 
bosom. 

IsA. Thy bretlii-en cannot pray for me or mine. 
Their vow binds them to pray night and day for 
another — to supplicate, without ceasing, the Eter- 
nal Mercy for the soul of one who — Oh, only 
Heaven knows how much lie needs their prayer ! 

LuD. Unbounded is the mercy of Heaven. The 
Boul of thy former husband 

IsA. I charge thee, priest, mention not the word. 
( Apart.) Wretch that I am, the meanest menial in 
my train has power to goad me to madness ! 

LuD. Hearken to me, daughter ; thy crime 
agiinst Arnolf of Ebersdorf cannot bear in the eye 
of Heaven so deep a dye of guilt. 

IsA. Repeat that once more ; say once again 
that it cannot — cannot bear so deep a dye. Prove 
to me that ages of the bitterest penance, that tears 
of the dearest blood, can erase such guUt. Prove 
but that to me, and I will build thee an abbey 
fv'bich shall put to shame the fairest fane in Chris- 
tendom. 

LoD. Nay, nay. daughter, your conscience is over 



tender. Supposing that, under dread of the stem 
Arnolf, you swore never to marry your present 
husband, still the exacting such an oath was un 
lawful, and the breach of it venial. 

IsA. {resuming her composure.) Be it so, good 
father ; I yield to thy better Reasons. And now 
tell me, has thy pious care achieved the ta.sk 1 
intrusted to thee ? 

LuD. Of superintending the erection of thy new 
hospital for pilgrims? I have, noble lady, and 
last night the minstrel now in the castle lotlged 
there. 

IsA. Wherefore came he then to the castle ? 

LuD. Reynold brought the commands of the 
Baron. 

IsA. Whence comes he. and what is his tale ? 
When he sung before Rudiger, I thought that long 
before I had heard such tones — eeen such a face. 

LuD. It is possible you rnay have seen him, lady, 
for he boasts to have been known to Arnolf o/ 
Ebersdorf, and to have UveJ formerly in this cas 
tie. He inquires much after Martin, Ajnolf's 
squire. 

IsA. Go, Ludovic — go quick, good lather, seek 
him out, give him this purse, and biu nim leave 
the castle, and speed him on his way. 

LuD. May I ask why, noble lady » 

IsA. Thou art inquisitive, priest: I honor the 
servants of God, but I foster not tn« prj'ing spirit 
of a monk. Begone ! 

LuD. But the Baron, lady, will expect a reason 
why I dismiss his guest ? 

IsA. True, true {recollecting herself) ; pardon my 
warmth, good father, I was iJiLiking of the cuckoo 
that grows too big for the heat of the sparrow, and 
strangles its foster-mother. Do no such bnds roost 
in convent -walls ? 

LuD. Lady, I understadd you not. 

IsA. Well, then, say to the Baron, that I have 
dismissed long ago all the attendants of the man 
of whom thou hast spoken, and that I wish to have 
none of tliem beneath my roof. 

LxH). {inquisitively.) Except Martin? 

IsA. {sharply.) Except Martin ! who saved the 
life of my son George ? Do as I command thee. 

[Exit. 
Manet Ludovio. 

Lnn. Ever the same — stern and peremptory to 
others as rigorous to herself; haughty even to me, 
to whom, in another mood, she has knelt for abso- 
lution, and whose knees she has bathed in tears. 
I cannot fathom her. The unnatural zeal with 
which she performs her dreadful penances cannot 
be religion, for shrewdly I guess she beheves not 
in their blessed efficacy. Well for her that she is 
the foundress of our convent, otherwise we might 
not have erred in denouncmg her as a heretic 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



81' 



ACT II.— SCENE I. 

4 woodland prospect. — Through a long avenue, half 
grown up by brambles, are discerned in the back- 
ground the ruins oj the ancient Castle of Grie- 
fenhaus. The distant noise of battle is heard du- 
ring this scene. 

Sntsr George of Aspen, armed vjith a battle-axe 
in his hand, as from horseback. He supports 
Martin, and bri^igs him forward. 

Weo. Lay thee down here, old friend. The en- 
emy's horsemen will hardly take their way among 
these brambles, through which I have dragged 
thee. 

Mar. Oh, do not leave me I leave me not an 
instant ! My moments are now but few, and I 
would profit by them. 

Geo. Martin, you forget yourself and me — I must 
back to the field. 

Mar. {attempts to rise.) Then drag me back 
thither also ; I cannot die but in your presence — I 
dare not be alone. Stay, to give peace to my 
parting soul. 

Geo. I am no priest, Martin. ( Going.) 

Mar. [raising himself with great pain) Baron 
George of Aspen, I saved thy life in battle : for 
*.hat good deed, hear me but one moment. 

Geo. I hear thee, my poor friend. [Returning.) 

Mar. But come close — very close. See'st thou, 
sir knight — this wound I bore for thee — and this — 
\nd this — dost thou not remember ? 

Geo. I do. 

Mar. I have served thee since thou wast a 
child ; served thee faithfully — was never from thy 
side. 

Geo. Thou hast. 

Mar. And now I die in thy service. 

Geo. Thou may'st recover. 

Mar I cannot. By my long service — ^by my 
Bcars — by this mortal gash, and by the death that 
I am to die — oh, do not hate me for what I am 
now to unfold I 

Geo. Be assured I can never hate thee. 

Mar. Ah, thou little knowest Swear to me 

thou wUt speak a word of comfort to my parting 
soul. 

Geo. {takes hit hand.) I swear I will {Alarm 
tmd Bhcniting.) But be brief — thou knowest my 
Daste. 

Mab, Hear me, then. I was the squire, the be- 
loved and favorite attendant, of Arnolf of Ebers- 
dorf. Arnolf was savage as the mountain bear. 
He loved the Lady Isabel, but she requited not 
nis passioa She loved thy father ; but her sire, 
old Arnheim, was the friend of Arnolf, and she 
was forced to marry him. By midnight, in the 



chapel of Ebersdorf, the ill-omened ritta were per 
formed ; her resistance, her screams were in vaiu 
These arms detained her at the altar till the nup 
tial benediction was pronounced. Canst thou for- 
give me ? 

Geo. I do forgive thee. Thy obedience to tny 
savage master has been obhterated by a long train 
of services to his widow. 

Mar. Services ! ay, bloody services 1 for they 
commenced — do not quit my hand — they com- 
menced with the murder of my master. (Georob 
quits his hand, and stands agJtast in speechless hor 
ror.) Trample on me ! pursue me with your dag 
ger ! I aided your mother to poison lier first hos- 
bahd 1 I thank Heaven, it is said. 

Geo. My mother? Sacred Heaven ! Martin. tf«'n 
ravest — the fever of thy wound has distractau 
thee. 

Mar. No 1 I am not mad 1 Would to God I were 1 
Try me ! Yonder is the Wolfslull — yonder the old 
castle of Griefenhaus — and yonder is the hemlock 
marsh [in a whisper) where I gathered the deadly 
plant that drugged Arnolf 's cup of death. (Georgh 
traverses the stage in the utmost agitation, and somt 
times stands over Martin with his hands clasped to- 
gether.) Oh, had you seen him when the potion 
took effect 1 Had you heard his ravings, and seen 
the contortions of his ghastly visage ! — He died 
furious and impenitent, as he lived ; and went — 
where I am shortly to go. Tou do not speak ? 

Geo. [with exertion.) Miserable wretch 1 hor* 
can I? 

Mar. Can you not forgive me ? 

Geo. May God pardon thee — I cannot 

Mar. I saved thy life 

Geo. For that, take my curse 1 [He snatches v 
his battle-axe, and rushes out to the tide from whic 
the noise is heard.) 

Mar. Hear me 1 yet more — more horror i [A ' 
tempts to rise, and falls heavily. A loud alarmd 

Enter Wickerd, hastily. 

Wio. In the name of God. Martin, lend me thy 
brand 1 

Mar. Take it. 

"Wic. Where is it ? 

Mar. [looks wildly at him) In the chapel tk 
Ebersdorf, or buried in the hemlock marsh. 

Wig. The old grumbler is crazy with his wound* 
Martin, if thou hast a spark of reason in thee, gir* 
mf thy sword. The day goes sore against us. 

ILkB.. There it lies. Bury it in the hean of thy 
master George ; thou wilt do him a good office— 
the oflice of a faithful servant. 

Enter Conrad. 
Con. Away, Wickerd ! to horse, and pursue . 
Baron George has turned the day ; he fights mor« 



818 



Sv'OTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



like ft fiend than a man : he Las 'whorflcl R^der'C, 
and nlain six of his troopers — thoy ar« ii^ head- 
loiii< rtight — the hemlock marsh is red with their 
gore' (Martin gives a deep groan, and /aints.^ 
Awny\ away I {Tfict/ hurry off, as to the pur- 
tiiif.) 

finler HoDKnio of Maltingkn, without his helmet. 

Ins arms disordered and broken, holding tlte 

'.ninchcon of a spear in his hand; with hun, 

Bahcn Wolfstein. 

Rod a ciifHe on fortune, and a double curse upon 
Georye of Aspen ! Never, never wili 1 forgive 
him my disgrace — overthrown Hke a rotten trunk 
before a whirlwind ! 

WoLK. \iii comforted. Count Rodoric ; it is well 
wo have escaped being prisoners, f^e how the 
troopers of Aspen pour along the plain, like the 
billows of tlie Rhine 1 It is good we are shrouded 
by the thicket. 

Rod W))y took he not my hfe, when he robbed 
mo of my honor an<l of my love ? Why did his 
spear not pierce my heart, when mine sJiivered 
on his arms like a frail bulrush ? [Throws dovin the 
ijroken spear.) Bear witness, heaven and earth, I 
outlive tliis disgrace only to avenge I 

Wolf. Be comforted ; the knights of Aspen have 
not gained a bloodless victory. And see, there 
lies one of (Jeorge's followers — [seeing Mautin.) 

Rod. His squire Martin; if lie be not dead, we 
will secure him : he is the depositary of tlie secrets 
of his master. Arouse thee, trusty follower of the 
house of Aspen I 

Mar. (reriiiing.) Leave mo not 1 leave me not, 
Banjn George 1 my eyes are darkened with agony I 
I have not yet told all. 

Wolf. Tho old man takes you for liis master. 

Rod. What would.sl thou tell ? 

Mah. Oh, I would tell all the temptations by 
which 1 was urged to the murder of I'^bersdorf 1 

Ron. Murd(!rl — this is worth marking. Proceed. 

Mar. I loved a maiden, daughter of Arnolf's 
Btewjird ; my master seduced her — she became an 
outcast, and died in misery — I vowed vengeance — 
vid I did avenge her. 

Ron. Hadst thou accomplices ? 

Mar. Non{>. but tliy mother. 
j F-OD. 'i'lie Lady Isabella! 

Mao. Ay : she hated her husband : he know her 
lovc to Rudigcr, and wlien she heard that thy 
fat)i(!r was returned from Palastine, her life was 
entianjjp?ed by the transports of hia jealousy — 
tliiis |)repared for evil, the fiend tempted us, and 
we fell. 

Rod. (breaks into a transport.) F<irtune I thou 
hast repaid mo all ! Lovo and vengeance are my 
own 1 — Wolfstein, recall our followers ! quick, soimd 
•hy bu^jle— (WoLKiTKiN sounds.) 



I Mar. {stares wildly rwi-^d.) That waa no not« 
01 Aspen — Count Roderic of Maltingen — Heaven 

I Y'hat have I said I 

I R.'>D. What thou canst not recall. 

Mar. Then is my fate decreed ! 'Tis as it should 
be I ii. this very j^>lace was the poiaju gather'd- 
tis rt*riuutii,n I 

E.itet thr". or fonr soldiers nf Roderic. 

Rod. Secure iV/'o. wou.'^ded trooper ; bind hii 
wounds, and j^uard liim WtU: carry him to the 
ruins of Griefenhai:s, ^nd coi:ceal him till the 
troopers of Aspen have rt+ired from the nuisuit; 
— look to him, as you love your iive.\ 

Mar. {led off by soldiers.) Ministers of vengeance I 
my hour is come I [ Exeunt 

Rod. Hope, joy, and triumph, once igair are ye 
mine I Welcome to my heart, long-absent \mfr 
ants ! One lucky chance has tnro^Ti don-ijiioc 
into the scale of the house of Maltingen, and As- 
pen kicks the beam. 

Wolf. I foresee, indeed, dishonor to the insrW^ ol 
Aspen, should this wounded squire make good hia 
tale. 

Rod. And how think'st thou this disgrace will 
fall on them ? 

Wolf. Surely, by the public punishment of La4/ 
Isabella. 

Rod. And is that all ? 

Wolf. What more ? 

Rod. Shortsighted that thou art, is not Oeorp-e 
of Aspen, as well as thou, a member of the holy 
and invisible circle, over which I preside ? 

Wolf. Sjjeak lower, for God's sake ! these arc 
thhigs not to be mentioned before tho sun. 

Rod. True : but stands he not bound by the 
most solemn oath eligion can devise, to discover 
to the tribunal whatever concealed iniquity shall 
come to his knowledge, be the perpetrator whom 
ho may — ay, were that perpetrator his own fa 
ther — or mother ; and can you doubt that he has 
heard Martin's confession J 

Wolf. True : but, blessed Virgin I do yoo thmk 
he will accuse his own mother before the invisible 
judges ? 

Rod. If not, he becomes forsworn, and, by our 
law, must die. Either way my vengeance is com- 
plete — perjured or parricide, I care not ; but, as 
the one or the other shall I crush the haughty 
George of Aspen. 

Wolf. Thy vengeance strikes aeej>, 

Rod. Deep as the wounds I have borne fi*om 
this proud family. Rudiger slew my father in bat- 
tle — George has twice baffled and dishonored my 
arms, and Henry has stolen the heart of my be- 
lo^^ed : but no hmger can Gertrude now remnio 
imder the care of the murderous dam of thii 
brood of wolves; far less can she wed the ««aootb 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



81. 



decked boy, wbca this scene of villuEy ehall be 
•liscloBed. [Bugle. 

Wolf. Hark ! tbey sound a retreat : let us go 
deepci into the wood. 

llou. The victors approach ! I shall dash their 
\riiimph ' —Issue the private summons for convok- 
iig the n enibois this very evening ; I will direct 
\]ic other measures. 

W >LF What place ? 

Rod. The old chapel in tje ruiua '^'iefenhaus, 



SCENE II 

Enter George of Aspen, asfrm, th» pursuit. 

Geo. (cmnes slowly forward) How many wretclies 
have sunk under my arm this day, to whom Ufe 
Wiis sweet, though the wretched boiid.imen of 
Count Roderic ! And I — I wlio sought death be- 
neath every hfted battle-axe, and offered my 
breast to every arrow — I am cursed with victory 

and safety. Here I left the wretch Martini — 

Martin ! — what, ho I Martin ! Mother of God 1 

he is gone ! Sliould he repeat the dreadful tale 
to any other Martin ! — He answers not. Per- 
haps he has crept into the thicket, and died there 
—were it so, the horrible secret is only mme. 

Enter Heney of Aspen, with Wiokeed, Reynold, 
liud followers. 

Hkn. Joy to thee, brother! though, by St. Fran- 
cis, I would not gain another field at tlie price of 
seeing thee fight with such reckless desperation. 
Thy safety is iittle less than miraculous. 

Rky. By'r Lady, when Baron George struck, I 
•iauk he must have forgot that liis foes were 
God's creatures. Such furious doijigs I never saw, 
and I have been a trooj)er tliese forty-two years 
come St. Barnaby 

Geo. Peace ! saw any of you Martin ? 

Wio. Noble sir, I left him here not long since. 

Geo. Alive or dead ? 

Wic. Alive, noble sir, but sorely wounded. I 
think h» must be prisoner, for he could not have 
budged else from hence. 

Geo. Heedless slave! Why didst thou leave liim ? 

Hen. Dear brother, Wickerd acted for tlie best : 
&« came to our assistance and the aid of his com- 
panions. 

Geo. I tell thee, Henry, Martin's safety was of 
more importance thim the lives of any ten that 
itand here. 

Wio. {muttering.) Here's much to do about an 
rid crazy trem her-shifter. 

Geo. What mutterest thou? 

Wic. Only, sir knight, that Martin seemed out 



of his senses when I loft »im, and has perhajiw 
wandered into the marsh, and perished tliere. 

Geo. How — out of his senses ? Did he speak k 
thee ? — (apprchenshiely.) 

Wio. Yes, noble sir. 

Geo. Dear Henry, step for an instant to yor. 
tree — thou wilt see from thence if the foe rulljr 
upon the Wolfshill. (Henry retires.) And do y >u 
stand back {to the soldiers.) 

[lie brings Vf niv.Kii\i forward, 

Gko. {with marked apprehension.) What did 
Martin say to thee, Wickerd? — tell me, on tliy | 
allegiance. 

Wio. Mere ravings, sir knight — offered me his 
sword to kill you. 

Geo. Said he aught of killing any one else » 

Wio. No : tlie pain of his wound seemed to have 
brougiit on a fever. 

Geo. {clasps his hands together.) I breathe again 
— I 8i)y comfort. Why could I not sue as well a« 
this hsUow, that the wounded wretch may have 
been distracted ? Let me at least think so till 
proof sliall show the truth {aside.) Wickerd, thinlf 
not on what I said — the heat of the cattle liacJ 
chafed my blood. Thou hast wished for the Netb 
er fai'ni at Ebersdorf — it shall be thino 

Wio. Thanks, my noble hird. 

lie-enter Henry. 

Hen. No — they do not rally — they have liail 
enougli of it — but Wickerd and Conrad shall re- 
main, with twenty troopers and a score of crosB- 
bowmen, and scour tlie woods towards (Jriefon- 
haus, to prevent the fugitives from making head 
We will, with the rest, to Ebersdorf What say 
you, brother ? 

Geo. Well ordered. Wickerd, look thou searct 
everywhere for Martin : bring him to me dead 01 
ahve ; leave not a nook of the wood unsought. 

Wio. I warrant you, noble sir, I shall find him, 
could he clew himself up like a dormouse. 

Hen. I think he must be prisoner. 

Geo. Heaven forefeiid ! Take a trumpet, Eu» 
tace {to an attendant); ride to the castle cf Mai 
tingen, and demand a parley. If Martin is prisoner 
offer any ransom : otter ten — twenty — &11 our pri» 
oners ui exchange. 

Eu8. It shall be de*3, sir knight. 

Hen. Ere we go, sound trumpets — atriJte up tb< 
song of victory. 

soiro. 

Joy to the victors 1 the sons of ola .^ -n, I 

Joy to the race of the battle and scar \ 
Glory's proud garland trium])hantly grasping ; 
Generous in peace, and victorious in war. 
Honor acquiring, 
Valor inspiriiut. 



120 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



BuTHting resistless, through foemen they go : 

War-axes wielding, 

liroken ranks yielding. 
Till from the battle proud Roderic retiring, 
r«eld3 in wild rout the fair palm to his foe. 

Joy to each warrior, true follower of Aspen ! 

•Joy to the heroes that gain'd the bold day 1 
Health to our wounded, in agony gasping; 
Peace to our brethren that fell in the fray 1 
Boldly this morning, 
Roderic's power scorning. 
Well for their chieftain their blade did they 
wield: 
Joy blest them dying, 
As Maltingen flying. 
Tow laid his banners, our conquest aooming, 
Their death-clouded eyeballs descried on the field ! 

Now to our home, the proud mansion of Aspen, 

Bend we, gay victors, triumphant away ; 
There each fond damsel, her gallant youth clasping, 
Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of the 
fray. 
Listening the prancing 
Of horses advancuig ; 
E'en now on the tiu-rets oiu- maidens appear. 
Love our hearts warming, 
Songs the night charming, 
Round goes the grape in the goblet gay dancing ; 
Love, wine, and song, our bUthe evening shall 
cheer 1 

Hen. Now spread our banners, and to Ebersdorf 
in triumph. We carry relief to the anxious, joy 
to the h ^art of the aged, brother George. ( Going 

Gko. Or treble misery and death. 

\Apart, and following slowly. 

Th* music sounds, and the followers of Aspen begin 
tojils across the stage. The curtain falls. 



ACT ni— SCENE L 
Castle of Ehersdorf. 

RcDibEE, Isabella, and Gertrude. 

Run. I prithee, dear wife, be merry. It must 
De over by this time, and happily, othorwise the 
5ad news had reached us. 

IsA. Should we not, then, have heard the tidings 
%i the good ? 

Run. Oh 1 these fly slower by half. Besides, T 
variant all of them engaged in the pursuit. Ob ! 



not a page would leave the skirts of the fugitivei 
tiU they were fairly bea1;en into their holds ; but 
had the boys lost the day, the stragglers had made 
for the castle. Go to the window, Gertrude : seest 
thou any thing ? 

Ger. I think I tiee a horseman. 

IsA. A single rider ? tlien I fear me much. 

Ger. It is only Father Ludovic. 

Run. A plague on thee ! didst thou take a £ai 
friar on a mule for a trooper of the house of Aspen t 

Ger. But yonder is a cloud of dust. 

RuD. (eagerly.) Indeed ! 

Gee. It is only the wine sledges going to my 
axuit's convent. 

RuD. The devil confound the wine sledges, and 
the mules, and the monks I Come from the win- 
dow, and torment me no longer, thou seer of 
strange sights. 

Ger. Dear uncle, what can I do to amuse you ? 
Shall I tell you what I dreamed this morning ? 

Run. Nonsense : but say on ; any thing is better 
than silence. 

Ger. I thought I was in the chapel, and they 
were burying my aunt Isabella alive. And who, 
do you think, aunt, were the gravediggers who 
shovelled in the earth upon you? Even Barcn 
George and old Martin. 

IsA. [appears shocked.) Heaven ! what an idea ! 

Ger. Do but think of my terror — and MinhoJd 
the minstrel played all the while, to drown your 
screams. 

Run. And old Father Ludovic danced a sara- 
band, with the steeple of the new convent upon 
his thick skull by way of mitre. A truce to this 
nonsense. Give us a song, my love, and leav» thy 
dreams and visions. 

Ger. What shall I sing to you ? 

Run. Sing to me of war. 

Ger. I cannot sing of battle ; but I will sing 
you the Lament of Eleanor of Toro, when her lover 
was slain in the wars. 

IsA. Oh, no laments, Gertrude. 

Run. Then sing a &ong of mirth. 

IsA. Dear husband, is this a time for mirth ? 

RuD. Is it neither a time to sing of n^irth nor d 
sorrow ? Isabella woidd rallier hear Father Ludo- 
vic chant the "De prcfundis." 

Ger. Dear uncle, he not angry. A t , resent, I 
can only sing the lay of pocr Eleanor It cornea 
to my heart at this moment as if the sonuwhi'i 
mom-ner had been my own sister. 

SONG.' 

Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Tdi o. 
Weak were the whispers tha"- waved tl»e dml 
wood, 

* Conpar* with " Th« llaid sf Toio " amu 8S& 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



bs 



) 



Aa a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, 
Sigh'd to the breezes and wept to the flood. — 

" Saints, from the mansion of bHss lowly bending, 
Virgin, that hear'st the poor suppliant's cry, 

Grant my petition, in anguish ascending. 
My Frederick restore, or let Eleanor die." 

DjPtant and faint were '*the sounds of the battle ; 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes 
they fail, 

j Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's 
dread rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamor came loading the 
gale. 
Breathless she gazed through the woodland bo 
dreary, 
Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary. 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. 

• Save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ; 
Save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ; 
Cold on yon heath thy bold Frederick is lying, 
Fast through the woodland approaches the foe." 
\_T7ie voice of Geeteude si7iks by degrees, 
till she bursts into tears. 

dvD. How now, Gertrude ? 

Gee. Alas ! may not the fate of poor Eleanor at 
this moment be mine ? 

Run. Never, my girl, never ! {Military music is 

r^ard.) Hark ! hark ! to the sounds that tell thee so. 

[All rise and run to the loindow. 

Run. Joy 1 joy ! they come, and come victorious. 
(The chorus of the war-song is heard without.) Wel- 
come ! welcotoe ! once more have my old eyes 
Been the banners of the house of Maltingen tram- 
pled in the dust. — Isabella, broach our oldest casks : 
wine is sweet after war. 

Enter Hi^iiRY, followed by Reynold and troopers. 

Rod. Joy to thee, my boy 1 let me press thee to 
this old heart. 

IsA. Bless thee, my son — {embraces him) — Oh, 
how many hours of bitterness are compensated by 
this embiace ! Bless thee, my Henry I where hast 
thou left thy brother ? 

Hen. Hard %t hand : by this he is crossing the 
drawbridge. Hast thou no greetings for me, Ger- 
trude ? ( Goes to her.) 

G EE. I joy not in battles. 

RuD. But she had tears for thy danger. 

Hen. Thanks, my gentle Gertrude. See, I have 
brought back thy scarf from no inglorious field. 

Gee. It is bloody 1 — {shocked.) 

Run. Dost start at that, my girl ? Were it hi.s 
»wn blood, as it is that of his foes, thou shouldst 
^lory in it. — Go, Reynold, mike good cheer with 
thy fellows [Exit Reynold a»tii Soldiers. 



Enter Geobqe pensively. 

Geo. {goes straight to Rudigbe.) Fsi'.her, th' 
blessing. 

RuD. Thou hast it, boy. 

IsA. {rushes to embrace him — kc avoids her 
How ? art thou worn. Jed ? 

Geo. No. 

RuD. Thou lookest deadly pale 

GEa It is nothing 

IsA. Heaven's blessmg on my gallant Get>rge. 

Geo. {aside.) Dares she bestow a blessing i Oh 
Martin's tale was phrensy ! 

IsA. Smile upon us for once, my son; darkei; 
not thy brow on this day of gladness — few are 
our moments of joy — should not my sons share in 
them? 

Geo. {aside.) She has moments of joy — it wa» 
phrensy then ! 

IsA. Gertrude, my love, assist me to disarm ths 
knight. {She loosens and takes off his casque.) 

Gee. There is one, two, three hacks, and nonj 
has pierced the steeL 

Run. Let me see. Let me see. A trusty casque ' 

Gee. Else hadst thou gone. 

IsA. I will reward the armorer with its weigbl 
in gold. 

Geo. {aside.) She must be innocent. 

Gee. And Henry's shield is hacked, too ! Let me 
show it to you, imcle. {She carries Henry's shield 

to RUDIGEE.) 

RuD. Do, my love ; and come hither, Henry 
thou shalt tell me how the day went. 

[Heney and Geeteude converse apart wit ft 
Rudiger; Geoege comes forward ; Isa- 
bella comes to him. 

IsA. Surely, George, some evil has befaller 
thee. Grave thou art ever, bui sv) dreadfullj 
gloomy — 

Geo. Evil, indeed. — {Aside.) Notv for tlie trial 

IsA. Has your loss been great ? 

Geo. No ! — Yes ! — {Apart.) I cannot do it. 

IsA. Perhaps some friend lost ? 

Geo. It must be. — Martin is dead. — {He regard* 
her with apprehension, but steadily, as he proHou>uy.4 
these words.) 

IsA. {starts, then shows a ghastly expr ufon &j 
joy) Dead ! 

Geo. {almost overcom£ by his ^iCmgs.) Guilty J 
Guilty ! — {apart.) 

IsA. {mthout observing his emotion.) Didst thou 
say dead? 

Geo. Did I — no — I only said mortally wonude<l 

IsA. Wounded ? only wounded ? ^Vhere is he 
Let me fly to him. — {Going.) 

Geo. {sternly.) Hold, lady ! — Speak not so loud 
— Thou canst not see him ! — He is a prisoner. 

IsA. A prisoner, and wounded ? Fly to his de 
liverance ! — Offer wealth, lands, castles, — all oui 



82'i 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



possessions, for his ransom. Never shall I know 
i»eace till these walls, or till the grave se'^ures him. 
Geo. {apart.) Guilty ! Guilty I 

Enter Petek. 

Pet. Hugo, squire t® the Count of Maltingen, 
bss arrived with a message. 

Rro. 1 will receive him in the hall. 

[Exit, leaning on Gertrude and Henry. 

Isv Go, George — see after Martin. 

Geo. ( frmly.) No — I have a task to perform ; 
atd though the earth should open and devour me 
alive — I will accomplish it. But first — but first — 
Nature, take thy tribute.- {He falls on his mothei's 
neck, and weeps bitterly.) 

IsA. George ! my son ! for Heaven's sake, what 
dreadful phrensj ! 

Geo. (walks two turns across the stage and com- 
poses himself.) Listen, mother — I knew a knight 
in Hungary, gallant in battle, hospitable and gen- 
erous m peace./ The king gave him his friendship, 
and the administration of a province ; that province 
was infested by thieves and murderers. You mark 
me ? — 

IsA. Most heedfully. 

Geo. The knight was sworn — bound by an oath 
tlie most dreadful that can be taken by man — to 
deal among offenders even-handed, stern, and im- 
partial justice. Was it not a dreadful vow ? 

IsA. (with an affectation of composure.) Solemn, 
doubtless, as the oath of every magistrate. 

Geo. And inviolable ? 

IsA. Surely — mviolable. 

Geo. Well ! it happened, that when he rode out 
against the banditti, he made a prisoner. And 
who, think you, that prisoner was ? 

IsA. I know not {with increasing terror.) 

Geo. {trembling, but proceeding rapidly.) His 
own twin-brother, who sucked the same breasts 
with him, and lay in the bosom of the same moth- 
er; his brother whom he loved as his own soul 
— what should that knight have done unto his 
brother ? 

IsA. {almost speechless) Alas ! what did he do ? 

Geo. He did {turning his head from her, and 
with clasped hands) what I can never do : — he did 
CIS duty. 

Is A. My son 1 my son 1 — Mercy 1 Mercy! {Olings 
'9 him.) 

Geo. Is it then true ? 

IsA. What? 

Geo. What IMartin said ? (Isabella hides Iter 
face.) It is true ! 

Isa. (looks tip vjith an air of dignity.) Hear, 
Framer of the laws of nature ! the mother is judged 
by th') child — {Turns toioards him.) Yes, it is true 
—true that, fearful of my own hfe, I secured it by 
ie mv'lor ol mv tyi-ant. Mistaken coward ! I 



little knew on what terrors I ran, to avoid one 
moment's agony. — Thou hast the secret I 

Geo. Knowest thou to whom thou hast told it \ 

Isa. To my son. 

Geo. No ! No ! to an executi'^ar ' 

Isa. Be it so — go, proclaim my crime, and forget 
not my punishment. Forget nut th^t the mur<ler- 
ess of her husband has dragged out years of liiddeo 
remorse, to be brought at last to the scalYold b» 
her own cherished son — thou art silent. 

Geo. The language of Nature is no more ! Hov 
shall I learn another ? 

Isa. Look upon me, George. Should the execu 
tioner be abashed before the criminal — look upon 
me, my son. From my soul do I forgive thee. 

Geo. Forgive me what ? 

Isa. What thou dost meditate — be vengeance 
heavy, but let it be secret — add not the death of a 
father to that of the sinner ! Oh ! Rudiger ! Rudi- 
ger ! innocent cause of all my guilt and all my woe, 
how wUt thou tear thy silver locks when thou shalt 
hear her guilt whom thou hast so often clasped to 
thy bosom — hear her infamy proclaimed by the 
son of thy fondest hopes — (weeps.) 

Geo. (struggling for breath.) Nature will have 
utterance : mother, dearest mother, I will save 
you or perish ! (throws himself into hei arms.) 
Thus fall my vows. 

IsA. Man thyself! I ask not safety from thee. 
Never shall it be said, that Isabella of Aspen 
turned her son from the path of duty, though kjj 
footsteps must pass over her mangled corpse. 
Man thyself. 

Geo. No ! No ! The ties of Nature ■(vere knit 
by God himself. Cursed be the stoic pride that 
would rend them asunder, and call it virtue ! 

Isa. My son ! My son ! — How shall 1 t»ehold thee 
hereafter ? 

[Three knocks are heard upon the door of 
the apartment. 

Geo. Hark ! One — two — thi'ee. Roderic, thou 
art speedy I (Apart) 

Isa. (opens the door.) A parchment stuck to the 
door with a poniard ! (Opens it.) Heaven ana 
earth ! — a summons from the invisible judges i — 
(Drops the parchment.) 

Geo. (reads with emotion.) " Isabella of Aspen, 
accused of murder by poison, we conjure thee, by 
the cord and by the steel, to appear this night 
before the avengers of blood, who judge in secret 
and av 3nge m secret, like the Deity. As thou art 
irmocer-t or guilty, so be thy deliverance." — Mar 
tm, Martin, thou hast played false ! 

IsA. Alas ! whither .«hall I fly ? 

Geo. Thou canst not fly ; instant deat^ wouW 
foUow the attempt ; a hundred thousand arm* 
would be raised against thy life ; every morse' 
♦hou didst taste, every drop wliich thou did«» 



drink, thj very breeze 5f heaven that fanned thee, 
would come loaded with destruction. One chance 
jf safety is open : — obey the summons. 

IsA. And perish. — Yet why should I still fear 
leath? Be it so. 

Geo. No — I have sworn to save you. I will not 
rto the work by halves. Does any one save Maitin 
Know of the dreadful deed ? 

IhA. None, 

Geo. Th<in go — assert your innocence, and leave 
sh-3 rest to me. 

IsA. Wretch that I am ! How can I support the 
task you would impose.? 

Gtso. Think on my father. Live for him: he 
will need all the comfort thou canst bestow. Let 
the thought that his destruction is involved in 
thine, carry thee through tlie dreadful trial. 

IsA. Be it so. — For Rudigtr I have Uved: for 
hini I will continue to bear the biu-den of exist- 
ence : but the instant that my guilt comes to his 
knowledge shall be the last of my Ufe. Ere I 
would bear from him one glance of hatred or of 
icorn, this dagger should drink my blood. {Puts 
ihe poniard into her bosoni.) 

Gei . Fear not. He can never know. No evi- 
dencfe ihaU appear against you. 

IsA. How shall I obey the summons, and where 
find the terrible judgment-seat ? 

Geo. Leave that to the judges. Resolve but to 
obey, and a conductor will be found. Go to the 
chapel ; there pray for your sins and for mine. 
(He leads her out, and returns.) — Sins, indeed ! I 
break a dreadful vow, but I save the life of a pa- 
rent ; and the penance I will do for nty perjury 
shall appal even the judges of blood. 

Enter Reynold. 
Ret. Sir knight, the messenger of Count Roderic 
desires to speak with you. 
Geo, Admit him. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hug. Count Roderic of Maltingen greets you. 
he says he will this night hear the bat flutter and 
the owlet scream ; and he bids me ask if thou also 
vilt listei to the music. 

Geo. '. anderstand him. I will be there. 

Hug. And the Count says to you, that he will 
uot rans^i*' your wounded squire, though you 
would down weigh his best horse with gold. But 
you may send him a confessor, for the Count says 
he will need one. 

Geo. Is be so near death ? 

Hug. Not as it seems to me. He is weak tlirough 
loss of blood ; but since his woimd was dressed he 
san both stand and walk. Our Coimt has a notable 
Salaam, which has recruited him much. 

Geo. Enough — I will send the priest. — {Exit 

UGO.) 1 fathom his plot. He would add another 



witness to the tale of Martin's giilt. Put no pnesl 
shall approach hini Reynold, tliinkest thou not 
we could send one of the troopers. disg\used as » 
monk, to aid Martin in makuig his escape ? 

Rev. Noble sir, the followers of your house ara 
so weU known to those of Maltingen, that I fear ii 
is impossible. 

Geo. Knowest thou of no stranger who mignt Xm 
employed ? His reward shall exceed even his h» ipea 

Rey. So please you — I think the minstrel could 
well execute such a commission : he is shrewd and 
cunning, and can write and read like a priest. 

Geo. Call him. — {Exit Reynold.) If this fails, I 
must employ open force. Were Martin removed, 
no tongue can assert the bloody truth. 

Enter Minstrel. 

Geo. Come hither, Miuhold. Hast thou courage 
to undertaka a dangerous enterprise ? 

Ber. My Ufe, su- knight, has been one scene oi 
danger and of dread. I have forgotten how to fear 

Geo. Thy speech is above thy seeming. Who 
art thou? 

Ber. An unfortunate knight, obUged to shrou'.' 
myself under this disguise. 

Geo. What is the cause of thy misfortunes ? 

Ber. I slew, at a tournament, a prince, and wa> 
laid under the ban of the empire. 

Geo. I have interest with the emperor. Swear 
to perform what task I shall impose on thee, anci 
I will procure the recall of the ban. * 

Ber. I swear. 

Geo. Then take the disguise of a monk, and go 
with the follower of Comit Roderic, as if to confess 
my wounded squire Martin. Give him thy dress, 
and remain in prison ia his stead. Thy captivity 
shall be short, and I pledge my knightly word I 
will labor to execute my promise, when thou shalt 
have leisure to unfold thy history. 

Ber. I will do as you direct. Is the hfe of yoin 
squire in danger ? 

Geo. It is, unless thou canst accompUsh his rti 
lease. 

Ber. I will essay it. \_Exii 

Geo. Such are the mean expedients to wlucl 
George of Aspen must now resort. No longer can ? 
debate with Roderic in the field. The dejjrave'*-- 
the perjured knight must contend with him onij 
in the arts of dissimulation and treachery. Oh. 
mother 1 mother ' the most bitter consequencf ?! 
thy crime has been the birth of thy first-born 
But I must warn my brother of the impending 
storm. Poor Henry, how little can thy gay tem 
per anticipate evil 1 What, ho there I [Enter ar. 
Attendant.) Where is Baron Henry ? 

Att. Noble sir, he rode forth, after & slight re 
freshment, to visit the party in the field. 

Geo. Saddle my ste*', . " ''dll follow hinx 



^2A 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Arr. So please you, your noble father has twice 
aemanded your presence at the banquet. 

Geo. It matters not — say that I have ridden 
Wth to the- Wolfsliill. Wbero is thy lady ? 

Att. In the chapel, sir knight. 

Geo. 'Tis well — saddle my bay-horse — {apart) 
or the last time. \^Exit. 



ACT IV.— SCENE L 

Fhe wood of Griefenhaus, vrith the ruins of the 
Castle. A nearer view of the Castle than in 
Act Second, hut still at some distance. 

Enter Rodkeic, Wolfstein, and Soldiers, as from 
a reconnoitering party. 

Wolf. They mean to improve their success, and 
■vill push their advantage far. We must retreat 
betimes, Count Roderic. 

Rod. We are safe here for the present. They 
make no immediate motion of advance. I fancy 
neither George nor Henry are with their party in 
ihfi wood. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hug. Noble sir, how shall I tell what has hap- 
./<?ned ? 

Rod. What? 

Hug. Martin has escaped. 

Rod. Villain, thy life shall pay it ! (Strikes at 
Hugo — is held by Wolfstein.) 

Wolf. Hold, hold, Count Roderic I Hugo may 
^>e blameless. 

Rod. Reckless slave ! how came he to escape ? 

Hug. Under the disguise of a monk's habit, 
vhom by your orders we brought to confess him. 

Rod. Has lie been long gone ? 

Hug. An hour and more sinco he passed our 
sentinels, disguised as the chaplain of Aspen : but 
tie walked so slowly and feebly, I think he cannot 
yet have reached the posts of the enemy. 

Rod. Wliere is the treacherous priest ? 

Hug. He waits his doom not far from hence. 

[Exit Hugo. 

Rod. Drag him hither. The miscreant that 
'Hatched the morsel of vengeance from the lion of 
Miltmgen, shall expire under torture. 

Re-enter Hugo, with Bertram and Attendants. 

Rod. Villain 1 what tempted thee, imder the 
^arb of a minister of religion, to steal a criminal 
irom the hand of justice ? 

Ber. I am no villain. Count Roderic ; and I only 
iided the escape of one wounded wretch whom 
thou didst mean to kiU basely. 

Rod. Liar and slave 1 thou last assisted a mur- 
iorer, upon whom justice had nacred claims. 



Bee. I warn thee again. Count, that I am noithe; 
liar nor slave. Shortly I hope to tell thee I ao 
once more thy equal. 

Rod. Thou! Thou! 

Bee. Yes ! the name of Bertram of Ebersdon 
was once not unknown to thee. 

Rod. (astonished.) Thou Bertram! the brother 
of Arnolf of Ebersdorf, first husband of the B'lr- 
oness Isabella of Aspen ? 

Bee. The same. 

Rod. Who, in a quarrel at a tom'nament, many 
years since, slew a blood-relation of the emneror 
and was laid under the ban '{ 

Bee. The same. 

Rod. And who has now, in the disguise of a 
priest, aided the escape of Martin, squire to George 
of Aspen ? 

Bee. The same — the same. 

Rod. Then, by the holy cross of Cologre, thou 
hast set at liberty the murderer of thy brothei 
Arnolf! 

Bee. How ! What 1 I understand thee not ! 

Rod. Miserable plotter 1 — Martin, by his own 
confession, as Wolfstein heard, avowed having 
aided Isabella in the murder of her husband. I 
had laid such a plan ©f vengeance as should have 
made all Germany shudder. And thou hast coun 
teracted it — thou, the brother of the miurdereo 
Arnolf ? 

Bee. Can this be so, Wolfstein ? 

Wolf. I heard Martin confess the murder. 

Bee. Then am I indeed unfortunate 1 

Rod. What, in the name of evil, brought thee 
here ? 

Bee. I am the last of my race. When I was 
outlawed, as thou knowest, the lands of Ebers- 
dorf, my rightful iuheritance, were declared for- 
feited, and the Emperor bestowed them upon 
Rudiger when he married Isabella. I attempted 
to defend my domain, but Rudiger — Hell thank 
him for it — enforced the ban against me at the 
head of his vassals, and I was constrained to fly. 
Since then I have warred against the Saracens in 
Spain and Palestine. 

Rod. But why didst thou return to a land where 
death attends thy being discovered ? 

Bee. Impatience lu-ged me to see once more the 
land of my nativity, and the towers of Ebsrsdorf 
I came there yesterday, under tlie name of the 
minstrel Minhold. 

Rod. And what prevailed on thee to undertake 
to deliver Martin ? 

Bee. George, though I told not my name, en- 
gaged to procure the recall of the ban ; besides, 
he told me Martin's life was in danger, and I ac- 
covmted the old villain to be the last ren»auung 
follower of our house. But, as God shall judge 
me, the tale of horror thou bast mentioned I could 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



82» 



lot have even suspected Report ran, that my 
brother died of the plague. 

Wolf. Raised for the purpose, doubtless, of pre- 
ventmg attendance upon his sick-bed, and an in- 
spection of b's body. 

Bee. My vengeance shall be dreadful as its 
rause ! The usm-pers of my inheritance, the rob- 
bers cf my lionor, the murderers of my brother, 
Uxall be cut off, root and branch 1 

AoD. 1 huu art, then, welcome here ; especially 
;i thou art still a true brother to our invisible 
iruer. 

Bee, I am. 

xiOD. There is a meeting this night on the busi- 
ness of thy brother's deatL Some are now come. 
( must dispatch them in pursuit of Martin. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hug. The foes advance, sir knight. 

Rod. Back 1 back to the ruins 1 Come with us, 
Bertram ; on the road thou shalt hear the dread- 
ful history. [Exeunt, 

Prom the opposite side enter George, Henet, 
WicKEED, CoNEAD, and Soldiers. 

Geo. No news of Martin yet I 

Wic. jSTone, sir knight. 

Geo. Nor of the minstrel I 

Wic. None. 

Geo. Then he has betrayed me, or is prisoner — 
misery either way. Begone, and search the wood. 
Wicker d. [Exeunt Wickeed and followers. 

Hen. Still this dreadful gloom on thy brow, 
brother ? 

Geo. Ay I what else ? 

Hen, Once thou thoughtest me worthy of thy 
friendship. 

Geo. Henry, thou art young — 

Hen. Shall I therefore betray thy confidence ? 

Geo. No 1 but thou art gentle and well-na- 
tured. Thy mind cannot even support the burden 
which mine must bear, far less wilt thou approve 
tlie means I shall use to throw it off. 

Hen. Try me. 

Geo. I may not. 

Hen. Then thou dost no longer love me, 

Geo. I love thee, and because I love thee, I will 
E»i involve thee in my distress. 

Hen. I will bear it with thee. 

Geo. Shouldst thou share it, it would be doubled 
to me. 

Hen. Fear not, I wiU find a remedy, 

Geo. It would cost thee peace of mind, here, 
and hereafter. 

Hkn. I take the risk. 

Gio, It may not be, Henry. Thou wouldst be- 
oome the confidant of crines past — the accomplice 
•f othara to come. 



Hen. Shall I guess ? 

Geo. I charge thee, no 1 

Hen. I must. Thouart one of the secret jud^je* 

Geo, Unhappy boy ! what hast thou said 1 

Hen. Is it not so ? 

Geo. Dost thou know what the discovsry ha» 
cost thee ? 

Hen. I care not. 

Geo. He who discovers any ])art of om- mystery 
must himself become one of our niunber. 

Hen. How so ? 

Geo. If he does not consent, his secrecy will b« 
speedily ensured by his death. To that we are 
sworn — take thy choice I 

Hen. Well, are you not banded in secret to 
punish those offenders whom the sword of justice 
cannot reach, or who are shielded from its stroke 
by the buckler of power ? 

Geo. Such is indeed the purpose of our frater 
nity ; but the end is pursued through paths dark, 
intricate, and shppeiy with blood. Who is he that 
shall tread them with safety ? Accursed be the 
hour in which I entered the labyrinth, and doubly 
accursed that, in which thou too must lose tlif 
cheerful simshine oi a soul without a mystery ! 

Hen. Yet for thy sake will I be a member. 

Geo. Henry, thou didst rise this morning a fre« 
man. No one could say to thee, " Why dost thou 
so ?" Thou layest thee doAvn to-night the veriest 
slave that ever tugged at an oar — the slave oi 
men whose actions will appear to thee savage and 
incomprehensible, and whom thou must aid against 
the world, upon peril of thy throat. 

Hen. Be it so. I will share your lot. 

Geo. Alas, Henry 1 Heaven forbid ! Bat since 
thou hast by a hasty word fettered thyself, I will 
avail myself of thy bondage. Mount thy fleetest 
steed, and hie thee this very night to the Dxike at 
Bavaria. He is chief and paramount of our chap- 
ter. Show him this signet and this letter ; tell 
him that matters will be this night discussed con- 
cerning the house of Aspen. Bid him speed him 
to the assembly for he well knows the president 
is our deadly foe. He will admit thee a membei 
of our holy body. 

Hen. Who is the foe whom you dread ? 

Geo. Young man, the first duty thou must Lean 
is implicit and blind obedience. 

Hen. Well I I shall soon return and see Jfaet 
again. 

Geo. Return, indeed, thou wilt ; but for the »"e8t 
— ^well ! that matters not. 

Hen. I go : thou wilt set a watch here ? 

Geo. I will. (Henet going.) Return, my t^^al 
Henry, let me embrace thee, shouldst thou ntf 
see me again. 

Hen, Heaven ! what mean you ? 

Geo, Nothing. Tue life of mortals is precari 



8'26 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



>U3 ; and, should we not meet again, take my 
olessing and this embrace — and this — {mnbraces 
him warmly.) And now haste to the duke. {Exit 
Hr.vRY.) Poor yf)uth, thou little knowest what 
thou hast undertaken. But if Martin has escaped, 
and if the duke arrives, they will not dare to pro- 
reed without proo£ 

Be-enter Wickerd and follmeers. 
"Wir. W'e have made a follower of Maltmgen 
prisoner, Baron George, who reports that Martin 
MRS escxped. 

Geo. Jcy 1 joy I such joy as T can now feel ! 
Set hirn free for the good news — and, Wickerd, 
keep a good watch in this spot all night. Send 
out scouts to find Martin, lest he should not be 
»ble to reach Ebersdorf. 
Wic. I shall, noble sir. 

[The keftle-drums and trumpets flourish 
as for setting the watch : the scene closes- 



SCENE IL 

77>c chapel at Ebersdorf, an ancient Gothic htdlding. 

Isabella is discovered rising from, before the altar, 
on which burn two tapers. 

IsA. I cannot pray. Terror and guilt have sti- 
fled devotion. Tlie heart must be at ease — the 
hands nmst be pure when they are lifted to Heav- 
en. Midnight is the hour of summons : it is now 
near. How can I pray, when I go resolved to 
deny a crime which every drop of my blood could 
not wash away ! And my son I Oh ! he will fall 
ihe victini of my crime ! Arnolf ! Arnolf 1 thou 
art dreadfully avenged ! (Tap at the door.) The 
footstep of my dreadful guide. {Tap again.) My 
courage is no more. {Enter Gertrude by the door.) 
Gertrude ! is it only thou ? {embraces her.) 

Ger. Dear aunt, leave this awful place ; it chills 
my very blood. My uncle seut lue to call you to 
the hall. 

IsA. Who is in the hall ? 

Ger. Only Reynold and the family, ■vitn whom 
my uncle is making merry. 

I9.\. Sawest thou no strange faces? 

Ger. No ; none but friends. 

I8.\. Art thou eure of that ? Is George *here \ 

Ger. No, nor Henry ; both have ridden ouv, 1 
think they might have staid onn day at least. Btit 
eome, amit, I hate this place ; it reminds me of my 
dream. See, yonder was the spot where methought 
they were burying you alive, below yon monu- 
ment [pointing.) 

Iba {ttarting.) The monument of my first hus- 



band. Leave me, leave me, Gertrude, I foUoTi 
in a moment. (Exit Gertrude.) A.y, there h« 
lies 1 forgetful alike of his crimes and injmies 
Insensible, as if tliis chapel had never rung with 
mv shrieks, or the castle resounded to his partini; 
groans! When shall I sleep .so s-mndly ? (At 
she gazes on the monument, a figure mu^cd i?i blach 
appears from behind it.) Merciful God ! is it .. 
vision, such as has haunted my couch {It ap 
proaches : she goes on with mingled terror and re* 
olufion.) Ghastly phantom, art thou the restleB? 
spirit of one who died in agony, or art thou the 
mysterious being that must p^uide me to the pres 
ence of the avengers of blood ? {Figure bends it.s 
head and beckons.) — To-morrow ! To-morrow ! 1 
cannot follow thee now ! {Figure shows a dagger 
from beneath its cloak.) Compulsion ! I under 
stand thee: I 'vill follow. {She follows the figure 
a little way ; he turns and ivraps a black veil rmmd 
her head, and takes her hand: then both exeunf 
behind the monument.) 



SCENE III. 

The Wood of Griefenhaus. — A watchfire, routic 
which sit Wickerd, Conrad, and others, in theii 
watch-cloaks. 

Wic. The night is bitter cold. 
Con. Ay, but thou hast lined thy doublet ■well 
with old Rhenish. 

Wic. True ; and TU give you warrant for it 

(Sings.) 

(rhein-wein lied.) 

What makes the troopers' frozen courage muster I 

The grapes of juice divine. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster: 

Oh, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Let fringe and furs, and many a rabbit skm, eus, 

Bedeck your Saracen ; 
He'll freeze without what warms our hearts with 
in, sirs, 

When the night-frost crusts the fen. 

But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine. 
That make our troopers' frozen courage mustor : 

Oh, blessed be the Rliine I 

Con. Well sung, Wickerd; thou wert evur ■ 
jD^wl souL 

Enter a trooper or two mott 
Wk, Haat thou made the rounds, Frank f 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 



82'i 



Frank. Yes, up to the hemlock marsh. It is a 
utormy night; the moon shone on the Wolfshill, 
and on the dead bodies with which to-day's work 
tas covered it. We heard the spirit of the house 
of Maltingen wailing over the slaughter of its ad- 
herents : I durst go no farther. 

Wio. Hen-hearted rascal 1 The spu-it of some old 
ravon, who ■was picking their bones. 

Cv»N. Nay, Wickerd ; the churchmen say there 
kic such things. 

Feank. Ay ; and Father Ludovic told us last 
sermon, how the devil twisted the neck of ten 
farmers at Kletterbach, who refused to pay Pe- 
ter's pence. 

Wig. Yes, some church devil, no doubt. 

Frank. Nay, old Reynold says, that in passing, 
by midnight, near the old chapel at our castle, he 
saw it all lighted up, and heard a chorus of voices 
sing the funeral service. 

Another Soldier. Father Ludovic heard the 
same. 

"Wio. Hear me, ye hare-livered boys ! Can you 
look death in the face in battle, and dread such 
nursery bugbears ? Old Reynold saw his vision 
in the strength of the grape. As for the chaplain, 
far be it from me to name the spirit which visits 
him ; but I know what I know, when I found him 
confessing Bertrand's pretty Agnes in the chestnut 
grove. 

Con. But, Wickerd, though I have often heard 
of strange tales which I could not credit, yet there 
IS one in oiu- family so weU attested, that I almost 
believe it. Shall I teU it you ? 

All Soldiers. Do 1 do tell it, gentle Conrad. 

Wic. And I will take t'other sup of Rhenish to 
fence against the horrors of the tale. 

Con. It is about my own uncle and godfather, 
Albert of Horsheim. 

Wic. I have seen him — he was a gallant war- 
rior. 

Con. WeU ! he was long absent in the Bohe- 
Jiian wars. In an expedition he was benighted, 
and came to a lone house on the edge of a forest : 
he and his followers knocked repeatedly for en- 
trance in vain. They forced the door, but found 
no inhabitants. ' 

Frank. And they made good their quarters ? 

Cox. They did : and Albert retired to rest in an 
upper chamber. Opposite to the bed on which he 
threw himself was a large mirror. At midnight 
he was awaked by deep groans : he cast his eyes 
upon the mirror, and saw 

Frank Sacred Heaven 1 Heard you nothing ? 

Wic. Ay, the wind among the withor'd leaves. 
tf o on, Conrad. Your imcle was a wise man. 

Con. That's more than gray hairs can make 
ther folks. 

Wio. Ha! stripling, art thou so malapert f 



Though thou art Lord Henry's page, I shall teacl 
thee who commands this party. 

All Soldiers. Peace, peace, good Wickerd ; let 
Conrad proceed. 

Con. Where was I ? 

Frank. About the mirror. 

Con. True. My uncle beheld in the mirror the 
reflection of a human face distorted and covered 
with blood. A voice pronounced articulately. " It 
is yet time." As the words were spoken, my un- 
cle discerned in the ghastly visage the features ol 
Ills own father. 

Soldier. Hush! By St. Francis, I heard a groan 
(They start up all but Wickerd.) 

Wic. The croaking of a frog, who has caught 
cold in this bitter night, and sings rather more 
hoarsely than usual. 

Frank. Wickerd, thou art surely no Clu^istian 
{They sit down, and close round the fire.) 

Con. Well — my uncle called up his attendants, 
and they searcheu e/ery nook of the chamber, but 
found nothing. So they covered the mnror with 
a cloth, and Albert was left alone ; but hardly liad 
he closed liis eyes when the same voice proclaitne 1, 
" It is now too late ;" the covering was drawn asid \ 
and he saw the figure 

Frank. Merciful Virgin ! It comes. {All rise.) 

Wic. Where? what? 

Con. See yon figure coming from the thicket I 

Enter Martin, in the monk's dress, much disorder 
ed : his face is very pale a7id his steps slow. 

Wio. (levelling his pike.) Man or devil, which 
thou wilt, thou shalt feel cold iron, if thou budges t 
a foot nearer. (Martin stops.) Who art thou ? 
What dost thou seek ? 

Mar. To warm myself at your fire. It is deadly 
cold. 

Wio. See there, ye cravens, your apparition is 
a poor benighted monk : sit down, father. {They 
place Martin by the fire.) By heaven, it is Martia 
— our Martin! Martin, how fares it with th*>^\ 
We have sought thee this whole night. 

Mar. So have many others {vacantly.) 

Con. Yes, thy master. 

Mar. Did you see him too ? 

Con. Whom ? Baron George ? 

Mar. Ne 1 my first master, Arnolf of Ebensdorl 

Wic. He raves. 

Mar. He passed me but now in the wood, mount- 
ed upon his old black steed ; its nostrils breathed 
smoke and flame ; neither tree nor rock stopped 
him. He said, " Martin, thou wilt return this night 
to my service !" 

Wic. Wrap thy cloak around him, Francis ; h« 
is distracted with cold and pain. Dost thou not 
recollect me, old friend ? 

Mar. Yes, you are the butler at Ebersdorf : yoc 



828 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS 



have the charge of the large gilded cup, embossed 
with the figiires of the twelve apostles. It was the 
fevorite goblet of my old master. 

Con. By our lady, Martin, thou must be dis- 
tracted indeed, to think our master would intrust 
Wick^ru with the care of the cellar. 

Mab. I know a face so like the apostate Judas 
on that cup. I have seen the likeness when I gazed 
CO a nurror. 

Wic. Try to go to sleep, dear Martin ; it will 
rslieve thy brain. {Footsteps are heardin the wood.) 
To your a*'ras. (They take their anns.) 

Ettter tteo Members of the Invisible Tribunal, muf- 
Jled in their cloaks. 
Gov. Stand 1 Who are you ? 
1 Meji. Travellers benighted in the wood. 
Wic. Are ye fi-iends to Aspen or Maltingen f 

1 Mem. We enter not into their quarrel : we are 
friends to the right. 

Wic. Then are ye friends to us, and welcome to 
pass the night by our fire. 

2 Mem. Thanks. [They approach tlie fire, and 
regard Maktin very earnestly.) 

Con. Hear ye any news abroad ? 
2 Mem. None ; but that oppression and villany 
are rife and rank as ever. 
Wio. The old complaint. 

1 Mem. No ! never did former age equal this in 
wickedness ; and yet, as if the daCy commission of 
enormities were not enough to blot the sim, every 
hour discovers crimes which have lain concealed 
for years. 

Con. Pity the Holy Tribunal should slumber in 
its office. 

2 Mem. Young man, it slumbers not. When 
criminals are ripe for its vengeance, it falls like 
the bolt of Heaven. 

Mab. [attempting to rise.) Let me be gone. 

Con. {detaining him.) Whither now, Martin ? 

Mak. To mass. 

1 Mem. Even now, we heard a tale of a villain, 
wlio, ungrateful as the frozen adder, stung the bo- 
som tliat had warmed liim into life. 

Mar. Conrad, bear me off ; I would be away from 
♦iiese men. 

j;«. Be at ease, and strive to sleep. 

Mar. Too weU I know — I shall never sleep again. 

1 Mem. Tlie wretch of whom we speak became, 
frciu revenge and lust of gain, the miu-derer of the 
master whose bread he did eat. 

Wic. Out upon the monster I 

1 Mem. For nearly thirty years w^as he permit- 
ted to cumber the ground. The miscreant thought 
his crime was concealed ; but the earth which 
p-oaned under his footsteps — the winds which 
passed over his unliallowed head — the stream 
whirh he polluted by his lips — the fire at which he 



warmed his blood-stained hands — every element 
bore witness to his guilt. 

Mar. Conrad, good youth — lead me fron: heiwe, 
and I will show thee where, thirty years since, 1 
deposited a mighty bribe. [Riset, 

CoN. Be patient, good Martin. 
Wia And where was the miscreant Poized J 

\Tlie two Members suddenly lay hand* on 
Martin, a7id draw their daggers; tht 
Soldiers spring to their arms. 
1 Mem. On this very spot. 
Wio. Traitors, unloose your hold ! 
1 Mem. In the name of the Invisible Judge«, I 
charge ye, impede us not in our duty. 

l^All sink their weapons, and stand mo- 
tio7iless. 
Mar. Help! help! 
1 Mem. Help him with your prayers 1 

\^He is dragged off. The scene shuU 



ACT v.— SCENE I. 

The subterranean chapel of the Castle of (Jriefen- 
haus. It seems deserted, and in decay. There art 
four entr/inces, each defended by an iron ported-. 
At each door stands a warder clothed in black, 
and masked, armed with a naked sword. During 
the whole scene they remain motionless on theit 
posts. In the centre of the chapel is a ruinoui 
altar, half sunk in the ground, on which lie a 
large book, a dagger, and a coil of ropes, beside 
two lighted tapers. Antique stont benches of dif- 
ferent heights around the chapel. In the bacf 
scene is seen a dilapidated entrance into the sa 
cristy, which is quite dark. 
Various Members of the Invisible Tribunal entet 
by the four different doors of the chapel. Each 
whispers something as he passes the Warder 
which is answered by an inclination of the head 
The costume of the Mernbers is a long black robe 
capable of muffling the face : some wear if in this 
manner ; others have their faces uncovered, un- 
less on tlie entrance of a stranger : they vlace 
themselves in profound silence upon tht stone 
benches. 

Enter Count Roderio, dressed in a scarlet cloak of 
tlie same form with those of the other MemberK 
He takes his place on the most elevated bench. 

Rod. Warders, secure the doors I (The dovrt 

are barred with great care.) Herald, do thy duty ! 

[Members all rise — Herald stands by tJu 

altar. 

Her. Members of the Invisible Tribunal, who 

judge in secret, and avenge in secret like the Deity, 



•^ 



THE HOUSE OF ASPEK 



82B 



we your heartB froe S")m malice, and your hands 
from blood-guiltineds ? 

\All the Members incline their heads. 
Rod. God pardon our sins of ignorance, and pre- 
•erve us from those of presmnption. 

l^Again the Members solemnly incline their 
heads. 
Hek. To the east, and to the west, and to the 
north, and to the south, I raise my voice ; wherever 
there is treason, wherever there is blood-guiltiness, 
wherever there is sacrilege, sorcery, robbery, or 
perjury, there let this curse alight, and pierce the 
marrow and the bone. Raise, then, your voices, 
and say with me. woe 1 woe, unto offenders 1 
All. Woe ! woe 1 \_Members sit down. 

Her. He who knoweth of an unpunished crime, 
let him stand forth as bound by his oath when his 
hand was laid upon the dagger and upon the cord, 
and call to the assembly for vengeance ! 

Mem. {rises, his face covered) Vengeance 1 ven- 
geance 1 vengeance 1 

Rod. Upon whom dost thou invoke vengeance ? 
AccusEE. Upon a brother of this order, who is 
lorsworn, and perjured to its laws. 
Rod. Relate his crune. 

Accu. This perjured brother was sworn, upon 
the steel and upon the cord, to denounce malefac- 
tors to the judgment-seat, from the four quarters 
of heaven, though it were the spouse of his heart, 
or the son whom he loved as the apple of his eye ; 
yet did he conceal the guilt of one who was dear 
tnto him ; he folded up the crime from the knowl- 
edge of the tribunal ; he rf-moved the evidence of 
guUt, and withdrew the criminal from justice. 
What does his perjury dec* rve ? 

Rod. Accuser, come before the altar; lay thy 
hand upon the dagger and the cord, and swear to 
the truth of thy accusation. 

Accu. {his hand on the altar.) I swear 1 
Rod. Wilt thou take upon thyself the penalty 
of perjury, shoidd it be fovnd false ? 
AccD. I wUL 
Rod. Brethren, what is yom- sentence ? 

[The Members confer a moment in whis- 
pers — a silence. 
Eldest Mem. Our voice is, that the perjured 
br<*ther merits death. 

Rod. Accuser, thou hast heard the voice of the 
•oafcmbly ; name the criminaL 
Ac^c George, Baron of Aspen 

[A murmur in the assembly. 
A Mem. {suddenly rising.) I am ready, accord- 
ing to our holy laws, to swear, by the steel and 
the cord, that George of Aspen merits not this ac- 
«iwation, and that it is a foul calumny. 

Accu. Rash man ! gagest thou an oath so lightly ? 
Mtm. I gage it not lightly. I proflfer it in the 
eorsa 3f kinocencn and virtue. 



Accu. What if George of Aspen should not bim 
self deny the charge ? 

Mem. Then would I never trust man again. 
Accu. Hear him, then, bear witness against him 
self {throws back his mantle.) 
Rod. Baron George of Aspen ! 
Geo. The same — prepared to do penance fnr the 
crime of which he stands self-accused. 

Rod. StiU, canst thou disclose the name of tha 
criminal whom thou hast rescued from justice, oft 
that condition alone, thy brethren may sa~ e th;* 
Ufe. 

Geo. Tliinkest thou I would betray for the safety 
of my hfe, a secret I have preserved at the breach 
of my word ? — No ! I have weighed the value oi 
my obligation — I will not discbarge it — but most 
willingly will I pay the penalty 1 

Rod Retire, George of Aspen, tiU the assembly 
pronounce judgment. 

Geo. Welcome be your sentence — I am weary 
of your yoke of iron. A Ught beams on my souL 
Woe to those who seek ju.«tice in the dark haunts 
of mystery and of cruelty . She dwells in tha 
broad blaze of the sun, and Mercy is ever by he? 
side. Woe to those who would advance the gen- 
eral weal by trampUng upon the social affections ! 
they aspire to be more than men — they shall be- 
come worse than tigers. I go : better for me youi 
altars should be stained with my blood, th:m mv 
soul blackened with your crimes. 

[Exit George, by the ruinous door in tht 
back scene, into the sacristy. 
Rod. Brethren, sworn upon the steel and upon 
the cord, to judge and to avenge in secret, without 
favor and without pity, what is your judgment 
upon George of Aspen, self-accused of perjury, and 
resistance to the laws of our fraternity ? 

[Long and earnest murmurs in the <u 
sembly. 
Rod. Speak your doom. 

Eldest Mem. George of Aspen has declared him 
self perjured ; — the penalty of perjury is death 1 

Rod. Father of the secret judges — Eldest among 
those who avenge in secret — take to tliee the steel 
and the cord ; — let the guilty no longer cumber the 
land. 

Eldest Mem. I am fourscore and eight years old 
My eyes are dim, and my hand is feeble ; soon ffaall 
I be called before the throne of my Cr<^i.tor ; — How 
shall I stand there, stained with the blood of sucl; 
a man? 

Rod. How wilt thou stand before that throne 
loaded with the guilt of a broken oath ? The blood 
of the criminal be upon us and ours 1 

Eldest Mem. So be it, in the name of God 1 

[He takes the dagger from the altar, goet 
slowly towards the back scene, and r*- 
luctantly enters the sacristy. 



880 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Eldest Judg". [frcnn behind the scene.) Dost thou 
*argive me '*. 

Qec {behind.) I do ! {He is heard to fall heavily.) 
[Re-fnter the old judge fr<y>n the sacrhty. 
Ht lays on the altar the bloody dagger. 
R,ou. Hast thou done thy duty ? 
Bluest AIem. I have. (He fairits.) 
Rod. He swoons. Remove him. 

r He is assisted off the stage. During this 
four members enter the sacristy, and 
bring out a bier covered with a pall, 
which they place on the steps of the altar. 
A deep silence. 
Rod Judges of evil, dooming in secret, and aveng- 
ing in secret, like the Deity : God keep your thoughts 
from evil, and your hands from guilt. 

Ber I raise my voice in this assembly, and cry, 
7engeance ! vengeance 1 vengeance ! 

Rod. Enough has tliis night been done — {he rises 
xnd brings Purtuam forward.) Think what thou 
loest — George has fallen — it were murder to slay 
both mother and sou. 

Bes. George of Aspen was thy victim — a sacri- 
fice to thy hatred and envy. I claim nune, sacred 
to justice and to my miu-dered brother. Resume 
thy place — thou canst not stop the rock thou hast 
put in motion. 

Rod. {resumes his seat.) Upon whom callest thou 
for vengeance ? 

Ber. Upon Isabella of Aspea 
Rod. She has been summoned. 
Herald. Isabella of Aspen, accused of mm-der 
by poison, I charge thee to appear, and stand upon 
thy defence. 

l^Three knocks are heard at one of the 
doors — it is opened by the warder. 

Enter Isabella, the veil still wrapped around her 
head, led by her conductor. All tlie members 
muffle their faxes. 

Rod. Uncover lier eyes. 

\The veil is removed. Isabella looks wild- 
ly round. 

Rod. Knowest thou, lady, where thou art I 

Isa. I guess. 

Rod. Say thy guess. 

Isa. Before the Avengers of blood. 

Rod. Knowest thou why thou art called to their 
uresenc* ? 

Isa. No. 

Rod. Speak, accuser. 

Ber. I impeach thee, Isabella of Aspen, before 
this awful assembly, of having murdered, privily 
and by poison, Amolf of Ebersdorf, thy first hus- 
band. 

Rod. Canst thou swear to the accusation ? 

Ber. {his hand on the altar.) I lay my hand on 
the steel and the cord, and swear. 



Rod Isabella of Aspen, thou hast heard thy M 
cusation Wliat canst thou answer i 

IsA. That the oath of an accuser is no proof oi 
guilt 1 

Rod. Hast thou more to say f 

IsA. I have. 

Rod. Speak on. 

Isa. Judges invisible to the sun, and seen jtily 
by the stars of midnight 1 I stand before you, ac- 
cused of an enormous, daring, and premeditated 
crime. I was married to Arnolf when I was only 
eighteen years old. Arnolf was wary and jealous ; 
ever suspecting me without a cause, unless it was 
because he had injured me. How then^ should I 
plan and perpetrate such a deed ? The lamb turna 
not against the wolf, though a prisoner in his den. 

Rod. Have you finished ? 

Isa. a moment. Years after years have elapsed 
without a whisper of this foul suspicion. Arnolf 
left a brother! though conmion fame had been 
sUent, natural afifection would have been heard 
against me — why spoke he not my accusation ? Or 
has my conduct justified this horrible charge ? No ! 
awful judges, I may answer, I have founded clois- 
ters, I have endowed hospitals. The goods that 
Heaven bestowed on me I have not lield back from 
the needy. I appeal to you, judges of evil, can 
these proofs of innocence be down-weighed by the 
assertion of an unknown and disguised, perchance 
a mahgnant accuser ? 

Ber. No longer will I wear that disguise {throwi 
back hi.i mantle) Dost thou know me now ? 

Isa. Yes ; I know thee for a wandering minstrel, 
relieved by the charity of my husband. 

Ber. No, traitress 1 know me for Bertram of 
Ebersdorf, brother to him thou didst mm'der. CaL 
her accompHce, Martin. Ha ! turnest thou pale f ' 

Isa. May I have some water ? — {Apart.) Sacrei 
Heaven ! his vindictive look is so like — 

[ Water is brought 

A Mem. Martin died in the hands of our brethrea 

Rod. Dost thou know the accuser, lady J 

Isa. {reassuming fortitude.) Let not the sinking 
of nature under this dreadful trial be imputed to 
the consciousness of guilt. I do know the accusGf 
— know liim to be outlawed for homicide, and un- 
der the ban of the empire : his testimony cannot 
be received. 

Eldest Judge. She says truly. 

Ber. {to RoDERic.) Then I call upon thee and 
William of Wolfstein to bear witness to what you 
know. 

Rod. "Wolfstein is not in the assembly, and my 
place prevents me from being a witness. 

Ber. Then I will call another : meanwhile lei 
the accused be removed. 

Rod. Retire, lady. 

[Isabella u led to the sacritt^ 



THE HOUSE OF A^sPEN. 



8Si 



IsA. (in going of.) The ground is slippery — 
Wftavens ! it is floated with blood 1 

\^Exit into the sacri.ifv. 

Rod. (apart to Bertram.) Whom dost thou meitfl 
Ifl call * [Bertram whispers. 

Rod. This goes beyond me. (After a motnerU'K 
(k-^ugkf.) But be it so, Maltingen shall behold 
Aspen bumbled in the dust. (Aloud.) Brethren, 
<bs accuser calls for a witness who remains with- 
out : admit him. lAll muffle their faces. 

Kilter RcDiGER, his eyes bound (yr covered, leaning 
upon two members ; they place a stool for him, 
and unbind his eyes. 

Rod. Knowest thou where thou art, and befirc 
iTiiom ? 

Rdd. I know not, and I care not. Two strangers 
summoned me from my castle to assist, they said, 
«t a great act of justice. I ascended the litter 
they brought, and I am here. 

Rod. It regards the punishment of perjury and 
the discovery of murder. Art thou willing to as- 
Bst us ? 

Rud. Most willing, as is my duty. 

Rod. W.hat if the crime regard thy friend ? 

Rud. I will hold him no longer so. 

Rod. 'Wliat if thine own blood ? 

Rud. I would let it out with my poniard. 

Rod. Tlien canst thou not blame us for this deed 
of justice. Remove the pall. (The pall is lifted, 
beneath which is discovered the body of George, 
pale and bloody. Rudiger staggers towards it.) 

Rud. My George ! my George 1 Not slain manly 
in battle, but murdered by legal assassins. Much, 
much may I mourn thee, my beloved boy ; but 
not now — not now : never will T shed a tear for 
thy death till I have cleared thy fame. — Hear me, 
ye midnight murderers, he wai innocent (raising 
his voice) — upright as the trnfh itself. Let the 
man who dares gainsay roe lift that gage. If the 
Almighty does not strengthen Aese frail limba 1^ 
make good a father's qi^^rrel, I have a son left, who 
will vindicate the honor of Aspen, or lay his bloody 
Vxiy beside his bi-other's. 

Rod. Rash and inse/isate ! Hear first the cause. 
Hsar the dishonor of thy house. 

Is A. (from the sacristy.) Never siiall he hear it 
till tie author is no more ! (Rudiger attempts to 
/rush o^oard-i. the sacristy, but is prevented. Isabella 
ntei » wounded, and throws herself on George's 
body.) 

IsA. Mui'dexed for me — for me 1 my dear, dear 
eon I 

Rud. {still held.) Cowardly villtiins, let me loose I 
Maltingen, this is thy doing ! Thy face thou wouldst 
disguise, thy deeds thou canst not 1 I defy thee 
to mstant and mortal combat 1 

TsA. (looking up.) No! nol endanger not thy 



life ! Myself I myself 1 I could not bear tho» 
aiiouldst know Oh ! (Dies.) 

RiTD. Oh 1 let me go — let me but try to stop h^ 
utuy^i, and I will forgive aU. 

Rod. Drag him ofif and detain him. The voici 
of lamentation must not disturb the stern delibei 
ution of justice. 

Rud. Bloodhound of Maltingen ! Well beseen.f 
thee thy base revenge ! The marks c{ my son'" 
lance are still on thy craven crest 1 Yenceanc* oi 
the band of ye 1 

[Rudiger is dragged off to the sacristy 

Rod. Brethren, we stand discovered ! What it 
to be done to him who shall descry our mystery ? 

■Pi-DEST Judge. He must become a brother o( 
our oraer, or die ! 

Rod. This man will never join us 1 He cannot 
put his hand into ours, which are stained with the 
blood of his wife and son : he must therefore die 1 
{Murmurs in the asseinbly.) Brethren ! I wonder not 
at your reluctance ; but the man is powerful, has 
friends and allies to buckler liL. -ause. It is over 
with us, and with our order, unless the laws are 
obeyed. {Fainter murmurs^) Besides, have wc 
not sworn a deadly oath to execute these statutes i 
{A dead silence) Take to thee the steel and th** 
cord {to the eldest judge) 

Eldest Judge. He has done no evil — he was thf 
companion of my battle — I wUl not ! 

Rod. {to another.) Do thou — and succeed to tb« 
rank of him who has disobeyed. Remember youj 
oath ! {Member takes the dagger, and joes irresi. 
lutely forwatd; looks into the sacristy, and comei 
back.) 

Mem. He has fainted — fainted in anguish foi hit 
wife and his son , the bloody ground is strewel 
with his wliite hairs, torn by those hands that havo 
fought for Christendom. I will not be youi- butchei 
— {Throws down the dagger.) 

Ber. Irresolute and perjured ! the robber of mj 
vt^M ritance, the author of my exile, shall die 

Rod. Tlianks, Bertram. Execute the do».tD~- 
secure the safety of the holy tribun.J ! 

[Bertram seizes the dagger, and is about tt, 
ttish into the sacristy, when thret l<ru4 
knocks are heard at the door. 

All. Holdl Hold! 

\TIie Duke of Bavaria, attended by man^i 
members of the Invisible Tribunal, enteri< 
dressed in a scarlet mantle trimmed ici'h 
ermine, and wearing a diical crown. — J{« 

carries a rod in his hand. — All rise. — A 

« 

murmur among the members, who whisper 
to each other, " The Duke," " The Chief 

Rod. The Duke of Bavaria I I am lost. 
Duke, (sees the bodies.) I am too late — tha Tie 
tims I , e faUeQ. 



i^2 



SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. 



Hbn. {who enters with iJu Duke.) Gracious Hcav- 
^ ! O George 1 

RuD. {from the sacristy.) Henry — it is thy voice 
- save me ! [Henet rushes into tlie saxyristy. 

Duke. Roderic of Maltingen, descend from the 
«t'at -which thou hast dishonored — (Roderic leaves 
his place, which the Duke occupies) — Thou standest 
vj^nsed of having perverted the laws of our order ; 
ttr that, being a mortal enemy to the house of 
Aspen, tliou hast abused thy sacred authority to 
^jiuider to thy private revenge ; and to this "Wolf- 
•jtein nas been witness. 

Rod. Chifcf among oxir circles, I have but acted 
according to our laws. 

Duke. Thou hast indeed observed the letter of 
our statutes, and woe am I that they do warrant 
inis night's bloody work ! I cannot do unto thee 
us I would, but what I can I wilL Thou hast not 
indeed transgressed our law, but thou hast wrested 
and abused it: kneel down, therefore, and place 
thy hands betwixt mine. (Roueeio kneels as di- 
rected.) I degrade thee from thy sacred oiEce 
(spreads his hands, as pushing Roderic _/r<wi him.) 
If after two days thou darest to pollute Bavarian 
groimd by thy footsteps, be it at the peril of the 
steel and the cord (Rodeeio rises.) I dissolve this 
meeting (all rise.) Judges and condemners of 
it hers, God teach you knowledge of yourselves I 
'All bend their heads — Ihtke breaks his rod, and 
lonui fomeard.) 



Rod. Lord Duke, thou hast cliargti me wiU 
treachery — thou art my liege lord— but who elM 
dares maintain the accusation, hes m his throat. 

Hen. {ruxhinff from the scu,risty.) VUlain I I ac- 
cept thy challenge 1 

Rod. Vain boy 1 my lance shall chastise thee in 
the lists — there lies my gage. 

Duke. Henry, on thy allegiance, touch it iiot 
(To Roderic.) Lists shalt thou never more enter; 
lance shalt thou never more wield (draws hit 
sword.) With this sword wast thou dubbed a 
knight ; with this sword I dishonor thee — I thj 
prince — (strikes him slightly with the fiat of the 
sword) — I take from thee the degiee of knight, the 
dignity of cliivalry. Thou art no longer a free 
German noble ; thou art honorless and rightless ; 
the funeral obsequies shall be performed for thee 
as for one dead to knightly honor and to fan- fame ; 
thy spurs shall be hacked from thy heels ; thy 
arms baflQed and reversed by the common execu- 
tioner. Go, fraudful and dishonored, hide thy 
shame in a foreign land I (Roderic shows a dumb 
expression of rage.) Lay hands on Bertram of 
Ebersdorf : as I hve, he shall pay the forfeiture oi 
his outlawry. Henry, aid us to remove thy father 
from this charnel-house. Never shall he know the 
dreadful secret. Be it mine to soothe \an sorrow* 
and to restore the honor of the House ri A <axiii 

(Curtain tUnoly/all*.^ 



tWk 



■KSAMMNi^BAiMUMdtori 



-iiT~m"iriiM'^v 



MtiMMCtB^UMiHiMi 



INDEX. 



A. 

' Asioi ," Vfuses from the, 691-2. 
Ibercom, Marquis of, saggestion of, re- 

gftriliiig a passage in Marmion, 85, n. ; 

dedication of "The Lady of the Lake" 

to, 18.1. 

— Marchioness of, 105, n. 
Abercromby, Sir Ralph, tribute to the 

memory of, 105. 
Achaius, King of Scotland, 169, n. 
Adam, Right Hon. William, a specimen 

of minstrel recitation obtained from, 

553. 
Addison, his criticism on Chevy Chase, 

539, 540. 
Adolphus, J. L., Esq. extracts from his 

" Letters on the \uthorof Waverley," 

391, n. ; 516, n. ; 527, n. ; 535. 

' AlIRlMAN," 716. 

Albania, a poem, extract from, 613. 
Albyn's Anthology, Songs written for, 

66(1, 661. 675, 676. 
Alexander III. "the last Scottish king of 

the pure Celtic race," 542. 
A.le.\andre, Mons., the ventriloquist, 

" Lines addressed to," 713. 
" J.LICS Brand," 213. 254, n. 

Ali,en-a-Dale," 323. 
Uvaniey, Lady, 654, n. 
\m'riticr., personification of, 277. 
' Anciett Scanner," Colfridge'a, 559. 

474. 
" Ancient Gaelic Melody," 679. 
Ancram Moor, battle of, 597. 
Anglo-Saxons, poetry of, 682. 
Angus, Archibald, sixth Earl of, called 

" Bell-the-Cat," 130. 143. 171. 
Angus, seventh Eari of. 40. 74. 194. 244. 
" An hour with thee," 720. 
"Annual Review," the critical notices 

from, 16. 32. 53. 
Anne of Geirstein, Verses from, 724. 
.Anthony J^ow JVom, 555. 
' Antiquary." Verses from the, 662-5. 
Anxiety, effect of, in giving acoteness to 

the organs of sense, 297. 356. 
Arbuthnot, Sir William, 662, n. ; 704, n. 
tVram, Eugene, remarkable case of, 361. 
Archers, English, 126. 169. 462. 498. 729. 

730. 
.Ardooh, Roman camp at, 263. 
Argentine, Sir Giles de, 422. 465. 500. 
Ariosto, Translation from, 674. 
" Armin and Elvira," 560. 
Arran, Earl of (1569), 600, n. 

Island of, 448. 489. 

Arthur, King. 154. 385. 392. 4n. 

Arthur's Seat, 704. 

Artoniish Castle, 469. 

Ascetic religionists, 249. 

Ascham's "Schoolmaster." note from, 

411. 
Athton, Lacy, Song of, 67S. 

•As lOrds their laborers' hire delay," 

715. 
' AsPKN, The House of, a tragedy," 

79b. 
Athole, John de Strathbogie, Earl of 

(temp. Rob L), 480. 
David de Strathbogie, Earl of 

a335), 222, n. 
• Auchindrane, or the Ayrshire trage- 
dy," 770. 
KjT, loyalty of the men of, rewarded by 
KioX Robert Bruce, 458, n. 



B. 
Baillib, Joanna, letter to, on Rokeby, 
353. Prologue to her " Family Le- 
gend," 639. Dedication to her of 
"Macduff's Cross." 738. 
105. 524, n. ; 729, n 



Balfour of Bnrley, epitaph on, 666. 

"Ballad, the Ancient, Essay on 
Imitations of," 555. 

" Ballads, Imitations of," 574. 

FROM THE German," 609. 

and Poems, ancient, very 

few manuscript records of discovered, 
543. Printed in Garlands, ib. 

- Collections of, by Pepp, 543. 



The Duke of Roxburgh, ib. An anony 
mous editor, ib. Miller and Chapman, 
544. James Watson, ib. Allan Ram- 
say, ib. Dr. Percy, ib. Evans, 548. 
David Herd, 549. Pinkerton, ib. Rit- 
son, ib. Scott (the Border Minstrelsy), 
550. Sir J. G. Dalzell, ib. Robert 
Jamieson, ib. Motherwell, 551. Fin- 
lay, ib. Kinloch, ib. C. K. Sharpe, 
ib. Charles Leslie, ib. Peter Buchan, 
ib. And Rev. C. H. Hartshorne, 552. 

Ballantyne, Mr. James, Border Minstrel- 
sy, the first work printed by him, 550. 
570. Letters from Scott to, 236. 238. 
292. 306. 310. 313. 322. 354. His re- 
marks on John Kemble's retirement 
from the Edinburgh stage, 671, n. 
Constable's sobriquets of, 713. 

Mr. John, 665. 

Bangor, the Monks of, 672. 

" Bannatyne Club, The," 711. 

Bannatyne, George, compiler of ancient 
MSS., 711. 

Bannerman, Miss Anne, her " Tales of 
Superstition and Chivalry," 559. 

Bannockburn, Battle of, 460 ; stanza 18 
to end of the poem. See also notes, pp. 
495. 501. 

Bansters, what, 549, n. 

Barbauld, Mrs., 565. 

" Bard's Incantation, The," writ- 
ten under the threat of invasion, 1804, 
632. 

" Barefooted Friar, The," 681. 

Barnard Castle, 296. 306. 356. 360. 

Barrington, Shnte, Bishop of Durham, 
524. 

" Battle of Sempach," 619. 

Beacons, 32. 68. 

Bealach-nam-bo, Pass of, 209. 253. 

Beal' an Duine, skirmish at, 233. 267. 

Beattie, Mr., of Mickledale, 13. 

Dr., lines from, on the power of 



fancy, 305, n. 
Bellenden, 36. 71. 

Sir James, 599, n. 

Belrinnes, Ballad of, 550. 

Bell-Rock Lighthonse, lines on visiting, 

645. 
Beltane-tree, the, 589. 593. 
Ben-an Mountain, 187. 
Benledi, 185. 
Benvenne, 187. 
Benvoirlich, 184. 
Beresford, Field-marshal Lord, tribute to, 

282, 283. His training the Portuguese 

troops, 291. 

642. 

" Bertram, H arry, Nativity of," 658. 
Berwick, North 135. 



" Bethothed, ' Verses firom the, Tl^ 

716. 
" Bessie Bell and Mary Gray," remeifei 

on the ballad of, 553. 

Bethune, or Beaton, family of, 57. 

Bigotry, personification of, 276. 

Binram's Corse, tradition of, 161. 

Biting the thumb, or the glove, 47. 76. 

"Black Dwarf," Mottoes from th«, 
66u. 

Blackford-hill, 122. 

Blackinail, 32. 263. 

Blackwater, Battle of, in Ireland, 367. 

" Black Knight's Song. The," 683. 

Blackwood's Magazine, 551, n. ; critioa 
notices from, 408. 513. 536. 

Blair, Right Honorable Robert, Low 
President of the Court of Session , death 
of, 269. 

" Blondel, the Bloody Vest," Song 
of, 717. 

Blood of which party first shed, an augory 
of success in battle, 212. 254. 

Blood-hound, or Sluith-houni, 59. l** 
240. 482. 

" Blue-blanket, " t'le, 704, n. 

" Boat Song," 197. 

Bohun, Sir Henry de, his encotinter with 
King Robert Bruce, 460. 496. 

" Bold Dragoon, or the Plain of Badn- 
jos," 642 

Bolero, a Spanish dance, 287. 

Bonaparte, Napoleon, allusions to in 
"The Vision of Don Roderick," 277. 
281, 282. And in " The Field of Wa- 
terloo," 504-511, passivt. Apostro- 
phe to the period of his fall, 455, 456. 

— 642. 

Bond of Alliance, or fend stanching, 
betwixt the clans of Scott and Ken 
£1529), 57. 

" Bonnets of Bonny Dnndee," SoNO to 
the air of. 759. 

" Border Ballad," 689. 

Borderers, English, excommunication of, 
by the Bishop of Durham (1498), 246 
Disorderly conduct of those who attend 
ed the Protector Somerset, 74. Custom 
of hanging up a glove in a church as a 
challenge, 377. 

Scottish, moss-troopers after the 



union of the crowns, 59. Religion, 60. 
Speed in collecting large bodies of horse, 
68. Places of their herdsmen's refuge. 
ib. March-treason, 72. Form of Oath, 
ib Instances of the cruelty which oc- 
casionally attended their warfars. 88 
Regulations in 1648, 73. Friendly .■■ 
tercourse with the English, 74. Foo> 
ball play, ib Pursuit of maranden 
called the hot-trod, 75. Robbers quell 
ed by K. James V., 247. Manner o' 
carrying on depredations, 363. Tast* 
for poetry and music, 542. 

Borough-moor of Edinburgh, 168. 

Bothwell, Adam Hepburn, Earl of yiemp 
Jac. IV.), 167. 

Francis Stewart, Earl of (temp 

Jac. VI.), 244. 

. James Hepburn, Earl of (t««i|i 

Mary), 74. 118. 

" Bothwell Castle," 628. 

Bowhril, 52, n 

Brackenbury Tower, 314. 369. 

BrackUnn Cascade, 195. 'i4i 



8a4 



INDEX. 



Bradford. Sir Thomas. 704. 

BfEukiiOine Castle, i8. 54, ib. 

"Bripal uf Triermain," 379. See 
also 413. . 

' Bridal Son«" in Waverley, 647. 

" Brire of Lammermoor," Verses 
from the, 67S-9. 

' Bri'liie of Dee," poem of tJie, .552. 

Bi.sg-, or Briilge of Turk, 185. 

British Criiii.', notices from ilie, 9. 89. 298. 
:C.5. 436, 437. 440 445. 467. 729. 738. 
747 

*■ Brooch of Lorn." the, 424. 476. 

Kr&dick Casiitf. Arran, 448. 489. 

Brace, Kiiig Robert, defeats John of Lorn, 
473. DefeatL-d by the Lord of Lorn, 
476. CrowiiL-d at Scoon, 476. Subse- 
.iiient disasters, ib. His compunction 
for violation of the sanctuary by the 
< aushier of Corayn, 481. Excommu- 
nicated for it, ib. Observed omens- 
one of a spider, ib. Traced by a blood- 
hound, 432. Sequel to that adventure 
told by Barbour, 484. Tradition that 
he was at the battle of Falkirk inaccu- 
rate, 483. Crossed the Peninsula of 
Cantyre, 46.8. Landing in .Arran, 443. 

488. Instance of his humanity, 445. 

489. Hi.* landing in Carrick, 449. 451. 

490. 491. Defeats the Earl of Pem- 
broke, 49H. Blockade of Stirling Cas- 
tle, 456. 494. Afiected by Leprosy, 
and founds the Monastery of King's 
Case, 491-2. His arrangements for the 
Battle of Bannockburn, 495. Encoun- 
ter with Sir Henry de Bohun, 459. 496. 
Battle of Bannockburn, 400 to end of 
the poem, and 495 to end of the notes. 
Disinterment of his remains at Dun- 
fermline, 437, n. 

Fdward, brother of King Robert, 

i')d. •IC'3. 

Nigel, another brother of the 

ILins, 480. 

Sir John, of Kinross, 549. 

Mrs., of .\rnot, ib. 

Brunne, Robert de, 540. 546. 

Brunswick. Dnke of, slain at Jena, 104, 
105. " Bryce Snailstoot's Advertise- 
ment," 700. 

Brvdone, Patrick, Esq., 177. 

Buccaniers, 309. 357. 360. 362. 365. 

Buccleuch, ancestors of the house of, 17, 
n. 54, 55, 56. Romantic origin of the 
name, 76. 

Cliarles, Duke of, 95, n. 

Letters is Verse to, 645. 673. 

Harriet, Duchess of, 12. 95, n. 

Death of, 412. Tribute to her Memo- 
ry, 46G. 

and Monmouth, Anne, Du- 
chess of. 18, n. 

Buchan. Mr. Peter, his Collection of Bal- 
lads, 552. 

Buchanan of Arnprior, " King of Kip- 
pen," 268. 

Burns, Robert, his " Scots wha' hae wi' 
Wallace bled," 197. Structure of 
Verse used by him, 543. The poet 
most cajiable to relieve and height- 
en the cliaracter ol ancient poetry, 
5.59. 

Bury, Lady Charlotte, introduced the 
!>athor to M. G. Lewis, .565, ,ind to 
Lady Anne Hamilton, 602. 

Syrc/ii. Lord, Remarks on a conversation 
bet\\i.\t him and Captain Medwin, 
13. 572. His Satire on Marmion, 81. 
Lines on Pitt and Fox, 85. 86. Re- 
semblance between part of Parasina 
and a scene in Marmion, 101, n. No- 
tice by him of the imitators of Sir Wal- 
ler Scott, 294, 71., 295, n. His imita- 
tion of a pa.ssage in the Lord of the 
Isles, 454, II. Notes on Waterloo, 291. 
S02 to 507. pns.-<im. Poem on Ws moth- 
er's marriage, 552. Parallel passages 
from, 203, II.. 279. 297. 302. 32L 387. 
421 433. 443. 454. 503. 508. 



Cadooan, Colonel, tribute to the memo- 
ry of, 282. 

" Cadyovv Castle," 598. 

Cadeil, Mr. Robert, his recollections of 
" The Lady of the Lake," 181, n. 

" Cairns," 68. 

Caledonian Forest and wild cattle, 598. 
600. 602. 

Cambusmore, 185. 

Cameron, Colonel, killed at Fuentes de 
Honoro 290. 

Colonel, of Fassiefern, killed at 

duatre-Bras, 509. 665. 

Sir Ewan of Lochiel, 264. 

Cameronians, 604. 

Camp, a favorite dog of the author's, 115. 

Campbell, Thomas, 169. " The Bard of 
Hope," 561. His admiration of the 
poem " Cadyow Castle," 602. 

Lady Charlotte. See "Bury 



Canna. island and town of, 440. 486 
Canning, Right Hon. George, a writer in 

the Anti-Jacobin, 124. n. 796. 
Cantyre, peninsula of, 488. 
Caraccioli, Prince, 794, n. 
" Cakle, now the King's come," Parti., 

702. Part ii., 703. 
Caroline, Princess of Wales, 105, n. 
Cartwright, Dr., the first living poet the 

author recollected of having seen, 560. 
Cassilis, the Earl of (temp. Jac. VI.), 

779. Bond by him to iiis brother, 771. 
"Castle of the Seven Shields," 

ballad of the, 527. 
Castilians, their skill in fighting witii 

darts, 61. 
Catiline, death of, 506, n. 
Cave, Mac-Alister's, in Strathaird, 485. 
Caxton, William, 117. 
Celts, the, 541. Their music and poetry, 

541-2. 567-8. 
Chalmers, George, his " Caledonia," 163. 

His edition of Sir David Lindsay's 

Works, 166. 268. 
Chapel Perilous, 86. 154. 
Chapman, Walter, an early Scottish prin- 
ter. See ■' Millar and Chapman." 
Charles I., King, 364. 369. 

-X. of France, in Edinburgh, 



125, n. 

Prince Edward, one of his places 

of retreat, 242. 

Charms, healing, 31. 67. 

Charter-stones, 492 

Chace, the royal, in Ettrick Forest, 160. 

Chastity, punishment for broken vows of, 
102. 164. 

Chatterton, Thomas, 558. 

" Cheviot," 631. 

"Chevy Chase," 539, 540. 

"Child of Elle, Tlie," 548. 

Chivalry, 38. 66. 72. 76. 369. 

" Christ's Kirk on the Green," 543. 

Christmas, 137. 173. 

Cid, the, in Spain, metrical poems of, 538. 

" Claud Halcro's Verses," 695, 696. 
698. 

Claverhonse, Grahame of. See Dundee. 

Clerk, Sir George, his tenure of Penny- 
cuik, 606. 703, n. 

John, Esq., of Eldin, author of an 

Essay upon J^aval Tactics, 604, n. 

John, Esq. (Lord Eldin), 711, n. 

William, Esq., 573. 

"Cleveland's Songs," 698. 

Coir-nan-Uriskin, 209. 252. 

Doleridge, f^. T., his " Ancient Marin- 
er," 474. 559. His " Christabel," 13. 
"The Bridal of Triermain," an imita- 
tion of his style, 408. 

Colkittf", 470. 

Collins, his flighU of ima^natioo, 383 
410. 

Colman's " Random Records," 753. 

Colwulff, King of Northumberland, 100. 
163. 

Combat, single, 38. 66. 72, 73. 132. 172. 
223.263. 



Comyn. the Red, 424. 438. 477. 481. 

Coney beare's. Rev. Mr.. Ins illostratioa 

of Anglo-Saxon poetry. 554. 
Congreve's " .Mourning Bride," 524. 
Conscience, 296. 299. 
Constable, Mr. Archibald, his " bold 4D'. 

liberal industry," 14. Extract from 

letter of the author to. 714, n. 
George, Esq. (Jonathan Old 

buck), 567, 

CoNTRIBt'TIONS of ScOtt tO MiN 

STRELSY OF THB SCOTTISH BoB 

DElil" 537-608. 
<3oronach of t.';e Highlanders. 206. 251. 
Cornwallis, Marquis of, 638. 
" CoTNT Robert of Paris," Mottoai 

from, 726. 
" County Guy," ?ong, 709. 
Cowper, 561. 

Cox. Captain, of Coventry, 549. 
Cranstoun, family of, 57. 65. 
George, Esq., consulted by th« 

anthor on his attempts at composition 

14, V. 
Crichton Castle, 118. 167. 
Critical Review, notices from, 16. 21. 25. 

.33. 37. 45. 47. 141. 149. 187. 192. 1H7 

239. 270. 272. 297, 298, 299. 311. 31 J. 

318. 354. 381. 383. 420. 429. 439, 440 

444. 533. 536. 606. 
Cromwell, Oliver, lii9>conduct at Marstoa 

Moor, 314. 357. 359. 
"Crusader's Return, The," 681. 
" Cumnor Hall," poem of, 548. 
Cunningham, Allan, his .ballad iioetrj 

559. Critical remarks on Auchindrane, 

795, n. 
Cup, a drinking one, at Dunevegan, 474 

" Curcli, the," worn by Scottish ma; 

rons, 250. 
" Cypress Wreath, The," 335 

D. 
Dacre, families of, 70. 
Dahomay, spell of, 402. 
Dalhousie, Earl of, tribute to, 645. 
Dalkeith, Charles, Earl of (afterwarda 

Duke of Buccleuch), dedication ol 

"The Lay of the Last Minstrel" to, 

16. See Buccleuch. 
Harriet, Countess of (afterwan! 

Duchess of Buccleuch), 12. See alsu 



Buccleuch. 
To\ 



n and Castle of, 607. 



Dalzell, (now) Sir J. G., his collection ol 
Scottish poems, 550. 

Sir William, his combat with Si 

Piers Courtenay, 156. 

" Dance of Death, The," 6.54. 

Danes, the, invasion of Nonupriberlano 
by, 323. 366. Traces of their religion 
in Teesdale, 366 

Dqoine. S/ii' , or " men of peace," 176 
259, 260. 

David I., King, founded Melrose Aiibey 
60. A sore saint for the crown, 23, it 

" iJead be'l." the, 164. 

Death of Leith-hall, poem of the, .55?. 

Death, presages of, 250. 

"Death Chant." 722. 

" OF Keeldar. The," 723 

Dehateable Land, the, 77. 

Deloraine, lands of, ."'8. 

" Donald Caird's come again," 676 

TJonjutt. what. 156. 

"Don Roderick, the Vision of, 
209. 

" Doom of Devorooil," 753. 

Douglas, the 1 ouse of, 177. Ancienl 
sword belonging lo. 172. 

Archibald, third Earl of, called 

"Tine-man." 245. TJO. 

•■ The Goo I Lord James" charg- 
ed to carrv the Bruc-e's heart to the Hol> 
Land, 4^1. In Arran, 490, Makei 
prisoners of Munay and Bonkle, ih 
Often took the Castle of Douglas. 499 
tlis " I.arilcr." ib. At Bannoobbim 
460. 495. 497. J99. 



INDEX. 



83[> 



Lf-ju^las A'm., ei^iitli Eari of, stabbed 

bj K.. .lames II. in Stirling Castle, 225. 

261. 
William, "the knight of Liddes- 

dale," -24. 61. 

— Gawaiii. Bishop of Dunkeld, 143. 

of KiUpiiulie, afVeiiiii.g story of, 

265. 
Do'iue Castle. 225. 
l»RAM.\Tic PiKfKS, " Halidon Hill" 

729. ••M.aedurt"s Cross," 748. "The 

Doom of Devorgoil," 753. " Auchin- 

ilrane," 784. •• The House of Aspen," 

812. 
Orinkmg to excess, custom of, in the 

Western Islands, 475. 
Dry burgh Abbey, 595. 
Dryiien, his account of his projected epiu 

poem of "The Round Table," 155. 
Duelling, 263, 264. 
Uuirgar (northern dwarfs), 259. 
Duff, Adam, Esq., 645, v. 
Dundas, Right Honorable William, 14, 

n. ; 18, ti. ; 81. 
Dundee, Viscount (Graham of Claver- 

house) (3, His character, 243. 
Dnnmaih lise, 384. 
" DuNois, Romance of," 656. 
Dunolly Castle, 473. 
Dunstutfuage Castle. 473. 
D'Urtey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, 557. 
Durham Cathedral, 521. 
"Dying Bard, The," 634. 
" Gipsy Smuggler, The," 658. 

E. 

Edei-flkd, daughter of King Oswy, 99. 
162. 

Edinburgh, ancient cross of, 133-4. 172. 

Old Town of, 124. 169. 

Magazine, tlie, critical notice 

from, 408. 

■ Review, the, critical extracts 

from, on the Lay of the Last Min-trtl, 
16, 17, 18, 19. 23. 31. 33. 43. 48, 49, 50, 
51, 53. On Marmion, 85. 92. 101. 104. 
132. 143. 140, 147, 151, 152. On the 
Lady of the Lake, 183. 196. 201, 202, 
203, 205. 208, 217. 225. 2S0. 238, 239. 
On the Vision of Don Roderick, 276. 
280. 283-4. And on the lord of the 
Isles, 414. 420. 423, 424. 4.' i. 461. 465. 
467. 

tdward I., King, his vindictive spirit, 
481. His employment of the W^elsh in 
his Scottish wars, 494. ^ets out to de- 
stroy the Bruce, 438, 486. His death, 
486. 

II. at Bannockbum, 461. His 

gallanu-y, 499. His Hight. ib. 

III., Motto on his shield, 546. 

" Edh ARD THE Black Prince, To the 
Memory of," 673. 

Egliston Abbey, 307. 360. Visited by 
.colt, 319. 

Eigg, cave in the Island of, the scene of 
a dreadful act of vengeance, 487. 

#.ildon Hills, 63. 

' Elfin Gray, the," translated from the 
Dullish. 255. 

£i'is, George, Esu., critical notices by, 50, 
n. , 124.153. Dedication to him of the 
Fifth '^nto of .Vlannion, 124 

"Elspk h's Ballad," 663. 

Elves, 28v Sie "Fairies." 

Encamoncent, Scottish mode of, in 1547, 
Ito. 

Ennui, 512. 536. 

Epic Poem, a receipt to make an, 380, 

Poetry, 379. 

' EpiLOGiEs." To The Appeal, a 
Tragedv, 675. Plav of St. Ronan's 
Well, 713, aueen iMary, 714. 
Epitaphs." — Miss Si'ward. 639. Jon 
o' ye Girnell. 063. Balfour of Hurley, 
ti66. .Mrs. Erskine, 685. The Rev. 
George Scott, 726. 
Erl Kino, The," 626. 

•irrol. Eat of 704 



Erskine, Thomas Lord, speech of, on hu- 
manity towards animals, 498. 

William, Esq. (Lord Kinnedder), 

consulted by Scott on his attempts in 
composition, 14. Dedication to the 
Third Canto of Marmion, 104. Pas- 
sage in Rokeby quoted by him as de- 
scriptive of the Author, 316. Reputed 
author of " The Bridal of Triermain," 
413. 521. 

Mrs., Epitaph on, 685. 

" Essay on Popular Poetry," 537. 

" ON Imitations of thk An- 
cient Ballad," 555. 

Eltrick Forest, 160. 

Eugene Aram, remarkable case of. 361. 

Evans, Mr. T., his collection of Ballads, 
548. 

Mr, R. H., his republication of 

that Collection, 548. 

"Eve of St. John," 594. See also 568. 

573. 
Evil principle, the, 716. 
Ezekiel, quotatioD from the prophecies of, 

221, n. 



Fac-Similb of Sir Walter Scott's Manu- 
script of The Lady of the Lake (for 
page 202), placed after the Contents. 

Fain, meaning of, 322, n. 

Fairies, 165. 259, 260, 261. 285. 

"Fair iMaid of Perth," Verses from 
the, 721-4. 

" Fair Rosamond," ballad of, .5.55. 

Fancy, power of. In youth, 305. Lines 
on, from Beattie, ib., n. 

" Farewell to Mackenzie, 



Chief of 
652. 



Kintail 



High 
trom tlie Gaelic, 



- Imitation of," 653. 

" to the Musk," 702. 

" Song or the," 339. 

" Felon Sow of Rokeby," hunting of the, 
by the Friars of Richmond, 371. 

Ferragus and Ascabart, 190. 242. 

Feuds, 55, 56, 57. 784. 

" Field of Waterloo," poem of the, 
502. 

Fiery Cross, the, 201. 202. 248. 

Fingal's Cave at >taffa, 440. 487. 

Finlay, Mr, John, his collection of bal- 
lads, 551, His imitations of the ballad 
style, 559. 

" Fire King,' ballad of thA616. 

573. 

Flanders, manner of reaping in, 511. 

Fletcher, his comedy of .NJonsienr Thom- 
as, 554. 

F'odden, account of the battle of, 146. 
178. 

" Flodden Field." an ancient English 
poem, e.\tracts from, 88, n. ; 167-8. 
178. 

Florlnda, daughter of Count Julian, 285. 

"Flower of Yarrow," Mary i^cott, 71. 
161. 

" Flying Dutchman, the." 361. 

" Following" (feudal retainers), 128, n. 
i Football, game of, 74. 657. 

Forbes, Sir William (author of " The 
Life of Beattie"), tribute to his memo- 
ry, 115, 106. 

son of the preceding, 115, 115, n. 

' For a' that, an' a' that," 644. 

Forgeries of documents, 176. 

" Fortune, Lines on," 726. 

"Fortunes of Niokl," Mottoes from 
the, 705-8. 

Foster-children, 368. 

Fo.x, Right Honorable Charles James, 
" among those who smiled on the ad- 
venturous minstrel," 14. Never ap- 
plied to by Scott regarding his apjiolnt- 
ment as a Clerk of Session. 81. Trib- 
ute to his memory, 85. His compliment 
to the author of " The Monk," 564. 

Franchemont, superstitioui belief regard- 
iufi the Castle of, 139. 176. 



Frtser [or FrizelJ. Sir Simon, ancestor ol 
the family of Lovat, fate of, 480, 

Frederick II., King of Prus.ila, under 
valued the literature of his country 
562. 

" Frederick and Alice," 618. 

French army in the Peninsula, inovj- 
ments of applied to In the prophecies ,>l 
Joel, 289. Retreat of, W.irch, 1811, 
289. 

Frere, Right Hon. J. H. A \\r/ter in tb« 
" Antijacoliin." 124, i,.- 812. Hi* 
imitalioiis of the ancient Uiilad, 5.^8. 

" Friar Rush, U6. 166. 

" Frcm the FRii.si.H." 6,57. 

Fuentes de Hoiioro. action of, 290. 

Fullarton of Kilmichel. tamily of, 495. 

" Funeral tiymn," 683. 

G, 

Gala, the river, 415. 

" Gaelic Melody. Ancieni, 689 

Gait, John, Esq., epiloizue to his tragedj 

of "The Appeal." 675. 
Oarlamls (small ballad miscellanies) 

543. 555. 
" Gellatley's, Davie," Songs, 648 

650. 652. 

Janet, alleged witch- 



craft, 6.50. 

George IV., King, his Ojimion of the au- 
thor's poetry, 238. n. Lines on hii 

Visit to Scotland, 702, 703, 704. 
"German Ballads, translated or imi 

tated," 609 lo 626. 
German hackbnt-men, 70. 
language, similarity of the o tin 

Old English and Scoui^li, 567. 
literature, introduction of, inW 

this couutryi 562. Afttrvvards fell into 

disrepute, 812. 
"Ghaisi's VVarniag, the," translated tVon 

the Danish Kieinpc Viser, 257 
Ghost of the Lady liothwellliaugli. 603 
Gitibrd, village and c.istle of, ](i^, 164. 
Gilbert, Da vies, E<q.; 557. n. 
Gili-Doir Magrevoilich, the concejitionof 

249, 
Gil Mornce, ballad of, 57i. 
Otainoiir. 29. 65. 

" Glee-Maiden," ong of the, 722. 
Glee-niaiiiens, 231.206. 
Glencairn "The Good Earl" of, 6bl. 

603. 802. 
" Glencoe, on tile Ma-ssacre of," 642. 
" Glenfinlas," 589. 
Glenfruin, coiiHict oi, between the Mm*- 

gregors and the Colqahouiis, 246 
Glengarry. See M.ic'ionned. 
Goblin-Hall, the, 16-i. 
Goblin-FaL;<;-, Lor 1 Cran^toun's, f)-* 
Goethe, 5tj2. 812. 
Golagrus and Gawane, the knightly tdf* 

of, 544, n. 
Goldsmith, Oliver, liis imitations of baliad 

poetry, 559. 
"Goldthred's Sd.ng," IJ92. 
Gordon, Adam, gallant ci;nduct of, 81 

HomiUion Hil!, 730. 
Colonel, the Hon. Sir Alexander 

killed at Waterloo, .309. 
Grajiiie, or Grahame, families of, 77, S43L 

291. 
Graham, Rev, Dr,, Notes from bia 

Sketches of Perthsliire, 185 passim 

263. 

Sir John the, 243. 291. 

—Sir Thomas, Lord Lynedoch, 29L 

"Gray Brother, The," 604. 
Greta Bridge, 360. 

River. 308. 316. 360, 36.. 364. 

"Grev Mare's Tail," the, a cataract 

16i: 
Grotto on the estate of Strathaird, d» 

scriptlon of. 485. 
Ouisards of Scotland, 174. 
Gunn. John, a noted Highland cateian 

story of, 262, 
" Guy Mannkrino," Verses from, 638 



S36 



INDEX. 



II. 

HADDiNoroN, CaARLBs, tenth Earl of, 

703. 
Uaig of Beinerside, family of, 578. 588. 
Hailes, Lord, 474. 491. 495. 711. 
Uairibee, 21. 
" Halbert Glkndinnino, To," 686. 

' 'S I.SCANTATION," lb. 

Second Interview," 687. 

Halidoa C-'.l," a dramatic sketch, 

729. 
Halkett, Mrs., of Wardlaw, author of 

"Hardyknute," 549. 
Hail, i^'aptaiii Basil, 509, n 

Sir James, 61. 509, re. 

Hamilton, family of, 593. 

Alexander, Duke of, 703. 

Right Hon. Lady Anne, 600. 

of Bothwellhaugh, account ol 

bis Assassination of the Regent Murray, 

599. 

'■ — Lord Claud, 603. 

Robert, Esq., advocate, 645, n. 

Sir Thomas, Lord Advocate 



(temp. Jac. VI.), 789. 

Right Hon. W. G. (Single- 

6pee''.h Hamilton;, 395, 7i. 

Hardy&aute, ballad of, 544. 549. 558. 
The first poem the author learnt, 558, n. 

" Harlaw, the iJattle of," an ancient bal- 
lad, 544. 
' Harold thic Dauntless," 512. 

" Harfager, i?ong of," 695. 

"Harp, Song of the," 337. 

" Hattbraick, Dirk, Song of," 659. 

Hawks, 76. 

Hawthornden, 605. 607, n. 

Hayley, William, Esq., 561. 

Hayman, Mrs., 105, n. 

" Health to Lord Melville," 637. 

"Heart ok Mid-Lothian," Verses 
from the, 677-C79. 

Hei^th-burning, 252. 

Heber, Richard, Esq., dedication of the 
si.vth canto of Marmion to, 138. 

Hebrideau chiefs, fortresses of, 474. 

" Hellvellyn," 633. 

Henry VI., Kin^ of England, at Edin- 
burgh. 169. 

Hepburn, family of, 74. See Botbwell. 

Heraldry, 72. 157. 166. 

Herd, Mr. David, his collection of Scot- 
tish songs, 549 711. 

Herder's popular ballads, or Volkslieder, 
571. 

Heriot or He.rexeld, 35, n. 

Heron, William, of Ford, and hU lady, 
129. 157. 170. 

of Gilmerton, 604. 

"Hero's Targe," a rock in Glenfinlas, 
211. 254. 

fliglilauders, Scottish, their hospitality, 
243. Music, 196. 243. 245. The Bard, 
a family officer, 243. Epithets of their 
chiefs, 245. Boat-songs, 246. Hardi- 
hood, 247. Henchman, ib. Tutelar 
spirits, 2.)0. Brogue or shoe, ib. Cor- 
oiiach, 206. 251. Respect paid to their 
chiefs, 252. Oaths, ib. Body guards 
and domestic officers of the chiefs, 
253. Cookery, 261. Creaghs or fo- 
rays, 262. Trust-worthiness, ib. Tar- 
gets and Broadswords, 264. Modes of 
inquiring into futurity, 253. Ancient 
custom respecting marriage, 479. 

Uogg, Mr. James. "The Ettrick Shep- 
herd," his " Mountain Bard," 161. 
164. His story of the " Deai'. Bell," 
ib. "Pilgrims of the Sun," 467, n. 
Poetic Mirror," 413. His ballad 
poetry, 559. 

Holy Island, or Lindisfame, 161. 

Pome, family of, 74. 

Lord Cliamberlain to James IV., 

hij conduct at Flodden, 179. 

Horaer, 89. n. ; 380. 537, 538, 539. 

Momildon-liill, battle of, 729. 
horsemanship, 170. 
iorses, shrieking of, in agony 462. 498. 



Hostelrie. See Inn. 

Hotspur. See Percy. 

Hot-trod, the, pursuit of Border Marau- 
ders, 75. 

"House of Aspbn, The," a tragedy, 
812 

Howard, Lord William. "Belted Will 
Howard," 70. 

Howell ap Rys, a Welsh chieftain, 377. 

Howison of Braehead, his adventure with 
James V., 268. 

" Houlat, the Buka of the," 54.2, n. 

Hunting, 184, 185, 186. 240. 365. 600. 
613 

aerial, superstition of, 613. 



"Hunting-mass," 93. 

"Huntinq Song," 638. 

" Huntsman, Lay of the Imprisoned," 

236. 
Huntly, Marquis of, the last Dake of 

Gordon, 704. 
" Hymn for the Dead." 52. 

" Funeral," 683. 

" Rebecca's," 682. 

" to the Virgin," 210. 

I. 

" I asked of my Harp," Song, 715. 

Hay, Island of, 470. 

luch-Cailliach (the Isle of Nuns), 251. 

Indians, the North .-American, 382. 

Inn, or Hostelrie, Scottish accommoda- 
tions of an, in the 16th century, 164. 

lol of the heathen Danes, 173. 

Irish, the ancient Tanistry, 367. Dress, 
ib. Bards, 374. Cliiefs required to as- 
sist Edward I. in bis Scottish wars, 494. 

Isles, Western, of Scotland, 470. 474 to 
476. 483. 

" IvANHOB," Verses from, 681-684. 



Jacobitism, the last contests of, recited 
in ballads, 557. 

James I., King of Scotland, his " Christ 
Kirk on the Green," 543. His educa- 
tion and poetry, 546. 

III., rebellion against, 168. In- 



ventory of his treasure and jewels, 492. 

IV. His person and dress, 128. 

Penance of, 168. His belt, 170. Ap- 
parition to, at Linlithgow, 168. Death 
of, at Flodden, 179. 

V. in minority, 244. dnells the 



Border tfjpbers, 247. His progress to 
the Isles, ib. Why called " King of 
the Commons," 265. His attachment 
to archery, ib. Adventures in disguise, 
267. 

VI., his conduct respecting the 

Mures of Auchindrane, 788. 

Jamieson, Rev. Dr. John, his edition of 
" Wallace and Bruce," 414. 500, n. 

Mr. RoVrt, his collection of 



ballads. 551. 588. 
Jeftrey, Francis, now Lord, his success 

professionally and in literature, 10. 14. 

Extracts from his Criticisms on Scott's 

poetry. See Edinburgh Review. 
"Jock of Hazeldean," 660. 
Joel, application of a passage from the 

Prophecies of, 289. 
Johnson, Dr., bis ridicule of the ballad 

style, 560. Rejections on visiting lona, 

441, n. 
Jongleurs, or Jugglers, 266. 
Julian, Count, 285. 287. 
" Juvenile Lines from Virgil," 627. 

onaThua-^srStorm," 



ib. 



ib. 



■ on the Setting Sna," 



K. 



Keith, Sir Alexander, 705. 

Kelpy, a river spirit, 250. 

" Kemble, John Philip, his Farewell 
Address on taking leave of the Edin- 
burgh stage," 671. His opinion of 



"The House of Aspen" in relatioa U 

the stage, 812. 
Kendal, a contemporary of Thoma* Hj. 

Rtymer, 546. 
" Kenilworth," Verses from, 6C3-4. 
Speech of the Porter a. 

693. 
Kennedy, Sir Gilbert, of Barganie, 785. 

Sir Thomas, of Cullayue, 784. 

Ker or Carr, family of, 57. 

Kerrs and Scotts, fends of the, ib. 

" Kmrnpe Viser. the," a cellectioc » 

heroic songs, 255. 
King's Case, well and monasteiy cvf, 48} 
Kinloch, Mr. G. R., his collectior, vi <>•• 

lads, 551. 
Kirkwall, church ,^nd castle of, 78. 
" Kittle JVine .Steps," the, 310, n. 
Knighthood, 72. 

L. 

" Lady of the Lake," 180. 

Laidlaw, Mr. WilUam. 621, n. 

Laing, Mr. David, his Select Remains d 
the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scot' 
land, 543. n. 

Lancey, Sir William de, killed at Water' 
loo, 508, 74. 

Largs, Battle of, 165. 

" Lav of the Last Minstrel," 9. 

" Poor Louise," 721. 

" the Imprisoned HuNTi- 

man," 236. 

Learmont, Thomas, see " Thomas of E!r 
celdoune." 

" Legend or Montrose," Verses from 
the, 681. 

Lenne! house, seat of Patrick Brydone, 
Esq., 177. 

Lennox, district of the. 246. 

" Lenore," Biirger's, 566. 

Leprosy, 491. 

Leslie, Charles, a ballad-singer, 551. 

Lesly, General David, at the battle o/ 
Marston .Moor, 358. 

"Letters in Verse" to the Duke o( 
Buccleuch, 645, 646. 

" " to J. G. Lock- 
hart, Esq., on the composition of Mai 
da's Ej)itaph, 712. 

Leven, Earl of, 357, 358. 

Lewis, M. G., some particulars respect- 
ing him, 563. His " Monk," 564. His 
poetry, ib. His "Tales of Wonder," 
569. His correspondence with the au- 
thor, 572. 

Leyden, Dr. John, his " Spectre Shi])," 
362. Ballad poetry, 559. A Contrib- 
utor to Lewis's "Tales of Wonder," 
569. His Ballad ol " The Cloud King," 
573. His death, US, ?i. ,• 441. 487. 

Lham-dearg, the f?pi/it of Glenmore, 165 
250. 

Lichfield Cathedral >*ormed in the civil 
war, 179. 

Lindesay, Sir David, of the Mount, 117 
Edition of his works by Mr. Geor£« 
Chalmers, 167. 

Lord of the Hyjej, 603. 

Lindisfame, or Holy Island, 161. 
Lines on Fortune," 726. 

TO Sir Cuthbert Sharp," 

721. 

ON Captain Wooan," b5I. 

Wlien with Poetry deabiig,' 

See Juvenile." 
Linlithgow Palace, description of, 119, % 
Littlecote Hall, story of u murder com 

mitted in, 375. 
Llywarch Hen, a translation froiS th> 

heroc elegies of, 374. 
Loch Coriskin. 432. 433. 483, 484. 
Lochard, description of, 185. 
" LocHiNVAB." -Lady Heron's jonj. ilfi 
Loch Katrine, 181, n. ; 187. 
Loch of the Lowes, 96. 161 
Loch Ranza, 441. 488. 
Loch Skene, 96 161 



719. 



INDEX. 



83^ 



LocEnART. J. G., Esq., Letter in Verse 
to, on the Composition of Maida's Epi- 
taph," 712. 

XjOCKHABt's LlFF OF SiR Waltkr 
Scott," Notes Explanatory and Criti- 
cal from, 14. 15. 17, 18. 46. 50. 53. 81, 
62. 85. lia. 153. 180, 181, 182, 183. 270. 
282. 284 319. 353. 355. 381. 408, 409. 
412. 468. 510. 512. 597. 602. 606. 621. 
62e. 627, 628. 631. 637. 639. 645. 665. 
67J. 721. 726. 
'Lord Henry and Fair Catherine," bal- 
lad of, 557. 

' liORD OF THE ISLKS," 412. 

Lord of the Isles," 470. Controversy 
regarding the representation of the, 471. 

Lorn, the House of, 473. 

Love, power of, 19. The gift of heaven, 
42. 

' LucEK MacLkary's Tavern," Scene 
in, 649. 

•' Lucy Ashton's Song," 678. 

Lynedoch, Lord, 291. 

" Lyrical and Misckllaneods Pie- 
ces," in the order of their composition 
or publication, 627-728. 

Lyrical Pieces. See SoNOS. 
Lyulph's Tale," 385. 

M. 

-VIacdonald, Ranald, Esq., of Staffa, 

" Lines Addressed to," 645. 
Macdonell, the late Colonel Roualdson, 

of Glengarry, 704. 
Macdonalds suffocated in the Cave of 

Eigg, 487. 
MacDougal, of Lorn, tamily of, 473. 476. 
" MacDuff's Cross," 748. 
MacDutf, law of the clan, ib. 
Macallister's cave in Strathaird, descrip- 
tion of, 485. 
MauGregor, Kob Roy, 254. 662, n. 
" MacGregor's Gathering," 661. 
" MacIvor's, Flora, Song," 650. 
" MacLean, War fONO, of Lach- 

LAN," High Chief of, 633. 
MacLellan, tutor of Bomby, beheaded by 

the Earl of Angus, 177. 
MacKay, Mr. Charles, of the Edinburgh 

Theatre, 713. 
MacKenzie, Colin, Esq., of Portmore, 
115, n. 

— Henry, Esq., his Essay on 

German literature, 562. 

the Hon. Mrs. i^tewart, B54, n. 

High Chief of Kinlail," Fare- 
well TO," 652. Imitation of, 653. 
Mackintosh, Sir James, his Opinion of the 
Lay of the Last i iustrel, 24, 74. ; 46, 
n. ; and Lady of the Lake, 183, n. 
" Mackrimmon's Lament," 675. 
MacLeod of MacLeod, family of, 428, 

n. ; 675. 
MacLeod, Laird of, his Cruel Revenge on 

the Macdonalds of Eigg, 487. 
MacNeil of Barra, family of, 474. 
MacPherson, James, publisher of Ossian's 

Poems, 549. 563. 
' Mabgk Wildfire's Songs," 677- 
678. 
' Maggie Lander," song of, 554. 
I Magic," «S, passim, 66. 75. 165. 176. 309. 
K. ■ 361 364. 
' Ma o of Neidpath, The," 636. 
' Maid or Toro. The," 635. 
.Maida, Battle of, 510. 
jVaida's Epitaph, Letter on the Compo- 

eitior of, 712 
' -VIajor Bellenden's Song," 666. 
Maitland MSS.. 549. 

. Sir Richard, of Lethington, 16th 

centnry, poem by, 158. 
Makers (of poetry), the, 538, 539. 
Malefactors, mtatuation of, 311. 361. 
Mallet, David, his imitations of ballad 

^etry, 560. 
Hammon, 784. 

Ifarab, " Black Agnes," Countess of, 
5T7. 



March-treason, 37. 72. 

" Marmion ; A. Talk o? Floddbn- 

Fikld," 80. 
Marmion, family of, 156. 
Robert de, 173. 



Marriott, Rev. John, dedicatiOL '.0 him of 
the Second Canto of Marmion, 94. 

Marston-Moor, Battle of, 357-359. 

Martin, Rev. John, minister of Mertoun, 
106, n. 

Dr John, his description of the 



Western Highlands, 249. 

Mary, Q,ueen of Scots (Epilogue), 714. 

" Massacre of Glencoe," on the, 642. 

Ma.'isena, Marshal, 289, 290, tb. 

Maurice, Abbot of InchalTray, 497. 

Mauthe-Doog, the, Isle pf Man, 79. 

Mayburgh, mound at, 385. 411. 

Mazers, drinking cups, 492. 

Medwyn's, Captain, remarks on his Con- 
versations of Lord Byron, 15. 572, 573. 

Melbourne, Lord, 572. 

Melrose Abbey, 22, 23. 60, 61. 
battle of. 56. 



Melville, Henry, Lord Vise., "Health 
TO," a song on his acquittal in 1806, 
637. Death of, in 1811, 269. 
Robert, Lord, 704. 



" Men of Peace." See Daoine Ski. 

Merlin, 271. 285. 580, 581. 588. 

"Mermaids and Mermen," Song of 
the, 695. 

Mickle, W. J., his imitations of ballad 
poetry, 548. 554. 559. 

Milan, artists of, their skill in armory, 
156. 

IVIillar and Chapman, their Miscellany, 
the earliest surviving specimen of the 
Scottish press, 544. 

Millar, Colonel, of the Guards, 509. 

Mingarry Castle, 470. 

Minstrels, order and office of, 545. 555. 

"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Bor- 
der," Scott's Contributions to, viz.. 
Introductory Remarks on Popular Po- 
etry, 537. Appendix to, 553. Essay 
on Imitations of the Ancient Ballad, 
555. Appendix to, 571. Imitations 
of the Ancient Ballad, 574-608. 

Minto Crags, 59. 

" Monastery," Verses from the, 685- 
690. 

Monk, Lewis's Romance of the, 564. 

"Monks of Bangor's March," 672. 

Monmouth, Duke of, 18, n. 

Montague, dedication of Marmion to, 83. 
His collection of ballads destroyed by 
fire, 544. 

Montiily Review, critical notices from, 
on the Lav, 16. Marmion, 84. 94. 96. 
102. 145. i51, 152. The Lady of the 
Lake, 221. The Vision of Don Roder- 
ick, 872. 275. 277. Rokeby, 305, 306. 
312. 314. 332. 335. 346. 350. 354. The 
Lord of the Isles, 424. 438. 440. 455. 
461. 463. 467. The Field of Waterloo, 
506 ; and on Halidon Hill, 744. 747. 

Montrose, James, first Marquis of, 243. 

Moors, the invasion of Spain by, 285. 

Moore, Sir John, omission of his name in 
the poem of " Don Roderick," the au- 
thor censured for, 284. 290. 

Moore, Thomas, Esq., his imitations of 
the ballad style, 559. 

Morritt, J. B. S., Esq., letter to, on the 
death of Lord Melville and President 
Blair, 270. On tlie Vision of Don Rod- 
erick, 284. Dedication to him of Roke- 
by, 296. Letter on Rokeby, 319. 
" Morte Arthur," romance of the, ex- 
tract from regarding the " Chapell Per- 
ilous," 1.54. 
Mortham Castle, description of, 362. 
Morton, Earl of. Regent, 244. 601. 
Moss-troopers, 59. See Borderers. 
Motherwell, William, his collection of 

ballads, 551. 
Mottoes, " sooner make than find them," 
665. 



" Mottoes from the Waverley Novel*, 

663paA'Sim 72o. 
Mull, the Sound o(, 470. 
Mummers, English, 174. 
Murder, superstition formerly resorted U 

for the discovery of, 773, 
Mure, John of Auchindrane, 784. Hii 

son James, 787. 
Murray, Thomas, Randolph, Earl of, si 

Bannockburn, 460. 494, 495. 4!«, «7 

the Regent, death of, 599. 

Mr. William, manager of l.w 

Theatre-Royal, Edinburgh 714. 
"My Aunt Margaret's \Iirb<» 

Mottoes from, 721. 
Mysteries, aucient, 174 

N. 
Neal Naighvallach, an Irish Kiag o 

the fourth or tiftli century, 369. 
"Neck Verse," the, 21. 
Necromancy, 57, 58. 75. 
Nelson, Lord, tribute to the memciy of 

84. 112. " Unpleasant chapter in hii 

history," 794, n. 
Newark Castle, on the Yarrow, 17. 
Nicholas, Grand-Duke (now Emperor) ol 

Russia, " Verses sung alter a din 

ner given to him at Edinburgh," 662 
"No, John, I will not own the book,' 

652. 
" Noble Morinoer, The," 621 
"Nora's Vow," 661. 
Norham Castle, 155. 
"Norman Horse-Shoe, The," 634. 

" The Forester's Song." 678. 

"Norna's Songs and Incanta 

TioNs," 696-700. 
North Berwick, 135. 

O 

" Old Mortality," Verses from, 666 

Oman, Mr., 703. 

O'Neale, family of, 367. 

" On Ettrick Forest's Mountain* 

Dun," 701. 
"On the Massacre of Glencoe ' 

642. 
Oretia, the courser of Don Roderick, 27.') 

287. 
Orleans, Duke of, his poetical exercises ii 

English, .546. 
" Orphan Maid, The," 680. 
Otterbour .e. Battle of, 61. 142. 
Ovid. 10 784. 



Padua, a school of necromancy, 20. 57 

Page, the order of the, in chivalry, 369 

Paisley, 601. 

"Palmer, The," 635. 

Palmers, 159. 

" Pardoner's Advertisement. The, 

691. 
Park, Thomas, his edition of Ritson 

Collection of Songs, 550. 
Passion, the ruling, 105. Lines froa 

Pope on, 105, n. 
Peden, Alexander, 604. 
Peel-town, Castle of. Isle of Man, 79 
Penance vaults, 164. 
Penrith, " Round table" of. 385, 410. 
Pepys, Secretary, lis c-.nlleciion of baU*a» 

543. 
•*e[iper. Father, 567 
Percy, Bishop, his copy of ''..ne»} 

Chace," 540. " ReMques of AncienI 

Poetry," 545. Imitations of the so 

cient ballad," 559. 

Henry, at Homildon Hill. 729. 

Thomas, his defence of the bisho) 

against Ritson's criticism. 548. 
"Peveril of the Peak," Mottoel 

from, 707-709. 
" Pharos Loquitur," 645. 
Philipson, Major Rober*, called " Bobll 

the Devil," 378. 
Pibroch, the, 245. 
" Pibroch of Donald Dan. ' 600. 



838 



INDEX. 



Pio-on. Sii Thomas, 508. 

Pieis. the, a Celtic tact, 541. 

I'ilgrimi-, 159. 

I'iiikert )n, John, his collection of ballads, 
54y. 711. List ol' Scottish poew, 549. 
' I'iRATE," Verses I'rom the, (594-701. 

Pisistratus, Homer's Works collected by, 
5:te 

Citcairi Robert, Esq., editor of " Crim- 
inal Trials of Scotland, " 7B9. E.\- 
tracts from his work. 785, 786. 789. 
Pitt Clib of Scotland, Songs writ- 
ten tor the," G44, 645. 

»itt, Right Hon. William, 638. " Among 
(hose nlio smiled on the adventurous 
minstrel." 14. Procured for Scott the 
olhce ol Clerk of Session, 80, 81 Trib- 
utes to his memory, 84. 152. His grave 
beside that of Mr. Fox, 85, 86. 

Htntcuck, summons of, preceding the bat- 
tie of Flodden, 134. 173. 655. 

'Poacher, Thk," 640. 

"PoErRr. Popular, Introductory Re- 
marks on," 537. Continuation of the 
subject under the title of " Essay on 
the Imitations of the Ancient Ballad," 
555. 

Poetry, Romantic, Remarks on," 
379. 

State of the art of, at the end 



of 



ottbe I8th century. 561 
Poniatowski. Count, 507. 
Ponsonby, Sir William, 508. 
Pope, lines from, on the ruling passion, 

105, 71. 
Priam, 115. 
Pringle, the late Alexander, Esq., of 

Whytbank, 95, n. 
" Prophecv, The," 679. 
Pryse. " to sound the," 600. CO'2. 
Pye, Henry James, Esq., 567. 



Q.UARTKRLY Rkvibw, Critical notices 

from, on the Lady of the Lake, 195. 

206. 223. Don Roderick, 272. 276. 278. 

'283. Rokeby, 296. 300. 350. 352. 354. 

Bridal of Triermain, 383. 385. 387, 388. 

392. 408. And Lord of the Isles, 414. 

422. 429. 433. 437. 446. 466. 468. 
"Q.i'ENTiN DuRWARD," Verses from, 

709-10. 



Rae, Right Hon. Sir William, 115. 

Ramsay, Sir Alexander, of Dalhousie, 
cruel murder of, 61. 

Allan, structure of stanza used 

by him, 543. As a ballad collector, 
544 His "Tea-Table Miscellany," 
73 544. And " Vision," 549. 

- Captain, at the action of Fnen 



tes de Honoro, 290. 
Randolph. Thomas. See Murray. 
Rattling Roaring Willie, the Border min 

sirul, 73. 
Ravenshench Castle, 50. 78. 
Ravensworth Castle, 223. 
■ Rebecca'.s Hymn,'' 682. 
* Receipt to make an epic poem," 380. 
' B d Cross Kmght, Tiie," by Mickle 

o48. 
Rede. Percy, 359. 

' RKD9AU.NTLKT," Verseg from, 715. 
"Reiver's Wkddinh, Tmk," 631. 
8.epb3.:ance, tower of. 753. 

Rbiolve, The," 639. 
R':re-Cross, on Stanmore, 365. 
' Return to Ulster, Tub," 059. 
Riddell, family of, 60. 
Risingham, 359. 

Ritson. Joseph, his criticism of Percy's 

" Refiqne-s," 545. His collection of 

songs, 549. 711. " Robin Hood," 550. 

Robert the Bruce. See Bruce. 

Robertson, Rev. Principal, his account of 

the death of the Regent Murray, 599. 
•ob Roy, death-bed anecdote ofi 235, n. 
Sbc Macgrego'. 



" Rob Roy," Verses from, 673. 

Robin Hood, 226. 265. 538. .544. 550. 

Rogers, Samuel, Esq., "the Bard 
Memory," 561. 

Roderick. Gothic King of Spain, defeat- 
ed and killed by the Moors, 285. 287. 
His enchanted cavern, 286. 289. See 
Don Roderick. 

" Rokeby." 292. 

Rokeby Castle, 307. 360. 370 
family of, 360. 370 



— Felon Sow of, 371. 



Roman antiquities at Greta Bridge, 360. 
camp, at Ardoch, 263. 



" Romance of Donois," 656, 
Romance literature, birth of, "tO. 
Romilly, Sir Samuel, his opiaion of the 

Lady of the Lake, 230, n. 
Rose, William Stewart, Esq., dedication 

to. of the First Canto of Marmion, 83. 
Roslin. 78. 607. 
Ross, John, Eari of, his treaty with King 

Edward TV., 469. 
• William, Earl of, deed containing 

his submission to King Robert Bruce, 

496. 

Sir Walter, 489. 

"Round Table," 154.410. 
Roxburghe Club, the, 712. 

- — John, Duke of, 543, 568. 
Rum, Island of, 487. 
Russell, Major-General Sir James, of 

Ashestiel, 80. 
Rutherford. Miss Christian, annt of Sir 

Walter Scott, 180. 626. 
of Hunthill, family of, 76. 

S. 
St. Clair, family of, 78. 
"Saint Cloud," 654. 
Saint John, Vale of. 411. 
St. Mary's Lake, 160. 
"St. Ronan's Well," Mottoes from, 

710. 
"St. Svvithin's Chair." 649. 
Saints. St. Bride of Douglas, 79. Chad, 

151. 179. Columba, 593. Cuthbert, 

162. 164. Dunstan, 243. Fillan, 

593. George, 510. Hilda, 100. 

Modan,243. Mungo. 20. Oran, 

Regulus (ScoUice Rule), 159. 

Rosalia, 1.58. Serle, 225. Trimoii, 798. 
"Sale Room." the, an Edinburgh peri- 
odical. 667, 71. ; 671, n. 
Sallust, E.\tract from, on the Death of 

Catiline, 505. n. 
Sangreal, the, 154. 
Saxons, the Anglo, their language, 542. 

546. 554 ; and poetry. 682. 
"Saxon War-Sono,"682. 
Scalds, antique poetry of the, 682. 
i^cales-tarn. Lake of. ,T86. 
Schiller, 562, .563. 812. 
Schi/trum. signification of, 497. n. 
Scots Magazine, the, extracts from, 104. 

536. 594. 
Scots Greys, 704. 
Scott of Buccleuch. Pee Buceleuch. 

of Harden, family of, 71. 161. 174. 



161, 
159. 
162. 
593. 



Hu2h, Esq., of Harden, now Lord 

Polwarth, 174. 566, n. ; 568, 7t. His 
lady, 566, 7». ; 567. Inscription for the i 
monument of the Rev. John Scott, 
their son, 726. 

John, Esq., of Gala, 415, n. 

Sir John, of Thirlestane, 70. 

Mary, "the Flower of Yarrow," 

35. 71. 161. 

Sir Michael, 24. 62, 63. 

Miss Sophia, the author's daugh- 
ter, 621, 71. 

Robert, of Sandyknows, the au- 
thor's grandfather, 106. 

Walter, Lessudden, the anthor's 



great-grandsire, 138. 174. 

Major Sir Walter, the anthor's eld- 
est son, 657. 

and Kerr, feuds of the families of, 

57 



6ea-6re. phenomenon so called, 474. 
Seaforth. the last Earl of. 653, n. 
Seal, its taste for music, 4i6. 470 
"Search after Happiness, the; es 
the (iuest of Sultaun Solimaun 
667. 
Seatoun, Christopher, fate of, 480. 
Second-sight, account of the, 241. 593. 
" Secret Tribunal Rhymes," 724. 
" Selectors of the slain," 78. 

Sempach. Battle of," 619 ' 
Serendih, 667. 
" SETT'Nfc *-N," Juvenile LineiOBtiA 

6'27. 
Seven Speara J." Wedderburn, 40. 

Shields, the Oa»3:.io ;f the, .fljla' 

of, 527. 
Seward, Mi.ss Anna, criti'-.isivj by, U, 
71. ,• 33, 71. ; 50. 71. Letter to, 50, «, 
Epitaph designed for her monuis'iit, 
639. 
Seymour, Lord Webb. 375. 
Shakspeare, his description of a popula 

song, 556. 
Shane-Dymas, an Irish chieftain in tii« 

reign of Elizabeth, 369. 
" Sharpe, Sir Cuthbert. Lines to," 721 
Shar|)e, Charles K., Esq., of Hoddam, 

541, n.; 551, n. ; 753. 
Shaw, Mr. James, notice of a list of Sil 
Walter Scott's publications prepared 
by him, 567. 
Sheale. Richard, the author or transcribm 

of " Chevy Chase," 540. 554. 
"Shepherd's Tale, The," 628. 
Sheridan, Thomas. Esq., 365. 
Shoreswood, the priest of, 159. 
Sibbald. Mr. James, 711. 
Siddons, Mrs. Henry, Epiloouks written 

for. 675. 714. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, his opinion of the bal 
lad of " Chevy Chase," 539, ;i. ; 540 
556. 
Sinclair,. Right Hon. Sir John, 705. 
" Sir Charles Baudwin," Chatterton'i 

ballad of, 558. 
"Sir Caulin.'" 548. 
" Sir Eger, Sir Grime, and Sir Greysteil," 

romances of, 541. 
"Sir Martyn," a forgotten poem oi 

Mickle, extract from, 554. 
"Sir Patrick Spens," old Scottish song 

of, 571. 
"Sir Tristrem," metrical romance ol 
" Thomas the Rymer," 542. 558. .583. 
Skene, James, Esq., of Rubislaw, dedi- 
cation to, of the Fourth Canto of Mar" 
mion, 113. 
Skirving, Mr., author of a Ballad on the 

Battle of Prestonjians, 557. 
Sky. Island of, description of its scenery 

432. 483. 
Smailholin Tower, description of, 594. 
" Smith, Miss, Lines written for, 

671. 
Smith, Pir Sidney, Tribute to, 105 
Smythe, Professor at Cambridge, 573. 
Snakes and Serpents, 78. 
Snood, worn by Scottish maidens 203. 

250. 
Snow, description of a man peiii'hing ia, 

114. 166. 
Snowdoun (StiHing), 238. 268. 
" Soldier, Wake — Song," 715 
Soltier, Sir John, 71. 
Someried. Lord of the Isles, 417. 470. 
Somerville, John, 15th Lord, 415, m. y 
701, 71. 

Lord (temp. Jao. HI.), aneo 

dote of, 712, n. 
Songs — 

Admire not that I gain'd the prize, 75(i 
A Hawick gill of mountain <!ew, 703. 
Ah I County Guy, tne hour is nigh 

709. 
Ah, poor Louise I tlie live-long day 

721. 
Allan-a-Dale has no fagot for burniat 
323. 



INDEX- 



lioNea. 

All joT was bereft me the day that yon 

left me. 636. 
An hour with thee ! when earliest day, 

720. 
A'.ii did rou not hearofa mirth befell, 

647. 
And wlnther would yoa lead me then ! 

MO. 
Aina-Maria, love, up is the son, 683. 
.\!i«i,st me, ye friends of old books and 

old wine, 710. 
•i.jf Maria ! maiden mild ! 210. 
A weary lot if 'hine, fair maid, 322. 
A weary month has wander'd o'er, 653. 
Birds of omen dark and foul, 679. 
Janny moment, lucky fit, 658. 
Dark Alirimaii, whom Irak still, 717. 
0. las Enilinn, lament ; for the moment 

IS nigh, 634. 
Donald Cairo's come again, 676. 
Dust cnto dust, 684. 
Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has 

,'ecoy'd me 702. 
Fa.se love, and hast thou play'd me 

this? 648 
Farewell to Mic Kenneth, great Earl of 

the North, 6j2. 
Farewell, merry maidens, to song and 

to laugh, 697. 
Farewel. t» Northmaven, 695. 
Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 695. 
Follow me, follow me, 652. 
From the Brown crest of Newark its 

summons extending, 657. 
Gill by pailfuls, wine in rivers, 659. 
Glowing with love, on tire for lame, 656. 
God protect brave Alexander, 662. 
Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 631. 
Hail to the chief who in triumph ad- 
vances, 197. 
Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 305. 
Hawk and osprey scream'd for joy, 522. 
Hear what Highland Nora saiJ, 661. 
He is gone oc the mountain, 206. 
riie away, liie away, 649. 
Higli deeds achiev'd of knightly fame, 

681. 
Hither we come, 791. 
Hurra, hurra, our watch is done, 403. 
[ asked of my harp, "Who hath in- 
jured thy cords?" 716. 
. elimb'd the dark brow of the mighty 

Helvellyn, 633. 
It. fares the bark with tackle riven, o23. 
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelve 

month or twain, 681. 
It chanced that Cupid on a season, 657. 
It was a' for our rightful king, 365. 
[t was an English ladye bright, 48. 
It was Dnnois the young and brave, 

was bound for Palestine, 656 
I was a wild and wayward boy. 337. 
Joy to the victors ! the sons ol' old As- 
pen, 819. 
Look not thou on beauty's charming, 

678. 
Lord William was bora in gilded bow- 
er, 518. 
l.ove wakes and weeps, 698. 
MacLeod's wizard Hag from the gray 

ca.nle sallies, 675. 
March, march, Ettrick ami Teviotdale, 

689. 
Measurers of good and evil, 724. 
Merry it is in the good green wood, 213. 
Merrily swim we, the moon shines 

bright, 6S5. 
My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 

23C 
My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

639. 
Jlot fitster yohJer rowers' might, 193. 
0, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 319. 
'J, dread was the time, and more dread- 
ful the omen, 644. 
Of all the birds on bush and tree, 692. 
Oh I say not, my love, with that mor- 
tified air. 64S 



SONOS. 

O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire waa a 

knight, 658. 
O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 335. 
O listen, listen, ladies gay ! .50. 
O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 636. 
O, low shone the sun on the fair lake 

ofToro, 635. 
O, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, 702, 
Once again, but how changed since my 

wand'rings began, 659. 
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 

701. 
On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune 

ye to rest, 649. 
O, open the door, some pity to show, 

635. 
O, Robin Hood was a bowman good, 

765. 
O, tell me, harper, wherefore flow 1 

643. 
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and 

Poule, 230. 
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the 

west, 129. 
Pibroch of Donald Dhn, 660. 
duake to your foundations deep, 406. 
Rash adventurer, bear thee back, 402. 
Red glows tlieforge in ^triguil's bounds, 

635. 
Saufen bier, und brante-wein, 639. 
She may be fair, he sang, but yet, .'i23. 
Since here we are set in arrav round 

the table, 637, 
Soft spread the southern summer night, 

654. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 191. 
Soldier, wake — the day is peeping, 

715. 
So snng the old bard in the grief of his 

heart, 653. 
Stem eagle of the far northwest, 694. 
Summer-eve is gone and past. 334. 
Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of 

Toro, 820. 
Take these flowers, which, purple wav- 
ing, 628. 
That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 

52. 
The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gal- 
lant feats, 718. 
Tlie Druid Urien had daughters seven, 

527. 
The Forest of Glenmore is drear, 632. 
The heath this night must be my bed, 

208. 
The herring loves the merry moonlight, 

603. 
The last of our steers on the hoard has 

been spread, 725. 
The monk must arise when the matins 

ring, 679. 
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's 

on the brae, 621. 
The news has flown frae month to 

mouth, 702. 
The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 

339. 
The sun is rising dimly red, 695. 
The sun upon the lake is low, 754. 
The sun ufon the Weirdlavv Hill, 672. 
The violet in her greenwood bower, 

623. 
There came three merry men from 

south, west, and north, 683. 
There is mist on the mountain, and 

night on the vale, 651. 
They l id me sleep, tl ey bid me pray, 

216. 
Though right be aft put down by 

strength, 044. 
To horse ! to horse 1 the standard flies, 

607. 
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Cla- 

ver'se who spoke, 772. 
'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's 

heart beat high, 48. 
'Twas a Marechal of France, and he 
fain would honor gain, 642. 



Songs. 

'Twas near the fair city of BeE«»enl 

717. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, <"'58. 
Viewless essence, thin and bare, "22. 
Wake, maid of Lnrii, 415. 
Waken, lords and ladies gay, 638. 
Wasted, weary, wherefore <tay ? 65b. 
We-love the shrill trnmpet, we lovethl 

drum's rattle, 756. 
What makes the troopers' froze^ COL."" 

age muster ? 826. 
Wheel the wild dance, 653. 
When Israel of the Lord beloved, 6flS 
Whence the brooch of burning gold 

424. 
When friends are met o'er merry cheer 

773. 
When the heathen trumpet's clang, 67i 
When the tempest's at the loudest, 763 
Whet the bright steel, 682. 
While the dawn on the mountain wai 

misty and gray, 338. 
Where shall the lover rest ? 108. 
Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall 

662. 
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 1 66b 
Yes, thou mayst sigh, 722. 
Yonng men will love thee more fair and 
more fast, 650. 
Southey, Dr. Robert, Letter from. or. 
Marmion. 153, n. Lines from his Hoo- 
eiick contrasted with some of Scott's. 
273, n. ; 275, n. ; 280. And Pilgrim 
age to Waterloo, 502, «. ; passim 509 
n. His Imitations of Ballad Poetry 
559. 569. Extract from his Life o: 
Nelson, 810. 
Spain, Defence of, under the Invasion »' 
Bonaparte, 287. 

Invasion of. h) the Moors, 285. 

War with, in 1625-6, 364. 

" Speates and Raxes," Story of, 712. 

Spells, 66. 

Spencer, Earl, 81. 

Spenser, Edmund, 124. 307. Extract 

from his " Faerie Quecnc," 283. 
Spirits, intermediate class of, 58. 165. 250 

251. 361. 603. 
" Spirit's Blasted Tree," Legend of i.h» 

174-170. 
Staifa, Cave of, 441-2. 487. 
Stanhope, Lady Hester, 14, n. 
Stewart, Professor Dugald. 560. 566. ' 
Stirling Castle, 225. 264, 
Stoddart, Sir John, 13. 
Strafford, Earl of 261. 
Strathmcre, Earl of, killed at Sherifl 

muir, 746, n. 
Strathbogie. See Athole. 
Stuart, cir William, ol' Ochiltree, murdei 

of in 1588, 244. 
Strutt, Joseph, his Romance of Queen 

hoo-hall, 265. 
" SrE-PRioR, To THE," 685. 
Sultaun Solimaun, 667. 
tuperstitions. Popular, 165. 787. Sel 
also " Fairies," "Ghosts," "Spirits." 
Surrey, Eail of (beheaded in 1546), 77 
Surtees, Robert, Esq., 524, u. 
Sutherland, Duchess of, 705. 
SwintoM, Sir John, 730, Arms of th 

family of, 732. 
Swiss Guards, Massacre of 'Jie, J5 ITlh 

608. 
Swords, enchanted, 245. 
Sympathy, core of a wound by. 67 



T. 

Tan-hairvi, a Highland mode of angar) 

253, 254. 
" Tales of Wonder, Lewis's," 569. 
"Talisman," Verses from the, 716-1I> 
Tanistry, Irish custom of, 367. 801. 
Tantallan Castle, 136. 172. 
Taylor, Willia-n, Esq., his version « 

" Lenore," 566. 
Techir, The, the Wai^cry of the Sara 

cens. 274. 286. 



Mr 



INDKA. 



Ttet, tlie River, 323. 
feith, the Jliver, 185. 

Tempest, Song op the," 694. 
reiry. the late Mr. Daniel, comedian, 

658, 71. ; 753. 
riieatre, the, 547. 
Themis. 10. 

riioma.s oi Brceldoune, or " Tlie Rhym- 
er," account of him, 574. His Prophe- 
cies, 575. 577. Legend of, 631. 

541, 542. 546. 

■' Thomas the Rhymer," a Ballad in 

Three Parts, 574." 
Thomson, Mr. D., of Galashiels, 670, n. 
Thomson, Thomas, Esq., Deputy-Regis- 
ter, 492. 
'THrNDER Storm," Juvenile lines on 

a, 627. 
Tickell, Mr., his Ballad Poetry, 557.560. 
■Time," 662. 
Time, 202. 

and tide, 354. 

riuchell, the, 234, n. ; 568. 
'To A Lady, with flowers from a Ro- 
man wall," 628. 
Town Eclogue, 35, n. 
Train, Mr. Jo.seph, his assistance in col- 
lecting information for the author, 491. 
Note from (1840), 458. 
Tribunal, the Secret, or Invisible, of Ger- 
many. 812. 
Tn^-main. See " Bridal of Trierraain." 

family of, 410, 

Trosachs, the, 186. 
" Troubadour, The," 656. 
Trovveurs, or Troubadours, 538. 
Tunes, attachment to, on death-beds, 267. 
Tunstall, Sir Brian, slain at Flodden, 178, 
T'lrnberrv Castle, 491. 
Turner, J. M. W., R.A., 433, n, 
• Tweed River, On," 685. 
Tw»nge, Sir Marraadake, at Bannock- 
burn, 499. 
fwisel Bridge, 145. 177. 
Twist ye, twine ye," 658. 
Two Drovers," Maiiaea from the, 
781. 



Tynemonth Priory, 164. 

Tytler, A. F. (Lord Woodhonselee), his 
Collections of Ballads, 552. His ver- 
sion of " The Robbers," 563. 

P. F., Esq., his " History of Scot- 
land." 541, 71. 

U. 

Uam-Var, mountain, 184, 185. 240. 
Unthank, chapel at, 65. 
Urisk, a Highland satyr, 2.52. 

V. 

Va. nYRiUR,or " Selectors of the Slain," 

78. 
Valor, personification of, 276. 
Vaughan, Right Hon R. C, 288. 
Vaux, family of, 410. 
Venetian General, anecdote of a, 746, n. 
Vengeance, fendal, a dreadful tale of, 

487. 
Vennachar, Loch, 185, 
•• Violet, The," 628. 
Virgil, his magical practices, 63. 75. His 

./Eneid translated by Gawain Douglas, 

Bishop of Dunkeld,'l43. 
" Virgil," Juvenile Lines from, 627. 
" Vision, The," a poem, 549. 

W. 

Wales, Caroline, Princess of, 105, 7J. 

Wallace, Sir William, trial and execution 
of, 479. 

Walton, Sir John, defeated by " the good 
Lord James of Douglas," 493, 

" Wandering Willie," 636. 

War, personification of, from Childe Har- 
old, 279, n. Apostrophe to, 443. 

" War-Song of the Edinburgh Light 
Dragoons," 607. 

" of Lachlan, high Chief of 

MacLean," 653. 

" Saxon," 682. 

Warbeck, Perkin, story of, 158. 

Waterioo, Battln of, 290. 302-511. 

Watson, James, his oollection of ucicnt 
poetrf, 544. 



" Wavbrlet," Verses from 647-6S8. 

" Lines by author of," 65S 

Lines of, " Late when in* 

autumn evening fell," 648. 
Wellington, Duke of, 280, 2eil, 282. 289. 

291. "The Field ofWa'^rloo," 50t 

passim; 642. 644, 645. 



■ Duches'* of, deflication <K 
" The Field of Xl'aterioo" to, 502. 

"When with poetry dealing," 719. 

Whistling to raise a tempest, 361. 

Whitby Abbey, 161. 

" White Lady of Avenel," Songs « » 
the. 685-689. 

Whitmore, John, Esq., &c,, dedicatit 
of the Vision of Don Roderick to, 27% 

" Wild HuntIman, The," 613, 

Wilkes, John, Esq., 182. 

" William and Helen," 609. 

Willich, Dr., teaclier of German, 563. 

" Will Jones," Lewis's ballad of, 573. 

Wilson, Professor, 551, n. 

Wine, presents of, 170. 

Witchcraft, 309. n. ; 364. 

" WooAN, Captain, Lines o«," 651 

Wolfian hypothesis, .537, n. 

Woman, aijostrojihe to, 149. 

Woodhouselee, Lord. See Tytler, A. 1'. 
Esq. 

" Woodstock," Verses from, 720-721. 

Wordsworth, William, Esq., his poem oa 
Yarrow, 47, /i. ; 52, n. Letter from 
on Marmion. 153, n. Enlogium on tJw 
Zaragozans, 288. Imitations of thf 
ballad style. 559. 

Wrestling, prize at, 266. 

Wynken de Worde, 117. 



Xeres, account of the llattle of, 287. 

Z. 

Zabaracr, race of, 402. 
Zaragoza, account of the Siege of, 381. 
Zernebock. 520. 

"Zetland Fi3Bilbj>i»ii Soaa v 
T»i> ■ 187. 



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